I closed the door because I didn’t want anyone to catch us. I already had that thought in my head. Us. I’d been keeping secrets with Gillian for a year. This was just another secret I would share with her.
I’m alone here in my bedroom, five years since that moment. I’ve relived it many times, yearning for Gillian to be here with me. I’ve relived many memories of us, but I always go back to that first one. It’s my usual bedtime story.
It’s like a wound that I won’t let heal. I feel my lips rise in a smile in the dark. No. It’s not a wound. That’s not fair. I relive that day because it was the real start, not the library, not the previous year of self-torture, trying to get closer to Gillian while keeping a distance. No. That day, in her bedroom, that was the start for us.
I had intended to explain my plan to her that day. I had words in my head that would explain how we could be together when she was allowed to attend college in only three short years. I had a plan for slowly getting her away from her mother; a plan to convince my father to grant me greater control of one of his smaller businesses, perhaps to set me up to buy my own, something that would allow me independence from him; a plan to marry Gillian as one last secret; a plan to make her mother of my child as quickly as possible. I knew the last would ensure Martin Vanderson would never go against our marriage, not once he knew his empire was safe, that I had provided him with what he never could: more heirs, a stronghold on his legacy.
It was a long plan, one I had thought through, or so I thought.
When I closed that door, I knew all my planning was useless. I’d seen through Anya, and she would never let me have Gillian for myself.
So I closed the door and did what I had to do to keep Gillian. I closed the door so no one would see her as she was. I closed the door for the same reason I never said anything about the abuse I knew she suffered. I can’t hide from that truth, not to myself anyway. I kept Gillian’s secret because it was the only way to keep her close to me.
Anya hurt her, but Gillian shared it with me. She allowed me to see her pain. She never said a word, but she allowed me to touch her. She’d put my hand where she was hurt.
I close my eyes again, seeing Gillian as the light was fading from the windows that day. It was a cool winter light that cast a soft glow over the madness in that room. I give in to the call of that memory. I let it take full control of me like it always does.
“Come closer, Miles.” Anya’s voice is airy like Gillian’s gets sometimes.
I move closer, but I stop inches next to Gillian’s bare feet and notice that they are clean. I notice her toes are pointed. What odd things to notice in the midst of all her other details.
Anya moves but not in the way I thought she would. She doesn’t stand; she doesn’t move to cover herself. She moves her hand to rest between her open legs, her fingers toying with the hair there. I look down and feel surreal in noting that Gillian has the start of soft hair between her legs as well. Gillian’s expressionless eyes continue to stare up at me from her kneeling position. I watch her blink in silence.
Anya pulls my eyes to her again with her voice, “I know you love her. She’s told me.” I glance quickly back to Gillian, feeling a stab of disappointment at her betrayal, a spike of anger at her unresponsive stare. “I could destroy you as much as you could destroy me, Miles, but I don’t think that’s what you want, is it?” I bring my eyes back to Anya and watch, fascinated, as she puts one, two, three fingers into herself. She moans with her eyes half-closed for a moment before regaining composure, fingers still inserted.
“No. That’s not what you want.” I nod at her assertion, unable to speak. “I could be pregnant even now with your father’s precious child, and you’d be ruined. Martin would never let the truth get out, even if I’m not. It would destroy him. He’d protect me even as he’d despise me, but you’d be forever thrown into the icy lake of eternal damnation, Miles. He’d never forgive you for your part in his destruction. He’d always keep you at arms-length, and you’d never have what you really want.”
I know her words are true. I’d said them to myself many nights over the last year while I tried to convince myself to stay away. My father would never completely disown me, not as long as I’m his sole heir; but he’d never allow me back into his house either. He would keep me away from Gillian.
“Touch her hair, Miles.” The simple command brings me out of my thoughts. I look from Anya to Gillian’s head twice. Gillian stays completely still. I marvel at her stoic nature against the pain from the screaming bruises and welts her mother just inflicted. I can see new marks layered over older ones as I look closely at her.
Gillian’s head is turned away from me, only looking down, not moving. Her breathing is even and slow. I reach my hand out and push my fingers into her hair. Her head is warm and her hair is soft, like always.
Gillian’s changed since I last saw her though. The softness of a child is gone. Her dark beauty is even more pronounced with her sharp angles and lean body.
Anya smiles up at me, and I watch her fingers move in and out of herself. I move my fingers on Gillian’s head in the same slow rhythm, lulled and hypnotized. “Your father is old; his health is starting to go. He can’t live forever, Miles. And when he’s gone, I’ll let you have Gillian all to yourself.” She releases the belt she’s still holding and holds out her free hand to me. I keep my hand on Gillian’s head and grasp Anya’s outstretched fingers with my other.
And so we were joined that day, the three of us. Joined in secrecy, it was a fresh start of sorts.
I’d closed the door and sealed our fates.
Anderson Valley: Simon Lamb
Walking Grace backwards, keeping her upper body tight against mine, keeping our lips searching each other, we reach the edge of my bed. I trail my tongue along her salty skin, up and down the curve of her neck, breathing in the heat from her hair as I pull her earlobe into my mouth, nibbling the edge. She’s hungry for me, rubbing her lower lip against the stubble of my cheek, reaching with her tongue to taste me.
She hasn’t closed her eyes, not completely, and the lust hasn’t left them either. I let go of one arm and run my hand down her back, feeling the marks that are raised and deep. Her gasps aren’t of pain at my touch, more moans of want. She arches into my hand, pressing herself to my fingers, begging with her body for more. I oblige her, pinching my way down the length of one stripe to its end at her luscious ass, finding another to pinch harder. Her moan doesn’t stop, but her teeth sink into my chest.
“Fuck.” I grab a fistful of hair and yank her head away from me. Her smile is fleeting but obviously a challenge as she licks her lips. "I’m not into pain, Red, only giving it.”
“How do you know unless you try it, Trust?” Her voice is syrupy sweet and dripping with lust. “I could show you.” Her eyebrow raises seductively with her lips.
I pull her hair harder, hoping to see her eyes glass with pain instead of just the lust I still see. Her lips at least lose their smirk. “I’m the teacher, Red. You’re the student. Apparently, you haven’t learned your lesson yet.” I pull her hair harder still, enough to lower her to the bed. Her back arches and legs bend to ease the stress on her head, but damn her eyes and face! Only lust. No fear. No pain. Her body responds, but only in its own want. She bends to me, but only in her own need.
I stare between her eyes, lost for a moment in my frustration. I let her go, dropping her upper body onto the bed. She remains half on, half off, her face still and calm. She waits patiently for me to make the next move. And I stand above her like an animal in heat, panting and looking over her naked and inflamed body. I can’t decide what to make of her willful denial of the pain and fear I’ve inflicted on her.
Her lack of usual response, what I expect from a girl put in this situation, is unnerving me. Fuck! I close my eyes and take one more second to get control of my emotions. I’m never at a loss when it comes to a woman naked and in my bed. I’m not about to let Grace get the better of me on
her first night here. I won’t let her see how she’s mystified me. I won’t give in to the chaos she’s creating in my mind and body.
Opening my eyes slowly, I take in her beauty. I allow the marks I’ve left on her to have their full effect on me. I feel my cock throb and grin in response to her serene stare. Her expression isn’t giving me what I want, but her body certainly is.
Seattle: Miles Vanderson
Fate. Karma. Gillian said it was our stars. I laughed at her whenever she spoke about her belief in astrology.
It was one of her quirks. She’d sit quietly during the day, withdrawn and concentrating, writing and researching through her charts and books. Then she’d read our horoscopes from that day to each of us before going to bed. She always wanted to know if they were accurate, if our days had played out the way the stars had told her to write them. It was odd that she usually gave us our horoscopes for the day that had already been, not the future that could still be, but it was a part of her quirk.
Father indulged her little hobby. He’d ask her for a prediction about one of his business dealings, and she’d very seriously answer him. He never laughed at her.
Anya was less indulgent of course, but she remained quiet since Father seemed amused by it. She’d laugh along with me, acting as if her daughter was a great joy to her. I knew the truth.
Neither of us laughed that night though. Gillian read her daily predictions as usual, but she only asked Father for an accuracy rating. She already knew that her stars had spoken the truth for the rest of us.
I don’t remember the specifics of her predictions that night. I only remember the feeling they created in me as she read them aloud. I kept glancing at Father, hoping that he wouldn’t get suspicious of their not so hidden meaning. Gillian was all but spelling out the events of that day, a confession through astrological charting, planetary alignments and conjunctions.
Anya and I remained silent, not looking at each other at all. Gillian went to bed early that night. I stayed awake long after the rest of the house went dark and quiet.
It was the start of my almost nightly ritual of reliving the events of that day over again. I sat in the library with a forgotten and unfinished glass of something in my hand, the fire burning my unblinking eyes, and I relived the scene from earlier in Gillian’s bedroom.
I’ve thought so often of that day that I could retrace every step, remember every touch down to the finest of details without leaving anything out. At will, I can picture Gillian’s eyes and how they never lost their vacant stare, not even when Anya picked up the belt again. I can recall how she didn’t cry out even when Anya hit her twice on the same darkened spot, how she didn’t speak, didn’t beg or plead. Gillian’s tears never came, not even when I pushed Anya onto the bed to be readily accepted between her open legs.
Gillian stayed on her knees, motionless, watching us. Ours was a fast, sweaty, nearly silent copulation. But we both stared at Gillian as we came, pressed together on her bed.
I left the room quickly after in a fog. Anya’s voice followed me to the door, echoing the words in my own head.
“We are one now, Miles. You, me, Gillian. We are joined together now and forever.”
She repeated something similar to me often over that next year. That we were joined, bonded, a true family not to be broken. Only her death tore us apart.
I sigh again in my lonely, dark bedroom, eyes open and unseeing. I didn’t question the validity of what Anya said because I didn’t care. I was reckless with love and lost with lust from that day on. I dove into the mess of our relationship, us, we three intertwined, from then on.
I only cared about keeping Gillian close to me. I did what I had to do, and I kept Gillian safe. I did.
I close my eyes again to continue with my bedtime story, to see Gillian’s face once more.
Anderson Valley: Simon Lamb
I put my knee on the bed in between Grace’s open legs. She’s wet and hot against me, grinding into me as I push her further onto the bed. Her hands reach for me and I grab her wrists, forcing her arms down as I position myself above her, straddling her left leg.
Her smile up at me twists a little. I can almost see her mind working. In this position, I’m vulnerable. “Try it and see what it gets you, Red.” And I almost mean it. I almost want her to fight me. I almost want her to try to get away, try to hurt me, show me more of her strength and will.
She only straightens her smile to be sweet and innocently whispers, “I’d never want to hurt such a perfect cock, Simon.” She licks her lips, lowering her voice even more. “How would you make me come then, baby?” She exaggerates a few blinks of her dark eyes.
I laugh. She’s infuriating and frustrating, but damn if I’m not liking that she isn’t meek. “Oh? You wanna come for me?”
“Yes, please.” She laughs, and her eyes dance between my mouth and my hard dick.
I drag her hands to above her head and take both wrists easily with one of my hands, moving my other arm under her waist and hoisting her up the bed to the headboard. She remains silent, not helping, not resisting.
Lying flat against her side, I can feel her heat again, feel the sweat of our skin cold against each other. I pull my face down to hers and find her lips open and greedy, her tongue fighting for every inch of my mouth. I bite her tip to get her to stop, to yield, but she only arches her neck and pulls her tongue between my teeth, moaning into my mouth. She is a willful little bitch.
I don’t let her tongue go, keeping her face pinned to mine. My free hand roams the side of her body, down her ribs, up her hip and thigh, over the skin inflamed by my whip. She wiggles and moans against my teeth, pressing her pussy into me more when I run my fingernails across raised marks. I let go of her tongue finally, pulling my face away and bringing my hand up to her tit. We’re both panting, and I can feel each breath from her tiny frame. Her eyes are glazed with desire, half-open; she wags her tongue at me, showing my teeth marks have claimed her mouth.
I like how my hand completely covers her breast—darker fingers over creamy skin, fingers that I align with the marks of the whip. I gently trace a thicker line from the top of her tit, down around her raised nipple, to the bottom of the small swell.
“Harder.” She arches against my touch, pleading the word with a deep moan for me to stop being gentle.
I laugh quietly, continuing to run my fingers across the marks I’ve given her. It’s a feather touch that brings goose bumps and hardens her nipple more. “You like pain, Grace?”
“No.” I look into her eyes at her breathy response and can see that she’s not playing. She’s not lying with this answer. She has the first hint of fear, almost panic, but it’s gone before I can savor it.
“But you ask me to hurt you more?” Our voices are so quiet, barely whispers. The yes from her lips is no more than a small sigh. “Why?” I pull away to examine her face more, my own switching between a frown and a smile.
“Because you will anyway, won’t you?” Her voice is higher, softer, and her eyes fill with tears. Her scent spikes with the familiar fragrance of fear. Gone is the lust. Fear and pain are all her eyes give me now, and her breath hisses in and out. Her body shrinks away from my touch, pushing deeper into the soft bed. She swallows hard and tries to get her breathing under control. “Please…” But she stops her whimper and closes her eyes, relaxing her body into mine.
I watch, fascinated at her quick changes, not moving. My hand rests on her tit, feeling the subtle shifts in her body as they happen. When her eyes open, her breathing is back to normal again. Her heart rate is slowed again. The tiny tears are blinked onto her lashes, making them prisms to shine against her dark lust-filled eyes. “You do want to hurt me more, don’t you, Simon?”
I laugh in response to the obvious want in her voice. “Which is it? You do or don’t like pain?”
“It excites me.” I can see that I won’t get another honest answer out of her. Even her scent is back to normal. Her whole body refuses to give
in to the pain and fear I saw for only one moment.
I move my hand to swirl my finger around her tight nipple before pinching and rubbing it between my finger and thumb. “You are amazing.” I stare into her eyes as I squeeze harder.
“Thank you.” Her voice isn’t even strained, just a whisper, a raised eyebrow. Her eyes meet mine calmly.
“How do you have such control over your body, Grace? Who taught you this?” I kiss these words next to her ear, gently brushing my lips down her face and neck. My fingers never let up.
She only smiles more, wiggling her hip against me as I twist her nipple cruelly.
“You know I’m going to break you?” I let her nipple go and rise to my knees over her, still holding her hands above her head.
“I know you want to.” Her eyes stare up at me with that softness again. “But I’ve already been broken, Simon. There’s nothing left for you to do but love me or hurt me.”
I can’t help but laugh at this answer. “You want me to love you, Grace?” The thought crossed my mind that she might be perfect for me, but love isn’t something I’ve felt before. It’s not something I’m open to.
She raises her eyes to mine again, and it’s the fear I see that takes my breath away as much as her words. “If you’re not too broken.”
Seattle: Miles Vanderson
Gillian came to me in the library that night. I didn’t hear her enter, so lost in my own thoughts and the warmth of the room. I didn’t know she was there until she stood before me in her usual spot, the fire showing me her body through her long sleep shirt.
We didn’t speak, not at first. We hadn’t spoken all day, not really. The civilities of dinner conversation, the talking around other people, the uncomfortable silence surrounding her nightly predictions: that was all we shared in terms of words that day. I hadn’t had her alone.
We Were One Once Book 1 Page 10