“All right, Grace.” At this, she smiles—a sweet, wide smile that startles me. It’s a smile I’ve only seen when I give a girl an extravagant gift, not after I’ve just whipped her or when I’m holding her down. I brush my thumb across her soft lips, and she smiles even more for me. I’m distracted from the craziness of a moment ago by her beauty, her openness.
“Why did you freak out? What was it that I said or did that had you so afraid and angry?” I try for a gentle tone, but my natural authority, my naturally controlling tone, comes through anyway.
She swallows hard but bravely doesn’t look away. I can see the fear in her eyes again—what I’ve wanted to see for so long—but this isn’t how I wanted it to be. I knew she was broken; that was part of the challenge with her. I had no idea just how broken she was though, and now that she’s here—under me, wearing my marks…I don’t know what to think. My fucking feelings are getting in the way.
“You said I was yours.” Her voice is flat, holding back emotions that her eyes only hint.
“And that made you angry?”
“No.” She pauses, looking down at my mouth again for a brief second. “Yes. But mostly afraid.”
“Why afraid?” She shakes her head, closing her eyes. “No. Look at me!” Her eyes pop open, and I have a momentary thought that I’m glad she didn’t change in that second. She’s still soft and open, sweet. I’m able to soften my tone a little. “Why afraid, Grace?” She responds to me using her name, almost smiling.
“I don’t belong to you.”
I chuckle at this. I look down at her body, pinned under mine. “Yes. You do.”
“I can’t belong to you when I already belong to another.” She shakes with the last word, her eyes pierced with fear, filled with tears. I can smell it on her, feel it from her, and I’m rattled by a stab of jealousy.
I’ve never felt jealous before. Whatever I’ve wanted, I’ve had. I’ve taken. No woman has been out of my reach unless I placed her there by my own rules. I’ve stolen women from other men before, just for the fun of it or because I could. It’s not a game I play often, too boring and easy, but I’ve never had a woman refuse me yet. And I’ve never lost a woman to another man. Even Raquel begged me not to push her away. She said she’d find a way to get out of marrying that other guy. I was the one that ended things with her.
Grace is slightly calmer when she speaks before I can, “I don’t want to lead you on, Simon.”
I laugh at this, shaking my head at her seriousness. She’s whipped, in my home, under my control, and she’s worried about leading me on?! But she speaks again before I stop laughing, “I can’t give you what you want.”
I still shake my head, now with equal parts confusion and amusement. “What is it you think I want, Grace?”
“Me. All of me.”
I grin. “I think I already have you right where I want you, sweetheart.”
She shakes her head, a look of sadness in her eyes. No. Pity? “You hide almost as much as I do.” She laughs at her own words, short but sweet—a soft, sad, tinkling bell sound. I automatically put my hand on the side of her throat to feel it, and she smiles like she understands my need. “I can’t give you all of me. It’s not mine to give anymore.”
She moves finally, lifting one hand off the bed and placing it lightly on my chest. Her fingers are delicate and cool, lightly rubbing just the tips against my skin. My chest pops in goose bumps. “For what it’s worth, some of me is already yours. You’ll never have all of me though. I’m sorry, Simon.”
I react without thinking, grabbing her arms and holding her down again, growling inches from her face. “I have all of you right now, Grace! You’re not going anywhere, and you will give yourself to me! Whether you try to fight me or not.”
She only adds to my anger by smiling sweetly up at me, ignoring the pain in her wrists I must be causing. Her voice is airy and cool. “I’m sorry.” She moves her eyes back to the spot she was just touching on my chest. “I wish I could give you what you need, Simon. I wish…” She looks back into my eyes with that look of pity again. “I wish we weren’t so broken.”
I lose it. I let go of her and backhand her across the mouth hard. Hard enough to break open her lip. Hard enough to see her bright red blood smear across her white teeth. Hard enough to scrape open the skin of my knuckle on her tooth.
I jump off her. I expect her to react with the same wild anger, to charge at me. I hope she will. I want her to hurt me back. I would let her hurt me. I stand, shaking and panting, waiting for her to move. I stand completely open, but she stays on the bed, unmoving. I didn’t hit her hard enough to knock her out.
“Grace?” I whisper her name, not stepping towards her. Her hair covers her face; her body lies still and lifeless. Her stomach rises and falls with even breaths, as if in a deep sleep. “Grace.” I stand next to the bed, bumping it with my legs. There’s no reaction, no movement still.
I sit on the bed and reach slowly towards her face. No change. I brush her hair off to the side, trailing wisps of her blood along her jaw. Her face is still soft, innocent, marred only by the ugliness of my anger. The urge to protect her again shoots pain up my stomach, clenching the air from my lungs. I’m overwhelmed by its suddenness and strength, the unfamiliarity of feeling anything for a girl.
I swallow back the tears I feel stinging my eyes. I lean forward and gently kiss her lips, staining my own with the pain I’ve caused, with the mark of my shame. One tear falls on her cheek, and I watch it roll to the side to get lost in her hair. It follows the path of her one tear.
I’ve never lost my temper like that. I’ve hit women. I’ve brutalized women, all in the name of the game I play, all calculated and in control. I’ve been merciless in my demand for complete obedience and submission before, but I’ve never once lost control of myself. I’ve never even once been emotional around a woman before.
I gently wipe the spot on her cheek made wet with my tear. I can feel more wanting to escape. Instead, I jump up and head to the bathroom. I avoid looking at myself in the mirrors, avoid turning on a light. I reach for a washcloth and wet it with cold water.
Grace is still as she was on the bed, unmoving. I gently wipe her mouth and face. Her lip is already swelling, but the cut is small at least. I lean down for one more kiss on her cheek and whisper, “I’m sorry, Grace.”
I’ve never apologized for something I’ve done. I think I apologized to my grandfather once…maybe. I take a deep breath against more tears and stand up, covering Grace with a blanket. I move to sit at the chair next to the fireplace, watching her peaceful breathing.
In Flight: Miles Vanderson
Today will be a good day. Hopefully.
I’m heading to San Francisco to weed through Spencer’s latest findings in person. The man has proved worth his weight in gold so far. I know where Gillian has been since she left my house three years ago. Just saying these words to myself is a miracle. Spencer has certainly earned his bonus payment.
I turn my face towards the window to hide my content from the flight attendant. I already told her that I didn’t need anything else, but she’s been back to pester me a few times. She’s pretty enough and her blowjobs are nice, but I’ll have to replace her. I can’t have staff around that doesn’t follow my expressed wishes.
I go back to thinking more about Gillian, smiling to myself. I know she has a small apartment. So she’s living with a boyfriend but not permanently. More importantly, she didn’t leave me to be with him.
The thought didn’t really cross my mind for more than a second. Gillian didn’t even have any contact with anyone outside of my home for the last year she was with me. I kept her fairly hidden away. She was all for me alone. So I knew from the start that she hadn’t run away to be with another man.
I still don’t understand why she ran when things were so settled between us. She’ll be able to explain it herself soon enough though. Hopefully, today. Such a nice thought. I’ll have Gillian with me, where she belongs, today.
Spencer said she’s been modeling. I try to envision this. My Gillian, so shy and quiet, a model? He sent me a few samples of her work. I force myself not to think about the more pornographic ones. She was nearly nude in some of them. I try not to imagine finding her on some lewd modeling job today.
It no longer matters. I’ll purchase the rights to any images of her. No one else will ever see them again. Gillian really should know better than to put herself on display for just anyone to see. Maybe it’s just another way of acting out, rebelling against me?
Her eyes in a few of the photos are still haunting me. I know the looks. I know all of her looks. All the incarnations of my Gillian. She can’t hide from me, not any longer.
She’ll learn soon enough what happens when she tries to run and hide. She’ll learn what all her acting out and rebelling has earned her. I smile contentedly at these thoughts. Hopefully, today.
I’ll fire the flight attendant when we land. I don’t want her on the flight back with Gillian and me. I won’t want any distractions then.
Anderson Valley: Simon Lamb
“Mr. Simon?” It takes me a minute to realize where I am, to fully open my eyes. To remember yesterday.
There’s another knock on my bedroom door as I look down at my feet. Grace is curled against my legs, sitting on the floor with her cheek pressed to my knee. My hand is buried in her hair. She’s wrapped in the blanket I used last night to cover her. I don’t know when she moved from the bed to the floor.
I clear my throat, and Grace slowly raises her head to look at me. She’s soft and pretty except for the side of her mouth. I wince when her attempt to smile stops with a small frown.
I’m stiff from sitting all night in the chair, but I gently move my leg from behind her to stand. “Don’t move.”
I quietly grab the key from a side dresser. When I turn the knob to open it, a servant is just turning away. “Good morning, Hillary.” I keep the door mostly closed, hiding my naked lower body behind it. I no longer take my sadistic pleasures out on the staff. I stopped that childish behavior long ago, but I’m also acutely aware of Grace behind me.
“Sorry to disturb you, Sir. Will you be coming down for breakfast, or would you like it served in here this morning?”
I glance back at Grace, sitting motionless on the floor. “Please serve on the upstairs veranda. We’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
She nods and walks quickly away. My staff is used to my routine. That’s why she was knocking; I never sleep in this late. I close the door but don’t lock it again.
Turning slowly back to Grace, I’m suddenly nervous. Yesterday didn’t go at all how I’d intended. Last night was a disaster. I have no idea how she’ll be this morning, despite waking to find her sitting at my heels like a loyal pet.
I watched her till late in the night. I don’t know what time I finally fell asleep, but it was after a long time thinking about her.
I was honest with myself. I admitted that I didn’t want to treat Grace like the usual girl I bring here. From the start—not putting her in the trunk, having her join me for a nice dinner—it wasn’t a girl’s typical first day here with me. I couldn’t pinpoint the moment, though, that she went from a girl I want to train to a girl I just want. When she went from a girl I want to hurt for my own pleasure to a girl I cried over.
It disturbed me. It still does. I don’t like feeling out of control, yet I was with her. I don’t like going against my routines and plans, yet I have with her every time I’ve been near her.
I cried over her! Fuck. That just doesn’t happen to me. I’m still shaken this morning, still unsure of what to do. I stay against the door, only watching her. She watches me back with her eyes wide and barely blinking.
I came to terms with what made me angry last night too. Grace didn’t respond how I expected. She was perfect in yielding to my whipping her, but she was a pain in the ass when it came to getting anything else from her. She showed that she was willing to be completely submissive to me, but she refused to show any fear or pain doing it. She went from strong and challenging to soft and sweet in the blink of an eye. Oh, and to homicidal fencing pro too. I glance over at the poker still on the floor. Grace doesn’t follow my eyes, just keeps looking up at me.
It wasn’t her attempt to hurt me that angered me though. I liked that she was fighting me. It wasn’t her refusal to give me any sign of fear either. Her excitement only fueled my own. For the first time, I felt I had a woman under my control that could truly appreciate my darkest desires, match them with her own even.
I never knew what was missing from all of the other products I trained for other men. It wasn’t the submission because that was always there, same as their fear and pain. I thought those were what I craved. With Grace, I had her submission without fear or pain. I had her compliance, her like-mindedness, a thirst for what only I could quench. And Grace was craving for more. I wanted more.
I only became angry when she was soft and sweet and open, insisting that I was broken. It was an instant and unfamiliar reaction. I felt too defenseless by her words. She’s obviously crazy, obviously broken, yet she was pitying me?! I can feel myself getting angry again just standing here, angry and more uncertain—more unfamiliar feelings again.
Her mercurial changes in behavior are beyond crazy. I should drive her back to the city and dump her. I should just forget about her, but the thought makes my stomach flip-flop. The thought that she’ll want to leave this morning has the same effect. I won’t let her go, but I want her to want to stay with me. I want the woman that craves my same desires and the one that brings out this unfamiliar openness in me.
I have no idea what to say to her. Plenty I could say, like “you’re right, I’m a messed up prick that’s never had a close relationship with anyone or anything.” Or “sorry about the welts and broken lip; can we start over?” Fuck.
“Good morning, Simon.” Her voice is clear and sweet. She’s beautiful—still no hint of fear or pain. She moves her hand out from under the blanket and tentatively touches her lip, with just her fingertips though.
“Sorry about that.” I can’t believe I’m apologizing again. Maybe because I hurt her unintentionally? Out of uncontrolled anger? Go ahead, tough guy, say it. Out of unfamiliar fear. I was angry with her because I was afraid she was right. That I am too broken to be with her.
“You already apologized last night.” But she’s not looking back up at me. Her cheeks flame red.
“I thought you were asleep.” Or passed out.
“I heard you.” Her eyes lift to me, and I have an unsettling urge to drop to my knees and beg her forgiveness over and over. What the fuck is wrong with me? “I thought you brought me here to enslave me?”
“I did.” I want to say that I’ve changed my mind, but I don’t because I haven’t made up my mind. I don’t know if I want her around at all if it means being out of control.
“Yet you apologize when you hurt me?”
“I’m not apologizing for the rest of it. Just that.” I at least sound convincing.
She seems to remember that her body is peppered with whip marks, like she didn’t feel them before I mentioned it. She lowers the blanket to fan out around herself, revealing red and swollen lines across her upper body. Her hair hides some, but her tits are obviously a mess of welts. I wince again, seeing what I did to her.
And I’m hard.
I’m awkwardly aware of being nude again. I look around but don’t see any way of covering without making it obvious that I’m self-conscious right now. I look back at Grace, and she’s watching me with a strange look on her face. It’s like she can see right through me. I’m too open to her, too exposed.
She rises on her knees and moves the blanket further off herself. I can see more marks lining her stomach and legs, but she’s moving so lithely and smoothly, without any sign of pain; I’m distracted watching her.
Before I realize her intentions, she’s crawling on all fours to me, tentative
at first, looking to see if I’ll stop her. I don’t say anything, transfixed with watching her cat crawl to me. When she’s inches away, she stops, rising on her knees. Her hands reach slowly out, still watching to see if I’ll halt her; she takes my hard dick in her cool and gentle hands.
I have a brief thought that she could be planning to hurt me and try to escape, but her eyes tell a different story. It’s not her seductive, mischievous look from before. There’s a hint of something close to wanting, lust that is undeniable. I almost moan seeing it. That and her hands are ringing up and down my cock, twisting the shaft and pulling on my balls with the most perfect gentle pressure and gliding.
“Grace…” I can’t believe I’m going to tell her to stop, but I think we need to talk. In a minute maybe. My stomach clenches when she slides a finger up and over the wet tip.
“May I?” I feel her gently pulling my cock towards her open mouth, but the sight of her cracked lip and bruised face is enough to shake me out of the moment.
I put my hands on her shoulders. “Grace, your mouth…”
She ignores this and puts the tip of me between her lips. I can feel the warmth of her breath before she flicks her tongue out to tease the opening, to trace around the top. Her mouth wraps around me, and I let out a long moan as she pulls more of me into her.
She’s gentle, pushing her tongue on me with a soft pressure. She doesn’t take me as deep, but her tongue runs up and down every inch and her hands glide over me. I can feel myself getting close to coming, but I want more of her.
I gently pull her head away, and she gives me her sweet, soft smile. On her knees, covered in my marks, but with the most angelic and sweet face, she’s perfect. I help her stand, and she turns to quickly crawl on the bed, lying down with her arms outstretched for me. I have a crazy thought about wanting to make love to her. Not just sex, not just fucking hard like we’ve done so far, but giving her something more to keep her smiling so sweetly at me, to keep her soft and open for me.
We Were One Once Book 1 Page 12