I crawl in between her open legs and wrap my arms around her as she does the same to me. I enter her very slowly and gently. Her little moan is high pitched and soft in my ear. I stay close to her, keeping our bodies pressed hard, just my hips rock into her. Her legs wrap around mine, pushing herself up and down with me. “Grace, come for me, baby.”
“Yes, Simon.” Her soft voice, so sweet and submissive, is almost lost in her moans. Her whole body tenses under and around me. I tense too, feeling my own need mounting, my own moan bursting out of me just as we come together. I keep pushing my hips until her moans turn into soft mews and her lips feather against my neck. I pull out as gently as I entered and move off to her side, but I keep her pressed against me, pulling her onto my chest. Our embrace is tight. Our breathing slows together.
“You are a complex girl, Grace.” I lazily twirl her hair against her head, liking the feel of its silkiness against my rough hands. “I’m still trying to figure you out. I don’t think I ever will.” I admit this quietly. I don’t add that I don’t care if I ever do as long as she stays with me.
She smiles, kissing my chest. “Probably not. You are a conflicted man, Simon.” I can’t argue with that.
“Are you hungry?” She nods. “Good. Get cleaned up and dressed quickly.” I pull my arm from under her and swing my legs off the bed.
She responds quickly, “Yes, Sir.” I turn around and she salutes me with a grin, but I can see the underlying layer of submission; she means it too. Like her crawling to me and asking permission to suck me, this is her way of showing her willingness to continue the submission she gave me yesterday. It’s not the match to my darker desires, but a match to my obvious need for control. This is her offer to give the equal parts that I need from her. I’m still confused by her, by my reactions to her. In so many ways.
“Grace…do you want to stay here with me?” I’m glad that I was able to keep the weakness out of my voice. Still, I sound husky and raw, like the words are hard for me to say.
She nods, kneeling on the bed, her hands between her legs—the picture of submission. “Do you want me to stay, Simon?” Her voice sounds sweet and hopeful.
I nod too. “Let’s talk more over breakfast, sweetheart. Get dressed.”
Breakfast is a strange ordeal. The warm sunshine and flowering trees don’t do their usual magic on my mood. The mix of my unfamiliar embarrassment over Grace’s fat lip and our awkwardness with each other far outweigh the surrounding beauty.
I try to avoid seeing the staff stare at her, then me. I can feel my face heat every time I glance at her mouth stretched for a bite. The bruise is only uglier in the bright sun.
I’m shocked that this doesn’t have the usual effect on me either. I liked seeing the whip marks. I was obviously turned on by those as usual. Seeing her face battered though…it has the opposite effect. I stop even trying to eat, just sip my coffee and quietly watch her. I’m lost in thinking my thoughts, the same ones from last night.
Grace is oblivious to anyone else. Her odd breakfast habits keep her focused on her plate of pancakes. She didn’t have anything to doodle with, so she played with the fruit plate instead. She turned orange slices and strawberries into happy faces, bananas slices and blueberries into sailboats and oceans.
I thought about not letting her, but she seemed so happy. I stopped caring about what the staff thought and just enjoyed watching her strange ritual. At least she isn’t upset with me. She completely ignores the marks I left on her. She doesn’t seem to feel her swollen lip at all when she takes big bites of syrupy pancake.
When she is finally finished, she slowly lowers her silverware just like yesterday. Grace looks up at me for the first time since sitting down at my table. I dismiss the staff so we can talk in private.
She smiles at me, wiping her mouth gently. She seems to finally feel the pain from her lip. I frown watching her dab at her mouth with a wet napkin, but she speaks before I can say anything. “Please don’t apologize again, Simon. I know you’re sorry.”
“But I want to say I’m sorry over and over until you’re healed, Grace!” And I’m shocked, not just at the words, but that I mean them. The same damn emotions from last night are choking my words this morning.
“You mean that.” It’s not a question. She’s surprised by it too. “I thought you were into hurting women…that you liked it.”
I let out the breath I was holding. “Yes. That’s true.” I take her hand over the table; it’s sticky from the fruit. “I told you part of the truth yesterday. I bring women here to break them, train them, sell them. I’ve done this to about twenty women over the past four years.” I don’t know why I’m telling her this. Making amends? I don’t care. Her eyes remain soft—no shock, no fear, no judgment.
“I was going to do this to you when I first saw you.” For some reason, I hesitate to say that I saw her over a year ago when she was hiding, that I know about her two lives. I instinctively think this would be what would frighten her.
Her face remains impassive, calm. She even smiles at me as I continue, “I am sadistic. I was honest yesterday when I said that.” I glance down at the deep V of her shirt; a few whip marks are visible. “I liked whipping you. I liked how excited it made you too, but I enjoy it usually even if the girl doesn’t.” Again, I’m shocked at my own honesty, at how calmly I’m admitting this to her, and at how calmly she’s taking it. “So, yes, I like to cause pain, to see what I’ve done…usually. But…” I falter trying to make sense of my thoughts and these fucking churned up emotions.
“But you regret hurting me like this.” It’s another non-question. Her eyes are searching mine though, looking for confirmation. I can only nod and squeeze her fingers. “I appreciate your honesty. I understand the difference between your hurting my body for sexual pleasure versus out of fear.”
I shake my head in surprise at her clinical tone, like the pain happened to someone else or she read about it in a report. Then I realize she said I acted out of fear. I frown, taking my hand back. “I wasn’t afraid, Grace. You weren’t going to be able to hurt me, not unless I let you.”
“I know you weren’t reacting to the silliness with the poker, but you were frightened when I said you were broken too.” This time she doesn’t look for a confirmation. She only sits back and rubs her hands more with the napkin, not looking at me at all.
“And I told you yesterday to watch how you speak to me.” She’s hitting too close to the truth, to the frightening feel of being overly exposed around her. I feel like I can’t hide anything from her, like I don’t even want to. Fuck.
She looks up, wide-eyed and sarcastic. “Oh. Are we done being honest with each other then?” It’s the first sign of her not being completely submissive. But she’s still soft, still her.
I shake my head at my crazy thoughts. She’s right. I won’t admit to being afraid, but I do want answers from her. “No. I have more questions for you.”
“Okay. I’ll do my best to answer them then…as long as you do the same.” She sits up and puts her hands flat on the table. Her face is composed still, but I can see a shadow to her eyes, a pulling back of her open, soft expression.
“You said you have a safeword, but you’ve never used it. How many Masters have you had?”
She frowns, shaking her head, obviously uncomfortable with the word. “I had one boyfriend once that called himself that. He said I needed a word, so I gave him one. It was over quickly. Why does being broken frighten you so much?” She doesn’t miss a beat.
“Because I’ve been told before that what I like, what I want, isn’t normal.” I laugh at myself. “Of course, selling women isn’t normal, at least in this country, but I don’t think I’m broken just because I like things rough.” Before she can respond, I direct a question back to her. “So this boyfriend of yours taught you to submit and take a lot of pain?”
“No. He didn’t.” Her pause isn’t long. “I don’t think you’re broken for liking rough sex, Simon. I think
you’re broken because even the thought of loving someone is enough to scare you. Have you ever been in love?”
“No. I haven’t.” I cock an eyebrow at her. Two can play at the short answers. I don’t argue with her assessment either though. “But you can take a lot of pain. You were perfect yesterday while I whipped you.” She smiles at this, like I just praised her for a job well done. “So who taught you that?” She only shakes her head. “You’re not going to answer me?”
She nods slightly. “I’m sorry, Simon. I can’t.” But this doesn’t stop her from asking her own question, “Why did you pick me?”
“Because you were so obviously broken. I liked the challenge.” She isn’t shocked by my answer, only nods like this is what she thought already. “You said you belong to someone else. Who?”
She shakes her head again, a look of regret on her face. “I guess I can’t reciprocate your honesty after all.”
“So no more questions?”
“It wouldn’t be fair if you answer all of mine, and I can’t answer any of yours.” I laugh at her earnest reply. She doesn’t laugh with me.
“And being fair is important to you, Grace?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Because life’s been unfair to you?”
“Something like that.”
“So you won’t tell me about your training or who you belong to… Do you love him?” I stop myself from holding my breath; I brace myself to not react one way or another to her answer. Jealousy is new for me but controlling myself isn’t.
“Yes. And no.”
“Which is it? Yes or no?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It never is, sweetheart.” Before she can reply, I interrupt, “Does he live around here?”
“No. Why do you care if I love someone else?” I’m thrown by how she continues to challenge me, I had expected her to back down by now.
“Who says I care?”
She only raises her eyebrow to this answer. “What makes you think I’m broken?”
I laugh again. “You’re kidding, right?” She shakes her head. I debate telling her that I know about her time in Chinatown, that I have a theory about her. I decide to skirt this for now. “You were fucking your boyfriend’s brother and me.” Her face flushes with embarrassment, and she looks down quickly. I lean forward to touch her blush, to feel her warmth. I want to kiss her cheek, but I resist. Her eyes are startled up to mine at my gentle touch. I smile and add, “I’m not judging, Grace.” She returns my smile with only a small upturn of her lips. I frown at her bruised face, feeling my own embarrassment, saying quieter, “I believe it’s your turn.”
“Why are you being so nice to me now, Simon?”
“Who says I am?” I grin but quickly add, “I want you to stay.” Her smile is the same as last night, like I just gave her the biggest, most expensive present she’s ever received. “I want to know more about you.” And it’s gone just like that, replaced with a deep frown.
I decide to press my luck. “I think you hide yourself away, and I don’t want you to do that with me. I want to know all of you.”
She shakes her head, sad. “I told you last night, I can’t give you all of me.”
“Why not? Because you belong to some asshole that hurt you? Are you running from him? Is that why you’re hiding?” I know I’ve pushed her too far.
I lean forward, looking into her eyes as they slowly blank, the color becoming darker. Her face relaxes even more and in a blink, she’s stretching. A spell broken. Arms high above her head, one hand caresses down the other arm to her shoulder. Her free hand falls to fluff her hair—a cat primping in the sunshine. Her eyes sparkle, and her mischievous wicked grin is back, a little off kilter from the swelling.
She brings her fingers up to her lip, touching lightly. Her tongue darts out to run over the broken skin. “Jesus, Trust.” It’s the oddest thing to watch, like it’s the first time she’s realizing I hit her.
“I’m sorry,” I say again but this time with a flat tone, studying her reaction.
“You should be!”
I frown, continuing in the same flat tone, hiding any reaction, “You just said you didn’t want me to apologize more.”
“Oh.” She squints at me before waving her hand in the air. “Well, I can say some pretty stupid shit sometimes. I think you should get down on your knees and beg my forgiveness for messing up my pretty face. I have a job in a few days, and this is going to look like crap on camera.” She manages a good pout despite the swelling, or maybe because of it.
“Not going to happen, Red.” My voice is still flat, but I’m getting excited. I’m getting used to seeing her quick change in behavior, but it’s still startling in its extremes. “I told you that you’re not leaving here, and you said you wanted to stay anyway.”
I took a psychology class in college and became pretty fascinated with abnormal behavior for a while. Maybe it was from being forced to see a shrink when I was a teenager. I liked finding out how little is known about the human psyche. The shrinks want to all act like they have everything figured out, but the reality is they don’t know shit either.
I continued long after the class to research on my own. I learned many useful tips on conditioning. I learned even more useful tips about selecting the right girls for myself and others.
Grace’s behavior is textbook abnormal, but I’m still not sure I believe what I’m seeing. Or what I think I’m seeing anyway. It would explain a few things. I started speculating last night while I watched her sleep. My crazy ass theory has solidified this morning, talking to her.
“Well, I’m not going to stay if this is how you’re going to treat me.” She rises to stand, glaring at me. Her hands are firmly planted on the table though.
“Sit down, Red. Or I’ll take my belt to you right here.” I lower my hand to the top of my shorts. I watch for her reaction, making a bet with myself about it.
Her smile twitches, and her fingers tap against the table. “All right, but only because you asked so nicely.” She slowly sits back down, pushing her chair back and crossing her legs dramatically. I can’t help but notice that her hands run up and down her legs, over her thighs and hips. She’s teasing and tempting again.
I’m starting to think of this version as Red and the other version as Grace. Versions? Fuck. I don’t know what I’m getting myself into. I’m excited, though, and oddly aroused again.
San Francisco: Miles Vanderson
“I’ll go in alone.” I don’t glance at Spencer standing behind me as I turn the knob to the unlocked front door. He’s already determined that Gillian isn’t here.
“Of course, Sir.” He backs off and turns to walk down the hall. “I’ll keep an eye out downstairs, just in case she returns.”
I tersely nod in agreement, frustrated. I enter Gillian’s apartment and close the door quietly, taking a moment to breathe in the scent before looking around. The place is bright with a view of the city down the steep hill out of the large windows. It’s all white with primary colors punching the eyes in accents everywhere. She favors red still in the pillows and curtains, and it’s practically a forest with plants strewn all around.
Spencer said she hasn’t been here in weeks, but she obviously has a service to take care of everything. Gillian was obsessively neat unless she was on one of her rampages, but those were always brief.
I smile with this thought. I was always able to get her out of those fairly quickly. She usually calmed fast enough when I strapped her down to her bed.
I walk to the frames hanging over the white sectional sofa. The childish drawing of a park and houses draws my attention. After her mother died, I allowed her to put up a few of these in her bedroom, but not anywhere that could be seen by anyone else.
Seeing the evidence of her here only adds to my frustration. Spencer said that he hasn’t seen her in person yet. He doesn’t technically know where she is at the moment. She had some sort of falling out with the boyfriend and hasn’t
returned to his apartment or here. He’s assured me that he’ll find her quickly.
I worry, though, that she’s lost in another personification of herself. These never last very long, but I’m still concerned that it will delay finding her. I haven’t shared this information with any of the investigators before, fearing it would tarnish our future happiness once she was found, but now may be the time to clue Spencer in on her unusual state of mind. I won’t lose her again, not when I’m so close to finding her. If I have to reveal a few family secrets, so be it.
I turn to the door of her bedroom. All is perfect here too. I frown at the clothes hanging in her closet, all too tight and revealing for her. They’re borderline indecent, reminding me of her horrifying job as a model. No matter. She won’t need any of this once she’s back where she belongs.
I sit on her bed and make a mental checklist of all that needs to be done. I can feel her close, and this excites me but also steadies my mind again. I’ve been in a fugue of misery since she ran. Now, I can think clearly again.
On her nightstand is a large, hardbound book of astrology signs for lovers. She hasn’t changed much at least. I turn to the page for Taurus Woman/Aries Man and rip it out, scrawling across the top
“Gillian – Our stars align again at last, my love. – Miles”
I smile imagining the panic this little note will create for her. I leave the page propped against her pillow. She’ll try to run, but she won’t escape. Not this time.
I head out of the apartment, closing the door quietly after one last look. I won’t return here. Gillian will be brought to me at my hotel suite. Hopefully, soon.
Downstairs, Spencer is pacing the sidewalk across the street. The large bouldered wall of rock behind him rises to a jagged peak with a house perched on top. This part of the city is safer than most when it comes to earthquakes, but the homes all still look precariously hanging onto the hills to me, leaning against each other for support. I hope not to be staying long enough to feel a quake myself.
We Were One Once Book 1 Page 13