“It’s why I need to stay, Simon.”
I laugh, exasperated with this circular logic again. She’s been trying to convince me to let her stay, and we’ve been back and forth getting nowhere. When I threatened to leave her here, locked in the room alone until she dressed, she finally did, but she kept her string of reasoning going the whole time.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe not to you, but it does to us.”
Fuck. There it is again. Us. It’s insane how quickly I’ve gotten used to talking to her like she’s a committee. “So why does it make sense to you?” I can feel that I’m losing ground. I don’t really want to take her back to the city, but I think it’s the right thing to do. I’ve never been big on right and wrong, only on getting what I want. Yet, I feel an overwhelming urge to protect her, even from myself. She hasn’t said anything so far that’s convinced me that I’m making a mistake.
“Because you accept me. Just as we are.” I’m getting used to her crazy way too quickly. She’s right though. I didn’t even really blink an eye at finding out that she truly is batshit nuts. I accepted it as the only answer that ultimately explained all of the other craziness I knew about her.
It explained my crazy reaction to her too. I want to be soft and open for her just as much as I want to torture her. My response to her has splintered into equal parts of familiar and unfamiliar.
“So?”
“So. We accept you too. Just as you are.” It’s her first argument that packs a punch—a crazy punch.
“You accept that I get off on torture? That I was willing to kidnap you and keep you here against your will?”
“Yes.” I expect her to say something more, but she only continues to blink at me.
“This is crazy, Grace!” I regret the word choice as soon I say it, but she only smiles sweeter at me and laughs a little. I can’t help but laugh too.
“Let me ask you something, Simon…and answer me with complete honesty, okay?”
“I’ve been honest so far, so why stop now?”
She takes a deep breath. “Would you have threatened or hurt me when I was playing with my breakfast earlier, when I was a child that was too young to form many words even?” I shake my head, remembering her as she was this morning and at the diner. I was thinking she was a mess and completely adorable—not a word I’m comfortable using normally. I had that protective urge again too, not wanting her to notice the stares from the staff.
“How about when I’m shy and sheltered, like I was in Chinatown, scared of my own shadow?” I shake my head again. I saw Grace for the first time when she was like that. It’s what drew me to her. But now, knowing what I know, I couldn’t hurt her if she was like that again. I’d want to protect her, to give her as much space or as little or whatever the fuck else she’d need to make her feel safer.
“And if I’m wild with anger and fear?”
“Like with the poker yesterday?” She nods. “No. I wouldn’t let you hurt yourself or anyone else either though.” She smiles again, and my stomach sinks. My heart thumps too loudly in my ears. Fuck.
“And how about now?” Her sweet voice takes on a little of the huskiness—the bashful lust I saw from her this morning. She puts her hands on my chest, and her warmth is almost searing. I feel a lump in my throat that I can’t swallow down. I can only shake my head. “But you want to hurt the girl you like to call Red, don’t you?” I shake my head, but it’s not convincing to either of us. I want to hurt the shit out of that girl.
She smiles. “The girl you whipped yesterday. The girl you…had sex with before…she likes pain. She doesn’t feel it like the rest of us. She’s like you…what frightens us, excites her.”
I put my hands over hers. “But you’d all feel the pain of what I’d do to your body eventually.” I move my hands to her shirt, gently gliding over her stiff nipples. Her gasp is a moan of pleasure though, not the painful wince I was expecting.
Her eyes close more. “We have great control of my body, Simon.” It’s an airy, eerie voice—one I’ve heard from her before. It’s a strange mix of her soft sweetness and huskier depth, a fog circling around each word in a slightly halting tempo. When she opens her eyes again, her voice is back to normal, the normal sweet, soft tone anyway. “I don’t like pain, but I can ignore it. I can pull myself in just enough to never feel what happens to me. I’ve done this all my life. We all have.”
I can see the abused little girl she must have been, the one that had to become what she is now in order to survive. What monster hurt such a sweet girl? “I can’t hurt you more than you’ve already been hurt, Grace. I’m an asshole, an abusive prick…but I can’t. I said you wouldn’t have choices with me, and you still don’t. I’m taking you back.”
“And I told you, Simon. You can’t break me. We’re already broken.” She smiles, and I’m just about lost. “But you can accept me, and that’s good enough for us. For now.” She stretches up and puts her lips close to mine. “Is it good enough for you to be accepted?”
I should grab her and get the hell out of here. I should drag her ass back to San Francisco and out of my life. I should, but I don’t.
I’m a bad, bad man.
Instead, I grab her and lift her straight up, holding her against me, pressing our lips together in a hard kiss, a kiss that says what I can’t. It’s a kiss that says what I won’t admit—I want her, I need her. All of her batshit craziness, it’s what I crave.
Her arms wrap around me, and I carry her back to my bed. Her lips stay soft against mine; her tongue seeks me out but gently—our sweet dance. I set her down, but her hands keep pulling me to her.
I pry her arms loose and give her a wicked grin. If this is going to work, then she needs to get used to playing by my rules. She frowns and smiles; her shy looks make me harder.
“Get undressed, Grace.” She seems nervous. Her fingers fidget and fly over her clothes, trying to get them off quickly for me. I don’t help her, just keep watching. Grace has a matching red bra and underwear set on. It’s sweet but still sexy. “Stop right there.”
The marks on her body are graffiti on her creamy canvas. Most are fading, but some are thicker and heavier in places. I run my hands gently over her shoulders and down her sides. She shivers and wiggles for me.
I lean over and whisper in her ear, “Stay still, sweet girl.” She smiles her answer.
I run my hands back up her stomach, over her tits and chest, feeling the deeper welts. Amazingly, Grace gasps in need, her hunger obvious, her eyes closing partially. I know she said she could withdraw herself from the pain, but I’m still in awe of her. I’m being gentle, but I know it has to sting in spots.
“Now you can finish undressing for me.” She opens her eyes, and the sweetness I see there is only made deeper by the lust that has her cheeks flushed. She quickly removes everything and stands ready for me. She may be innocent, but she’s also very submissive, giving in to her pleasure at pleasing me with her obedience.
I pull her face to mine, rubbing my thumbs over her cheeks. I still wince seeing the bruise next to her beautiful mouth. Her smile changes and a laugh enters her voice. “Would it help if I hit you, Simon?” I bring my eyes back up to hers and can see more laughter waiting to spill.
“You better never, sweetheart.” But I smile at her too. I whisper a kiss over the side of her mouth. I have no idea how any of this will work out, but right now, I don’t give a shit. I just want her, and she’s right; I want all of her, even if that means only getting a piece at a time.
I stand back and get my own clothes off quickly. Grace is still nervous, still tentative, but her eyes aren’t bashful anymore. She follows my every move, licking her lips even. I put my thumb against her lower lip, ignoring the bruise now, just as Grace is so easily able to do. She opens and sucks my thumb, her eyes pleading for more—pleading her desire to please me.
“On the bed.” She makes me laugh by falling backwards, arms out like a child in the snow. She re
aches with her hands out to me. I collapse on top of her, feeling a strange longing to stay in her embrace. I want to lose whole days feeling her warmth, claiming every inch of her, stealing all her sweet smiles with a kiss.
Her hips moving under me take my thoughts in a different direction though. I push her legs open with mine. Her hips tilt, and she brings her legs up around my waist. Our lips find each other just as I enter her. Her soft cry out fills my mouth.
I’m not as gentle this time. I push into her with more need, and she responds with her own. We stay close, pressing every inch together that we can. Our lips never leave each other. I lift her off the bed with one hand under her, pushing her to me, me to her. Our hips move together, only apart as far as we can reach without letting go, then smashing together as tight as possible. Our grunts are in sync. Panting heavily, we come together. I don’t let her go, staying in her as long as I can, smothering her body and mouth.
When our skin grows cold, I finally move to her side. She whimpers when our lips are no longer touching. I prop myself up on my elbow so I can look down on her, tracing the lines of her face with one finger. “You are such a sweet girl, Grace. I’ll never hurt you. I promise.” She kisses my finger when I brush over her lips, over her smile. I look up and see the syrup sitting on the nightstand. “Oh, damn. I meant to use that on you.”
She laughs her deep laugh. I know before looking down that she’s changed; she’s no longer the soft, sweet version I just made love to. Her mischievous grin is back. “Save the sweet stuff, Trust. I prefer what’s in your cabinet.”
I lean down and kiss her throat; she laughs for me again. “Stay right here, Red.” I move off the bed. When I reach the armoire, I turn around to look at her.
She stretches out for me, opening her legs and putting her hands over her head. She’s a perfect invitation to use and abuse her—a wanton lust for what she knows comes next. I have no idea how any of this can work, but I think I just hit the jackpot. I can have my sweet cake and beat it too.
Anderson Valley: Simon Lamb
“You’re beautiful, sweetheart.” I kiss Red’s hand, walking with her down the curved stairs. She’s in a long red dress. It’s not as flashy as the one I first saw her in, but it’s just as form fitting, showing off all of her body. The low neckline doesn’t leave any doubt that she still prefers to go without undergarments, but the high back hides the marks from my favorite whip. She knows I prefer those to be for my eyes only.
“My cousin will want to fuck you.” She smiles wickedly at that. I slap her ass hard, and she laughs her deep throat filling laugh she knows I love. I kiss her neck before she stops, growling against her, “Behave, or I’ll have Grace take your place tonight.”
She pouts, pushing her red lip out as an invitation to bite. When I don’t take the bait, she shrugs, moving away from me and over to the drinks set on a table. “You promised. You said I would be better company around your cousin.”
“I said you’d have more fun with Cary than Grace would.” She turns to face me again and smiles like I just agreed with her. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll let you fuck him. Or any other man, Red.” This reminds me. “One last thing. For tonight…your name is Scarlet.” She raises her eyebrows for a second, then shrugs once more.
This also reminds me to try to get her real name out of her again. The frustration is starting to wear on me, but I return her smile, just watching her move. I’ve spent every minute of every day around her for four weeks now, and Grace has only given me a few details about herself, nothing from before her arrival in San Francisco. Red has been even more tight-lipped.
Watching the sway of her hips under the dress, I can’t blame myself for being distracted though. Sex has been insane. Ha, that’s an understatement. It’s almost like a threesome at times, switching between what Grace likes and what Red craves, with only the barest pause between the two. All of my own needs have been met, more than I ever thought possible.
I’ve joked that they almost seem to fight over me in bed. That joke didn’t go over well with either of them. I rub my chin absentmindedly, still feeling where Red’s head hit me when she tried to indignantly jump out of bed a few days ago. She laughed and said I deserved worse for bringing up Grace while with her. I laughed too since it had been Grace in my bed only a second before.
And I’m still shocked at how calmly I’ve accepted all of this. I’ve gotten so used to the switching back and forth that I don’t even notice it. I’m able to anticipate her changes, and she’s able to anticipate my needs.
Her past is still a mystery to me, but she no longer is. None of her five versions are.
Grace is all soft and yielding. I hold my breath more when I’m with her, like the slightest shift in atmosphere could cause her pain. No. Not pain, she doesn’t feel any. More like she’s so sensitive to everything and everyone around her that I want to bubble wrap her against the world. I feel more protective of her than I do even for the version that draws all over my breakfast table each morning.
I chuckle thinking about the raised brows from my staff when I only laughed at the first artistic alterations to my furniture. That table has been in my family for longer than I’ve been alive. I don’t give a shit. My first thought when I looked down at the scribbles and scrawl marks on the inlaid surface was how like a winemaker my Little Grace is. She took something hard and unmoving and brought it to life—remade it into something to be used and enjoyed, not just admired or preserved.
She’s done that with everything, twisted it all around so I can’t remember what it was like to not have her here.
The version of her I think of as Miss Smartypants Grace has made herself at home in my office, surrounded by books and computer programs. She makes me wait in the dining room each night for her to come down with her daily predictions for me. Most of it is a rundown of the day’s events, but every once in a while, she throws in a prediction for some future date. She said last night’s was about today. It had something to do with unfamiliar waters and important choices. There’s another understatement.
The doorbell rings, and I walk into my foyer to meet Cary just as the door is opened. I was surprised when I got his call yesterday. I’ve not avoided him, but I’ve turned down all of his requests to visit me in San Francisco lately. I haven’t mentioned Grace either.
When he said that he wanted to come here, I couldn’t think of a reason to say no; I could think of five reasons. I laugh to myself, but I may as well get it over with. I have no idea how long this thing with Grace will last, but I know that I want her to meet my family.
And that’s batshit crazy coming from me. Talk about unfamiliar waters.
We hug and I pull Cary towards the grand hall quickly. “I want you to meet someone.” He raises his brows. I stop him with a hand to his chest. “No. Not like that. She’s not a product.” He raises his brows even higher, but I ignore this.
We walk past a table with a big vase of fresh cut roses. I smirk at these, just another example of Grace exasperating my staff of late. This time it was the version I think of as Hellcat Grace. I found her out in the garden yesterday, chopping at the roses in a fit. I just stood and watched as she grunted and went at the petal heads like they were royal lineage in Robespierre’s France. She exhausted herself quickly, the clippers tossed with a loud clang to the bricked pathway.
Still, I just watched to see what she would do next. Try to clean up and hide what she’d done? Kick the petals around? Start speaking in tongues and spew green soup? I didn’t know, but it came as no shock to me by then that I wanted to know. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m obsessed with knowing every part of her.
Hellcat just turned to me like she knew I was there the whole time. She sort of grinned at me. At least, I think she did. She was gone too quickly for me to be sure. Grace replaced her, and the tears she started to shed for all the lost flowers was enough to have me pulling her into my arms before my feet even stopped moving toward her. I shushed and held her un
til Grace finally believed that I didn’t care about silly flowers. I only cared about her.
I didn’t let Grace pick up the severed blooms; her hands would’ve been a bloody mess from all the thorns. Instead, I let her arrange them in the vase when the gardening staff brought them in. She smelled like roses when we went to bed.
I’m brought out of my thoughts by Cary whistling when we enter my main sitting room. Red turns around to smile at him. “You must be Cary, the sweet cousin that Simon thinks will try to charm the panties off me.” Cary laughs. I don’t. I give her a warning look, but she ignores me, walking forward to shake hands with him.
“I’ll certainly do my best.”
Red leans into him a little more. “Good thing for you, I don’t wear any.” They laugh together like old friends. I can see my cousin eye fucking her, looking her up and down and not letting go of her hand.
The irrational kind of anger that I don’t normally feel chokes me. Hell, I never feel this way except around her. I have a desire to order her back upstairs, to lock her in my room. Fuck that. Lock her in the cave.
But I haven’t shown her that yet. I haven’t wanted to scare her, not that anything scares Red. It might scare Grace, though, or the others.
This thought calms me a little. I clear my throat, and Cary finally lets her hand go. She walks over to the drinks and grabs one for each of us. She brings mine over to me with her most wicked grin. I give her another warning look. She puts her arm in mine and smiles more sweetly, not Grace’s sweet smile but a sarcastic version of it.
I lean over to whisper in her ear. “Behave yourself, Red. I’ve not had to give you a punishment whipping yet, but you’re well on your way to earning one tonight.”
She smiles brighter. “Promises, promises.”
“So, how did you two meet?” Cary interrupts us, stepping closer and giving me a strange look. I know I won’t hear the end of his questions until he has every detail. Well, every detail that I’m willing to give him anyway.
We Were One Once Book 1 Page 15