by Olivia Myers
“Again.”
Alexander’s mouth worked furiously, trying to expel sound, only to have nothing come out. Christine let the whip lash his chest a second, a third time. His pain was her drought, her sustenance. The more he gave the more she craved and she lashed him again and again, gaining force and confidence with each swing of the whip, letting his muffled screams pierce her like a lover.
Alexander’s chest was raw and he grunted and howled through his gag when Christine mounted him. She felt the slickness on his chest of blood and sweat and she ran her hands over it as he’d always forbidden her to do. Giddy, she felt behind her until she’d found his penis, even more erect with the added thrill of his pain. She inserted it inside her, as far as she could go, until it hurt.
Christine relished the pain. It was her control. Without it, she felt herself languish away and die, as her relationship had died. She had tried to be tender, but the thrill of pain had eclipsed her. It had been too hard to resist. She wanted to exert herself entirely, as she was exerting herself now, pumping her own muscles, sinking herself further down onto Alexander, taking control of his power. She felt herself coming. She opened her mouth and made no sound, only the whistle of air and a slight choke as tears leapt from her eyes. Is this all? The tears fell, hot, mixing with Alexander’s sweat and blood. Is this all I’ve become?
***
Place de la Bastille, in front of the opera house, was abuzz with the horns of taxies and the cries of the locals. It was the place where, two hundred years before, the Bastille crumbled beneath the hands of the citizenry, where a people seized power for itself and punished cruelly those who’d so long ruled over them.
Now, there was no sign of the prison to be seen. There was only a fallen wall. The victory existed in the mind of the people and the square itself was crowded with restaurants and cafes. At one of these, Adèle sat, flustering over a call she’d just received from Christine. Her friend had sounded half crazy on the phone, and that was only when Adèle could understand the voice through the shouting and the bawling.
She hadn’t asked what happened. She’d already guessed. She’d long guessed that the day would come when Alexander’s unhealthy obsession would cost Christine a little more than a few stripes across her back, and she was afraid that that day was now here.
Adèle’s first duty was to see that her friend was taken care of. She gave Christine the address of her apartment and told her to meet her there in thirty minutes—there was no sense in trying to talk to Christine in Place de la Bastille. The noise and excitement would frighten her. Christine needed a place where she could calm her nerves, somewhere quiet and friendly where Adèle could gently chip away at the harm Alexander had caused. She hoped that she wasn’t too late.
Flagging a taxi, Adèle sped along dark side streets and dimly lit alleys, along dumpy apartments and sallow, yellow-lit parks, until she was in the northern half of the city, in Rue Sainte-Hermine, where she lived. Christine sat smoking on a park bench across the street.
Adèle climbed out of the cab and looked her friend up and down. Christine matched Adèle’s eyes with her own, eyeliner-stained stare.
“You’re an absolute mess,” Adèle concluded. “We need to clean you up. Although I don’t think my apartment will be quite your style of luxury.”
The apartment was modest, with a kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom. It was small but it was orderly. More importantly, Adèle could be alone with Christine, away from the monster that had taken advantage of her—the monster that had almost destroyed her.
Adèle sat Christine down on her bed and produced a box of tissues, which she used to dab away the mess around Christine’s eyes. There was a strange but by no means uncomfortable silence in the room—like the silence that follows a fireworks display, or a disaster.
“Adèle,” said Christine at last.
“Mhmm?”
“You were right,” Christine pronounced the words with difficulty. They were so weighted with passion that Adèle was forced to look into Christine’s eyes. They were threatening tears.
“You were right,” Christine repeated. “It was my own control, my own power. It was never Alexander’s. It was mine. Oh, Adèle!” said Christine, throwing herself into the Adèle’s arms. “I’ve done terrible things! And I don’t even know why!”
“Christine,” Adèle whispered. She rubbed Christine’s back.
“I don’t know if I feel anything anymore! I don’t know if I even can!” Christine sobbed. The sobs shook Adèle, which only caused her to hold tighter.
“Christine, my angel. Look at me.” Adèle gently tilted Christine’s face to her own. Tears stained Christine’s cheeks. Her lips quivered. She looked absolutely broken, and Adèle’s heart swelled with pity.
“Can you feel my hands on you, my angel?” said Adèle softly. “Can you feel the touch of someone who loves you?”
Adèle held Christine closer, tightening her hold. Christine’s body was hot and it burned Adèle, but she wouldn’t have let go for anything.
“Yes, Adèle, yes,” whispered Christine.
“You’ve broken yourself,” Adèle said. “But I will heal you. With these hands.”
She stroked Christine’s hot skin, soothing it. The tears still flowed from Christine’s eyes and Adèle longed to remove them. “And with these lips.”
She leaned in to kiss the tears away, but before she could get any closer Christine’s mouth was on hers. It was a desperate, wild kiss. Adèle felt Christine move her whole body into the kiss, willing Adèle to take possession. Her mouth glued to Christine’s, Adèle gave herself up to the pleasure of their connection, closing her eyes, and opening her mouth for Christine’s tongue.
Adèle gently pushed Christine down so that she straddled her. Christine’s eyes were closed but her hands were already working off Adèle’s top, scratching at Adèle’s clothing with mad energy.
“No, Christine,” Adèle admonished her gently, as she kissed the full, warm, open mouth. “Tenderly, angel. I don’t want your power here.”
At once Christine’s hands ceased their struggle. It was as if Adèle’s words had softened something in Christine. She became gentle at once, a little lamb. Her kisses became open and slow. The tears dried in her eyes. She let Adèle remove her skirt and her top.
“Christine, my angel,” said Adèle, with some alarm. “There’s blood on your beautiful skin. What have you done with yourself?”
“Whatever it was, it is done,” said Christine. Adèle read the worry in Christine’s lips. Did she think Adèle would love her any less for that? Love her any less because she knew of the struggle Christine had had to endure?
“But I regret it already because it’s making you uneasy,” Christine said, her throat full of emotion. “I regret everything I have ever done except for kissing you. I will spend my whole life loving you Adèle, if you can forgive what I have done.”
The words sent a blissful warmth through Adèle’s body. “Do you love me, Christine?” Adèle asked as she kissed the quivering, warm, wet skin above Christine’s vagina. Her tongue longed to taste the sweet folds just below, but she restrained herself. “Is this real?” she said.
“It’s real,” Christine gasped. “It’s absolutely real. Oh God,” cried Christine. “You’re a thousand miles away. I want you closer. Please, Adèle, come closer. Don’t leave me alone.”
Adèle crept closer to Christine. She took the warm folds of her lover in her mouth and gave them the sweetest kiss that she had ever given. A shudder passed through Christine’s body and Adèle felt it too, as if both of them shared the same body, as if both of them were one.
The End
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Olivia Myers is an author of paranormal romance, science fiction romance, and historical romance. Livi
ng in San Diego, CA, she loves sitting by the water and writing on her laptop. When not writing, Olivia loves attending local art shows and exploring the California coast one restaurant at a time.
Olivia is always hard at work on her next book.
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Thank You
I hope you have enjoyed this book. As a new author in the big world of publishing, it’s hard to get noticed. I’d love if you would leave me an honest review.
Thank you for downloading my book!
–Olivia Myers