“Shut. Up.”
“--and now you’re all lonely, right? You think this bitch is going to make you feel less lonely? She’ll hate you every day and even this house won’t feel safe for you anymore. It’ll be mom for you all over. How many times are you going to run?”
Grif cringed. For him, I could see all the rage and shame swirling, fighting for dominance.
For me-- it was a revelation. I remembered how he had been when he had bought me. As soon as my kidnappers had peeled off, Grif had what seemed like an anxiety attack. It had only gotten better in the car and at his house. He was afraid to be outside. No, not afraid--terrified.
He wanted me for himself because he was too scared to leave.
“I’m going to tell dad about this, Grif. Let him come and talk some sense into you. You know how to train and it isn’t fucking dinner parties.”
“Tell dad? Are you fourteen?” Grif was standing over me, his legs protectively on either side of my body. “I said get out.”
Isaac lunged at Grif, his fist racing toward Grif’s face. Grif didn’t budge, waiting for the blow. It never came. Isaac pulled his punch an inch from Grif’s chiseled jaw. They stared at each other, the testosterone rising. Finally Isaac gave.
Isaac pulled up his overalls, snapping them on his way out. I heard him cursing under his breath and the front door slam.
The silence was overwhelming. I shuddered at Grif’s feet, afraid to move. I wanted… I don’t know. I wanted him to scoop me up. To rub my wounds. To mean what he had said. That I was his.
I also wanted to run screaming from him and his screwed up family.
He didn’t move. He had come to my rescue, but now…
I chanced a look at his face. It was stone, his frown and frustration cut in deep lines. His eyes, normally so calm and collected, were full of frustration. Of pain.
“Are you okay?” I needed him to touch me, to reassure me. How messed up was that?
My voice triggered something in him. He had been lost in thought and it brought him back.
“Get up.”
Not what I’d hoped for. Still, I did as he commanded. I was too tired not to.
I faced him. The anger rolled off of him, making him seem taller and making me feel miniscule.
“Grif--”
“Don’t speak. Just… don’t say anything.”
It shouldn’t have hurt my feelings. Not after everything he had done. Not after what he had let his brother do. Sure, he’d saved me, but not before his brother had treated me like his punching bag. And really, can you be saved by the person imprisoning you? Now… he was mad? At me?
Incredulous, my jaw dropped and I just stared at him. He finally met my gaze and flinched when he saw the hurt I was feeling.
Good. It serves him right.
I wasn’t sure what I wanted anymore. Not from him, not from myself, not from life.
Maybe I just wanted to sleep.
I had made that ridiculous internal promise. If he saved me, I’d stay. Willingly. That didn’t mean I had to like it. It didn’t mean I had to like him.
“I’m sorry about him. About Isaac.” Grif softened, but it didn’t touch me. It was too late. “I didn’t want you to know about me. About the agoraphobia.”
I remained silent.
“I don’t like leaving the house. I chose a profession that made me enough money to make sure I never had to.”
How could I respond to that?
“Let’s take you upstairs.”
Grif started to walk away, and I turned and limped behind him. Isaac had landed some solid hits on my hips and back and it was torture to move my legs.
When Grif realized I wasn’t moving at a quick pace he scooped me up. I winced. He carried me up the stairs. I could feel the pound of his heart from the exertion, but he never slowed or put me down.
We went back to his room. Grif set me down in front of his bed. He moved behind me and I felt the zipper of my dress go down. I barely felt it. I was numb.
His fingers gently pushed the fabric down and off my body. The dress slithered off of the bed, becoming a heap on the floor.
He undid my hair, letting it fall around my shoulders.
I stared out the window.
“Where does it hurt?” He asked, his hands soft on my skin, roaming my hips, my ribs, looking for sore spots. I couldn’t tell him where it hurt the most, because I didn’t want him to have the satisfaction. I hid further behind my shell.
“Renee,” his fingers began to comb out my hair, “talk to me.”
The events of the past few days played in my head like a horror movie. Being abducted, being forced to submit to Grif, starving… being revived by Grif. Finding shelter in him. Comfort. Allowing myself to bargain with a monster. Dinner and answers? Who had I been kidding?
In the dress I had almost forgotten who I was. Who he was.
And being betrayed by him. I should have known better. But that’s what he wanted, right? To break me?
He stepped to my front and cupped my face in his hands. He looked into my eyes and I know what he was seeing there. Nothing.
Grif’s thumb smoothed over my lip.
He leaned in, slowly, his own eyes swimming with trepidation. It rankled me. What did he have to fear?
He kissed me. His lips were soft against mine. They moved, gently, encouraging me. My wall was too thick, a dam against him and the way he made me feel.
His fingers roamed, lightly, touching my neck, my collarbone. They skimmed between my breasts and down the flat planes of my belly. Another lifetime ago it would have made me hot for a man to touch me like this.
When his fingers slid between my legs, he didn’t find what he was seeking. I wasn’t aroused. His head jerked back and he stared at me, his eyebrows pressed tightly together.
“Renee.” He waited for me to respond, but I picked a spot on the wall to look at.
“Damn it, Renee.” His shoulders began to shake. The trepidation in his eyes turned to anger. Frustration.
His hand sped out and slapped me, lightly. When I didn’t react, he did it again. This time a little harder.
And while I didn’t show it, I did react. To my dismay, my body responded. His sweet touches and caresses had done nothing for me. But his anger-- it fueled my desire.
He grabbed my hair, gripping it tightly. My lips parted in pain, but no cry escaped. “Renee, whatever you’re doing, it’s time to stop.”
I didn’t stop, though. Neither did he.
Grif forced me further onto the bed, pushing me on to my hands and knees. The blows began to ring on my bottom, my thighs. When I refused to cry out, Grif yanked his leather belt off.
“Please,” he begged, his voice raw and cracking.
I couldn’t give him what he wanted. Not yet. I used my fury, my feelings of betrayal, to shut him out. The leather belt cracked onto my backside. It stung, god, did it sting.
He began to pick up the pace. The crack of the leather on soft skin rang through his room. The sound of his labored grunts filled my ears. It had stung, now it burned. My whole ass was on fire, the whip of the belt sending shocks of pain through my tormented flesh. Tears began to stream down my face. Partially because of the pain… but partially because my body was igniting for him. I could feel my arousal beginning to drip down my inner thighs.
Grif stopped whipping me. When he gripped my wrists in his hands, his chest was heaving. He looped the belt around my wrists and drew it tight. The butter soft leather still managed to cut off my circulation quickly. Taking the loose ends, Grif tied me to his bed.
Coming behind me, he gripped my aching hips. His fingers vigorously rubbed the tender skin. Comfort blanketed the pain and wrapped around me. I groaned, unable to ignore the throbbing relief that his hands brought me.
The relief was brief. I heard him pull his pants off. I knew then what he was going to do. If ever there was a time to say “no,” this was it. I didn’t know if it wouldn’t matter to him… and I was glad.
I ached for him. My body wanted nothing more than the be filled with Grif, overwhelmed by him. I wanted to drown in him.
He plunged into me in one push, and I sank into the sensations roiling within me. I had reached my headspace, that euphoric release that only his punishments could bring.
Grif was rough. He used me, hard. His cock pistoned in and out. I heard something, a shrieking, and realized it was my own voice.
Pressure was building inside of me. He slammed in, over and over, driving every inch of him into me, dragging me closer to the edge.
I was so close. Every pull and jerk of his body pulled my wrists tighter in the belt, my fingers beginning to tingle from lack of blood. The slap of his body on my raw flesh made me cry out. Everything hurt, still bruised from Isaac’s assault. And yet, underneath it all, my body was a furnace, every stroke of Grif’s stoking me, making me burn hot, hot, hot.
He covered my back with his chest, tucking me into his body. I could feel the rivulets of sweat rolling off our bodies. One of his arms reached around and grabbed my swinging breast, squeezing it hard, gripping it for stability. I mewled as he twisted my nipple, pain flashing and my pleasure intensifying.
Grif’s other hand found its way between my legs. One long, hard stroke of his fingers was all that I needed. With a moan, I came, convulsing around his cock. He rubbed my clit, prolonging my climax, pulling every iota of pleasure out of me, making me his.
With a grunt, he came too, heaving into me so hard my body scooted up the bed, my wrists twisting painfully in their binding.
We collapsed down, his heavy weight pressing me into the mattress. His fingers undid my binding. He released my wrists and grabbed my hands, rubbing feeling back into them.
I was so tired and beyond sated. Without thinking I turned to him and curled up next to his body, tucking my head into the curve of his shoulder.
My cheek was wet with tears, falling onto his skin.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I asked. If he answered, I didn’t hear it. I was already asleep.
Chapter Fourteen
The bed was cold when I woke. I was sprawled out. Grif was gone.
Getting up and stretching I felt my tendons pop and my joints creak. Living with Grif was aging me, it felt like, my body running a gauntlet each day.
I remembered his touch. How I had needed him. Had craved his roughness. Had only been able to come when I felt completely debased by him. My darkest cravings, craving I hadn’t even known I had, had been tapped.
After using the bathroom and freshening up, I went and tried the door, expecting it to be locked. It was open.
I padded out into the hallway and was greeted with silence.
Being free in his house, no lock, no escort, was more terrifying to me than any other thing he had done to me. Was this a test? Did he just forget to lock the door?
Should I run?
I was naked. I dashed back into his room, going through his drawers, frantic. I found a white t-shirt and some sweat pants and yanked them on. They swallowed me whole.
Briefly I realized Matt had never let me wear his clothing. He thought it was stupid and I was “just creating more laundry.”
Grif wasn’t letting me, either. My heart ached as I smelled him on me.
I rushed back into the hallway. Creeping, I went to the staircase. The house felt empty.
The thudding of my heart was so hard I was sure it was audible. I could escape. I could run from here, get the police. I could go home.
It took forever to go down the stairs, every creak causing a heart attack.
I paused in front of the door. My hand shook as I reached out for the handle. This should be simple. I had been captured. Here was my chance to escape. Yet I hesitated, afraid of cutting the tether Grif had tied around me. It had long since been removed, but my hand went to my neck, touching where the velvet red ribbon had sat.
“Going somewhere?”
His voice cut through the stillness, destroying any hopes I had of escape.
Grif was leaning in the door seal, watching me. The sunlight streamed through windows and god damn, he was so beautiful. His dark hair was tumbled, his blue shirt wrinkled. He had dark circles under his green eyes, but he still managed to look like a God.
“Am I allowed to?” My hand was still on the handle.
“Do you want to?”
“Yes.”
He frowned, but didn’t say anything.
“If I go, will you catch me again?” I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to say no or to say yes.
“I’ll want to.” His face, though, became pale and drawn. He was staring at my hand on the door.
I’ll want to. The agoraphobia. I could step outside and run and he might chase after me and catch me… but he might be too frightened to. It was tempting. I couldn’t be sure, though. And if I forced him into an uncomfortable situation, if I hurt him like that, then who knew what he would do to me in return?
The sex had been electric between us. Enough for me to forget that he was my warden. In the daylight, with my hand on the door knob, I could remember. I remembered that he owned me. That he had paid for me. That he had a room full of instruments that could ruin my body. And please it.
I slumped, defeated. I would hate myself for the choice, I knew. I didn’t know what I wanted anymore. I had made the silent promise, the promise to stay, when Isaac attacked me. Some part of me feared the kind of retribution that could come from breaking that vow, unspoken or not.
“Come and eat breakfast.”
He turned and left and I chose to follow.
In silence I served his plate and then mine. We ate. I picked at my food, my thoughts swirling. My fingers itched, still turning an imaginary door knob. Stupid. I should have run, promise or not.
I wasn’t the only one troubled. Grif was silent, his face stormy. He ate, but it was like he wasn’t tasting the food. He never looked at me.
I didn’t know what was going to happen anymore. Things had been simpler before Isaac. I’d be locked in my room. I’d have been able to live off my hate for Grif, dreaming of escape. Instead, Isaac seemed to have not just beat my body; he had beat my sense of right and wrong out. And after…
Grif had fucked me like I was oxygen. To be possessed like that had awakened something in me I didn’t want to face.
“What now?” I finally ventured, uncomfortable with the quiet.
“I don’t know,” he murmured, still refusing to meet my eyes.
We were interrupted by a hard, incessant knocking at the front door. Grif finally glanced at me as he rose to answer. I bit my lip, nervous. The last time a stranger had been in the house, I had been hit, thrown on the floor, humiliated and hurting.
I heard shouts. Deep baritones raised in anger.
“Where is she?” A man was yelling as he stormed into the kitchen.
I cringed in fear, shrinking out of my chair and trying to hide under the table. The anger in the voice made me desperate to disappear. I shrank into myself and peered out.
The man stood in the kitchen, glaring at me. He looked like Grif, but older. The lines of his face were deep-set, his skin weathered. His dark hair was salt and pepper, but still full and curly like his son’s.
I had picked up from Isaac that Grif’s family was in on what Grif did. That they did it themselves. What I hadn’t expected was to see was the priest’s cassock his father was wearing.
He stared at me with such violent hate that my chest clenched and I couldn’t move. “So. Isaac wasn’t lying. A slave at the table.” He shared Isaac’s deep southern accent.
Grif moved quickly, standing in front of me. “How I train my slaves is my business.”
“It’s the church’s business. We have a reputation to keep up, and rules that are to be obeyed. You know this.”
“I stopped working for your church a long time ago.”
His dad bristled. “Don’t I know it. You might have left the church, Grif, but you can’t leave family. You’re riski
ng everything I’ve worked for. I taught you everything and you owe me.”
Grif’s hands were clenched so tight at his side his knuckles were white. “She’s mine. There’s no risk.”
“She’s yours? Isaac said you were going to sell her!”
I hadn’t tucked myself fully under the table. Grif’s hand fell on my shoulder. His fingers dug in, but it was a comfort to me. Wearing his clothes, feeling his presence next to him… hearing those words. She’s mine.
“Son, you can’t be serious. You don’t shit where you eat. These women are destined to serve their owners. From their proper place. It’s what God wants.”
“I’m not a part of that, father. Your so-called parishioners might buy your crap, but I don’t. We sell women. Plain and simple. Don’t try to make it better with your righteous indignation.”
Grif’s father grew red in the face, his cheeks wobbling with fury. “A woman’s place is at man’s heel. A servant for her master.”
“Take your bullshit somewhere else.”
Isaac started forward, ready to fight, but Grif’s father stopped him with a hand on the chest.
“Grif, if you do this… you’ll be dead to the family. It was hard enough when you stopped supporting the church. But this, this is setting you up for disaster. I won’t be here to help when it crumbles around you.”
Grif’s fingers loosened on my shoulder. He began to lean on me. I realized he was using me for support, his own body trembling.
“So be it.” His voice broke.
“Fuck you, you ungrateful bastard,” Isaac sputtered. “You’ll pay for this.”
His dad said nothing. I watched as he held his hands out front and made a motion like he was wiping them clean.
With that, they left.
Grif fell to his knees beside of me. Shock had stunned me. My lungs worked to take in air. I had been holding my breath.
Grif began to shake, his face a mask of grief and rage. I pulled his head onto my lap and he let me. My fingers combed through his hair.
We sat like that until Georgette came into the kitchen. Her eyes widened as she saw us, but ever the professional, she immediately began clearing dishes and prepping the kitchen for the next meal.
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