“Me, too,” Quilla whispered back. “It looks lovely in here, thank you. That bed looks like bliss after that hospital one.”
Grady left the woman and went to work. Flori tucked Quilla onto their couch, and Quilla grinned, enjoying the fuss. Flori dragged over a crate. “Box sets,” she explained, then stuck her head into the crate. “West Wing, Grey’s Anatomy, Grimm, Orange is the New Black, Friends …?”
“Oh, Friends, definitely.”
“Are you sure? You might laugh and...” Flori put her hand on her belly and pulled a face. Quilla grinned.
“Good thinking … but no hospital stuff … Grimm? A lot of fine looking men in that.”
“Perv.”
“Yep.”
They all laughed and Flori put the disc into the Blu-ray player, the familiar theme tune starting.
Sitting, watching TV and chatting, munching on the snacks Flori had provided, Quilla felt relaxed, her family around her. She still got fatigued quickly, but her body felt better, lighter. She couldn’t push herself too hard, but she found she didn’t want to. She wanted this. Chilling out with much loved friends, feeling relaxed, as if she didn’t have to worry about anything. She had locked Jakob away in a corner of her heart until she was ready to deal with him. After a few episodes of the show, she felt her eyes closing.
A few hours later, she opened her eyes to find Hayley gone and Flori moving silently around the room. Quilla sat up stiffly. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”
Flori grinned. “Don’t worry; Hayley said she’d come back tomorrow, if you want. You’re going to be tired for a while; I was, even after I came home from the hospital.”
She came to sit by Quilla and the two women smiled at each other. “We survived,” Quilla said to her and Flori grinned.
“Yeah, we did. And now that asshole has gone for good, thanks to you. How do you feel about that?”
“About killing Gregor?”
“Yeah. I know Marley’s been worried that it would affect you, maybe even more than what he did to you.”
Quilla shook her head. “Honestly, I thought it would, too, but I can’t feel bad. His knife was in my gut. I kicked him off; I grabbed the gun, and I shot him. If I had to do it again, I would. I don’t spare a moment’s thought for Gregor Fisk.”
Flori nodded. “Good. Good. That’s how I would feel. No one knows unless it’s happened to them, so don’t let anyone guilt you. Gregor made his own bed.”
Quilla hugged her. “Agreed. And now he’s gone, and we can get our lives back.”
Flori held onto her for a long moment. “Quilla? Have you thought about …?”
“Jakob? Of course. I’m just … I haven’t got it straight in my head yet.”
“Maybe you should talk.”
“I’m starting to think that. I just don’t know if I’m ready yet.”
But by the end of the second week, she was ready. Not wanting to reconcile with Jakob over the phone, she asked Grady to set up a dinner for them.
Jakob was waiting for her when she entered the restaurant and for a moment, they just stared at each other.
“Hi,” she said in a gruff voice, her hands trembling badly. Jakob saw her shaking and stepped forward, taking her hands in his. His big dry hands felt so comforting, so familiar, she almost lost her composure and threw herself at him; only her pride and her still-healing body stopped her.
“You look beautiful, sweetheart.” Jakob’s own voice was shaking, and she gave a half smile.
“I feel like we’re on our first date.”
Jakob led her to their table. “Well, if that’s the way this evening’s going to end ...” He grinned wickedly and she laughed, relaxing. She knew he was kidding—her body wasn’t ready for that kind of reunion, even though, when she saw him, a familiar ache started inside her. Desire.
But there was still too much to be sorted out. They ordered and made small talk before Jakob reached over to take her hand.
“How are you, Quilla, really?”
She didn’t pull her hand away. “I’m okay, really. You look … well.”
He smiled. “Am I allowed to say that you look lovelier than ever? That you make me weak?”
Quilla grinned. “Seriously, dude, if you’re trying to get me to put out …”
They both laughed, and then Jakob’s smile faded. “Baby, I want to ask for your forgiveness. I was scared and immature, and I messed up. Big time. I couldn’t handle what Gregor had done to you, and so I freaked out. It was monumentally selfish and hurtful, and I’m so very, very sorry, baby. I love you so much.”
Quilla found her throat closing. “Jakob … I have to say this out loud so, please let me finish.”
He nodded, his eyes wide and scared. She drew in a deep breath. “I did not sleep with Gregor voluntarily. He was going to kill Hayley and me if I didn’t make it look … real. I had no idea he was taping it, that you’d ever see it, so I acted the part—overacted, if you ask me—but he was convinced. I’m not going to apologize for that.”
Jakob nodded. “Nor should you have to, darling. Call it immaturity, call it male ego … it killed me to see that, and when I thought you were going to die, I couldn’t handle being left with that image of you—and him.”
Quilla nodded, looking down. She was knotting her napkin, twisting it around in her fingers. “All I could think of was you. The whole time, I kept reasonably sane by thinking of you and me and us, in our little hideaway in Venice, especially. On the island, when we got married. I built this image up of a fairytale and the crash to reality was hard. I needed time. You hurt me, Jakob, more than anyone I loved ever has. Even my mom. You broke my heart.”
Jakob’s expression was soft, regretful. “I know, sweetheart. What can I do to make it up to you?”
Quilla smiled. “You’re doing it. You gave me the time; you didn’t harass or pressure me. Ran told me you’re going to NA.”
“Every week, without fail. I might not have taken that coke but the thought that I might have scares the crap out of me.”
“Good for you. God, I’ll always remember that first night in Venice. You stayed then, and you’re staying now. This is the way to make it up to me. Be the man I fell in love with so deeply. I’m not ready to give up on us.”
Jakob was quiet for a second, and when he spoke, his eyes were fierce with passion and his voice shook. “I love you so much, Quilla Chen. So goddamned much. Can we start again?”
She smiled at him. “I would like that. Let’s take things slowly, this time. Let’s do the whole dating thing.”
“Whatever you want, baby.” Jakob was beside himself with joy. “I’ll court you good. I’ll court you like a boss.”
She burst out laughing. “Seriously, have you been hanging out with Hayley and Skandar too much? Like a boss? Ow, oww,” she clutched her belly as she giggled and Jakob joined in with her laughter.
“There’s one more thing I have to talk about with you,” he said, and she raised her eyebrows, finally stopping her laughter. She wiped her eyes.
“What’s that?”
“Your foundation.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Everything is set up for you. Grady, Flori, and Hayley are all ready to go, so you just have to say the word. Any changes, anything, we’ll change it, but it’s yours, darling.” He handed her the papers and she took them, smoothing them flat to read them.
The Quilla Chen Foundation for the Arts.
Tears pricked her eyes as she read the title and mission statement. “To open the world of art to everyone,” she quoted and looked up at Jakob with shining eyes. “I don’t know what to say … it was just an idea and now … wow.” She shook her head. “Thank you, Jakob, my beloved Jakob, thank you. This is ...” She couldn’t go on, the tears dropping down her cheeks. Jakob got up and moved his chair next to her so he could take her in his arms.
“It’s just the start, Quilla. It’s just the beginning of what we could achieve together.”<
br />
He kissed her, his mouth gentle at first, then as she responded, they both forget where they were. Finally breaking away, they gazed at each other for a long moment.
“There is just one change I would like to make,” she said softly, stroking his cheeks with her fingertips. Jakob smiled at her.
“Name it.”
“Could we change the name to The Quilla Chen Mallory Foundation … that is my name after all.”
Jakob grinned delightedly. “Yes, of course, my love, and yes, it is ...”
Epilogue
“Ask her if Asia’s pushing yet. Is she pushing?”
Jakob handed a pacing Quilla his phone. “Hayley says ‘put the psycho on the phone’.”’
Quilla, grinning, took it from him. “What’s happening, you little jerk?”
Hayley laughed. “Would you calm down? She’s not even dilated ten centimeters yet. Oh, ha ha, Skandar just gagged. Every time I say ‘dilated’ … yep, there it is again.” She giggled, and Quilla heard Skandar muttering in the background. She smiled.
“Well, no one expected her to go into labor this soon … are Flori and Grady there?”
“Flori—Grady's acting all ‘man of the 1950’s’about it. It’s for the best. After all, we don’t want Grady getting emotional and telling the baby, ‘Dude, I tapped your mom first’’.”
“Hayley! That’s so gross,” but Quilla giggled, rolling her eyes at Jakob.
“How’s the move going?”
“My slave keeps moaning about how many books I’ve got. I’m just enjoying watching using that fine body lifting my stuff.”
“Oh, that’s right. Tonight’s the night … you get yours; I know what a horny witch you’ve been of late.”
Quilla laughed again. “Why do I put up with you?”
“Because I’m your boo.”
“Oh, that’s it,” and Quilla was still laughing when she ended the call. Jakob, fresh from lugging another one of her book boxes down to the van, appeared, his hair disheveled.
“Why did I marry a woman who reads?” he moaned and then laughed. Quilla skipped over to him and threw her arms around his neck.
“Because you’re not Joey Tribianni,” she said, kissing him.
“You watch too much Friends,” he grinned down at her. Quilla tilted her head back to look at him, her eyes sleepy with desire.
“As much as I’m looking forward to moving into our new … palace,” she grinned, thinking of their new home on Bainbridge Island, “I feel we should say a proper goodbye to this place.”
She pressed her body against his, grinding her hips against his groin. A smile spread across Jakob’s face.
“I think that’s a very, very good idea, sweetheart ...”
Quilla leaped up into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Just so happens, if Sir would like to put his hands under my skirt …”
Jakob slid his hands under her dress, and his eyes widened as they met bare flesh. “Commando, hey?”
“Just for you. Always for you, my man, my Jakob.” She kissed him tenderly, then looked him in the eyes, “Now … fuck me good. Nail me to the floor, Jakob Mallory ...”
And without another moment’s hesitation, he did just that ...
The End
Dirty Little Virgin Preview
With one question on a BDSM message board, Jade Thomas sparked something inside of me that had never been lit up before.
Our discussion of my world as we talked online woke things up in me I had no idea were lying dormant. My dominant side was calling out to me to take her and make her into what I knew she could be. But she was young, afraid, and had a fragility about her that was daunting.
In no time at all, she had me wanting to get her obstinate ass into my hands. Mold her, shape her into the submissive I wanted her to be. Capture her spirit using sex and pain.
What happened blindsided me and changed me forever …
Pierce Langford answered a question I’d left on the BDSM message board for a club called “The Dungeon of Decorum.”
No matter how hard I tried to keep it all above board, he was determined to reel me into his dark world, a place I was curious about but also afraid of.
Like a persistent hunter, Pierce never let up on me, keeping the pressure up to get what he wanted: me, as his submissive.
My body was on fire for the man from the get go. I yearned to feel his actual touch on my flesh—flesh, he wanted to torment. Pierce Langford wanted to show me his world and all that went with that: pain, pleasure, and there would be no room for love.
Or so he thought …
Jade
Romance has been in my blood since I was only a girl of sixteen. An avid reader of anything in the romance genre, I’m especially keen on the darker side of the romantic spectrum, the side where pain and pleasure meet in an ebbing and flowing stream of both calm and frantic nuances. A place where sin and evil meet with good and innocence, leaving their residue on each.
My curiosities have come all the way to the surface, and they won’t allow me to shove them down any longer. I sit at my computer, searching the vast Internet to find someone who will help me. I need help to understand the reality that is BDSM, something that won’t leave my mind.
The books I’ve read are great, enjoyable, and pleasing. But I think they’re purely fictional, with little to do with the reality of that lifestyle. And I want to know more about it all; the why’s, where’s, and how’s of the whole thing. Why do people do it? Where do they find others who want the same things they do? How do they take society’s sideways glares that let them know everyone knows what they’re doing, and that most think it’s disgusting?
What immoral behavior is has been adjusted since the days of old when women wore nightgowns that covered them from their necks to their feet, and men were covered too. Small slits were made in the front for sexual activity, an activity that was not for pleasure but for procreation and procreation alone.
Masturbation, if one was caught doing such a horrible thing, was more than merely frowned upon. One was punished for it, and harshly, at that. Nowadays when one is punished, per their requests, mind you, they’re deemed immoral. It’s a common belief that if one practices BDSM or any variety of that, then the person must’ve had a bad upbringing or something terrible happened to them. Most people think something sexually abusive occurred.
I have to admit that I have favored that mindset. Recently, for reasons I cannot explain, I’ve had other thoughts about the people who practice the lifestyle. I just can’t imagine why anyone would want to dole out punishment or receive it, as an adult. But deep in the recesses of my heart, I long to understand. The core belief resides in me that not all who seek out this type of attention have been broken in one way or another.
Being an erotic author is my dream, my passion. I simply love to go away in my head to worlds where anything is possible. Worlds where an ordinary woman can meet up with an abnormally handsome, viral, and of course, heavily muscled man. He would be filthy rich and just plain filthy in the bedroom, or any room, really.
The world of erotic romance is where I dwell so often in my mind. Damsels in distress are no longer acceptable heroines. No, today’s heroines are smart, sharp as tacks in the wit department, strong in all ways, and take-no-shit kind of broads. The majority of these fictional women aren’t looking for love; they seem to stumble upon it. And with that little stumble, they find themselves in the arms of a man.
Not any man will do in today’s erotic romances. He must be alpha, clean to his core. In many of these novels, for some reason, our hero loves to hit women. And they love to be hit by him. And that is where my writer’s brain has found a dilemma.
I can see falling for a big, strong, handsome man. Who can’t?
But falling for one who wants to tie you up and beat your ass while you cook his dinner and iron his clothes, well, I can’t see it at all. BDSM makes no sense to me, and I’m striving to make sense of it. For my career!
Being only one year away from graduating with a Master’s Degree in Creative Arts at Bangor University in North Wales, United Kingdom, I’m dangerously close to the part of life where I will need to make my own living in this world. Soon to be cut off from my father’s dime, I have to focus, and that means I must have some belief in what I’m writing about, or I will never see my dreams come true.
My dreams aren’t huge. I want to see my name on the cover of books. Oh! And best sellers’ lists as well, of course. I don’t want to be a mediocre writer. I want to be one of those authors who goes the distance to get to the meat of the story, somewhat like a reporter, only I want to get creative with my truths. I want to make my characters, and the world they live in, seem realistic while having fantasy-like lives.
And there is little to no reality in normal women finding men with voracious sexual appetites and a penchant for beating them. So, here I am, searching the Internet, hoping no one ever looks at my browser’s history and thinks I’m a woman of ill repute. I am far from that.
At the ripe old age of twenty-three, I haven’t found Mr. Right. And by that, I mean my cherry is still intact. I’m not a prude, though one might think that. I’m just very into my own head a lot of the time. A writer’s thing, my professors tell me. I’ve been told I’m normal, for a writer.
Socially, I am a bit inept. Sure, I talk with ease to others, part of my reporter’s instinct, I suppose. But I share little about myself, preferring to steer people in directions that allow me to learn more about them, rather than talking about myself.
With a click of my mouse, an awkward picture fills my computer screen. A woman deep throating an enormous penis!
Filthy Commitments: A Submissives’ Secrets Novel Page 56