Pieces of Autumn

by Mara Black

  "This, on the other hand." He pressed, gently, rubbing in little circles against the damp fabric. I let out a broken moan. I was nowhere near as fucked-up as he was, but the little bit of warm glow in my system was intensifying every sensation. "This might be uncomfortable, but it's not discomfort, is it?"

  "No," I panted, my mind spiraling out of control. "No, Sir."

  His smile was very smug. "Good girl. Does that feel nice?"

  Clenching my jaw, I nodded. Couldn't stop myself. Didn't want him to stop. Ever.

  His fingers withdrew, but only to slide underneath the fabric and rub against my flesh. I was white-hot, soaking wet, all the denied arousal of the last few weeks welling up inside me. It was all bearing down, threatening to shatter me into a thousand pieces. In spite of myself, my injured leg twitched slightly, and I gritted my teeth at the sudden onslaught of pain.

  "Shh, shh, shh." Flowing like water, Tate got up from his seat and knelt down on the floor between my legs. With one firm hand, he steadied my injured one, holding it down firmly at the knee so I wouldn't move. With his other hand, he fumbled in his pocket for a moment, finally producing a tiny switchblade. I watched it flick out with hooded eyes, pulse pounding, knowing already what he planned to do and feeling no fear. Absolutely no fear at all.

  His eyes locked with mine as he slipped the blade under my panties, blunt side against my skin. Snick. And just like that, they were gone.

  With a soft exhale, he nuzzled the inside of my thigh. I whimpered softly and clutched the sofa cushion. This was so strange, so intimate, compared to our other encounters. I could actually see his face, watch the way his eyes darkened at the scent of my arousal.

  I'd never let a man do this to me. It was too much. Too personal. I wanted to pull away, but his hand was like an anchor, holding me in place. He kissed my inner thigh with surprising gentleness, then topped it off with a nip of his teeth. I whimpered.

  "Don't think I'm doing this for your pleasure, pet." His breath lightly caressed my clit, making me pant softly. "I'm doing this because I own your body and I want to taste you. Understand?"

  Swallowing hard, I nodded. Anything to make him touch me. Was this still a fight, or was this a game? Was I surrendering? Did it matter?

  "This is nothing more than a way to prove my absolute control over every part of you." He traced the tip of his tongue along the edge of my outer lips, just inches from where I needed him. "I'm your master. After tonight, you'll never forget that."

  "I won't," I whispered.

  He smirked up at me. "That wasn't a question."

  Tate licked me slowly, sending a ripple of pleasure through my heart. Oh, God.

  It was like nothing I could have imagined. So soft, so warm, but just firm enough to set my nerves on fire. My belly pooled with quivering sensations, spurred on by his movements.

  Seeing his head nestled between my thighs was intoxicating. His words might be full of bravado, but I could feel the truth in his touch. Part of him - subtly at first, but more and more with each passing moment, just wanted me to feel good. With his tongue buried between my folds and his hands on my thighs, for now, he was just a man and I was just a woman. Not a slave-breaker and his property.

  I moaned, my head thrashing on the back of the sofa. He stopped for just long enough to lick his lips and say:

  "Don't. Don't come until I tell you."

  Chest heaving, I stared at him.

  "Do you understand?" he murmured.

  "Yes," I whispered. "I'll...I'll try."

  "You'll do better than try." His hand tightened on my leg. "Or you won't like your punishment very much at all."

  There was playfulness in his voice, and I was struck by the notion that something was growing inside him. He was discovering joy where there had once been nothing but anger and shame. Fostered by my acceptance of his darkness, he was slowly allowing it to come into the light.

  Grinning, he nipped at my sensitive flesh, and I yelped. I could feel how deeply my face was flushed, and my chest, every part of my body determined to show exactly how much he turned me on.

  For a moment, his eyes locked on mine, and I saw something flash across his face. He darted forward, half-standing to raise his face to mine and kiss me. His tongue speared into my mouth, just enough for me to taste myself.

  "You're so fucking beautiful when you're like this," he whispered, more to himself than to me, I thought. He knelt back down quickly. The soft noises of satisfaction as he lapped at me would be my undoing, I knew it. He loved that I was falling to pieces for him. He loved that I was helpless, immobile. He loved that I gasped and squirmed when he grazed me with his teeth, instead of hissing and pushing him away. Was this normal? Was pain supposed to feel good?

  I didn't care. All I cared about was trying to follow his order.

  Don't come. Don't come. Don't come.

  I was on a blade's edge, only the sheer power of my will keeping me from tumbling over. I held my breath, feeling my inner muscles pulse and contract, but not letting it happen. Not letting the pleasure cascade, because he'd told me not to.

  Because I wanted to show him that I could.

  That I chose this.

  Him.

  Not because I had to. Because I wanted to.

  I moaned, my body numb and tingling, every inch of me aching for release.

  He stopped just long enough to whisper:

  "Now."

  I was coming before he touched me again. My back arched, a voice I hardly recognized crying out in pure ecstasy. I could feel the gush of wetness that came out of me, and any other time, with any other man, I probably would have been embarrassed. But Tate hummed his approval, his tongue bringing me through it until I sagged and whimpered.

  Suddenly, I was exhausted again. My whole body pulsed with warmth, and I reached for him, but he was too far away.

  I made a small noise, trying to say his name.

  "Shh." I felt a swift kiss on my forehead. "Go to sleep, pet."

  I had no choice but to obey.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Not Like This

  The pain was what woke me. It took me a while to remember where I was, through the throbbing red haze that stole most of my awareness. Tate must have carried me back to my room. There was a glass of water and a few pills waiting for me, and I swallowed them hastily, trying to remember what exactly had happened last night.

  Oh, God.

  You let Tate eat you out.

  No, nobody ever let Tate do anything. I couldn't have stopped him if I tried. But that was how the nasty voice in the back of my head saw it. The whole thing felt like some hazy dream. With a sick jolt, I suddenly remembered the way I'd thrown myself at him after I woke up from my snakebite fever. Why had I been courting this man's favor? Trying to seduce him? I'd finally gotten what I wanted, more or less, but I was just now realizing what that actually meant.

  My skin felt hot all over. I remembered the feeling of his tongue so vividly, how my body had melted to it, loving his touch. There was no question about it - Tate knew what he was doing. I wondered if that was something he did to the girls at Stoker. To confuse them, to break them down even further. To convince them that their servitude was pleasure. He was too good at it - his skill couldn't be a coincidence.

  There was a pair of crutches nearby, and I was able to make it to the bathroom and back without killing myself. I didn't dare try to brave the stairs. The house seemed eerily quiet, almost as if it were waiting for something to happen.

  A few minutes later, something did.

  My door swung open. Tate always knocked, and though it always felt like he was mocking me, I was unnerved that he didn't. I kept my eyes fixed on him as he drew closer, trying to read what was different about him.

  And then, I saw it.

  Tate had a hangover.

  His eyes were slightly bloodshot and he hadn't bothered to shave. With the dark stubble shadowing his jaw, he looked slightly more human than usual - less of a well-sharpened
instrument of psychosexual torture.

  I almost wanted to laugh, but it wasn't all that funny.

  His gaze was dulled, but there was still a glint there. And it was enough to give me goosebumps.

  "Pet," he mumbled, half-shutting the door behind him. "How are you feeling?"

  He was advancing on me so quickly. Before I had a chance to answer, he was looming over me, his fingers curling around the back of my neck to pull me into a fierce kiss. A muffled sound escaped my lips, but he didn't seem to notice.

  I was panting when he broke away.

  "All right, I guess," I managed, trying to figure out why I was so damn scared. He wasn't making any threats, and he wasn't even hurting me. He'd been so gentle last night. Maybe that was all he needed. Maybe, with the help of a little opiates, I'd finally broken through.

  That's not what's going on. And you know it.

  My heart thudded against my ribcage. With one hand on the center of my chest, Tate pushed me down effortlessly. Flat on my back, I stared up at him.

  I didn't recognize this man.

  There was nothing of either Tate or the Viper, the constant conflict that existed between them. Just a single-minded, purposeful intention. Whatever he wanted to do to me, he was going to do.

  No hesitations. No objections.

  "Does it hurt?" he asked, his eyes flicking briefly to my leg.

  "A little." It hurt more than a little, but I was suddenly loathe to show weakness. "Thank you for everything. The pills. Putting it back together."

  He eyed me. "You know I don't like it when you thank me. Besides, talk is cheap."

  Tate was unfastening his pants. Eyes raking across my body, there was nothing but a hard edge of lust in his gaze.

  "Wait," I heard myself say.

  He didn't pause, pulling out and stroking, the tip of his tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

  "Wait?" he echoed, a moment later, looking up at my face. "Why should I wait?"

  My fingers were clutching the sheets, compulsively. "Please," I begged. "I...just, wait."

  He was frowning slightly. "You think last night was enough? It's never enough, pet. I always need you. I always need more of you. Don't hold back from me."

  At those words, to my utter humiliation, I felt a twinge of heat in my belly. This wasn't how I wanted him, but God, did I want him.

  "I thought you said it would ruin all your hard work." My voice sounded very distant and faint.

  He laughed, loud and harsh. "Don't care. I've been so fucking hard since I woke up. You know that? The pills make it almost impossible to finish, so I went to bed with aching balls. And it's only gotten worse. I'm tired of taking care of this myself. Shouldn't have to. Now you're here..." His eyes pointedly traveled up and down my body. "...there's no need."

  I watched in horror as he knelt on the bed between my legs, pushing the uninjured one out of the way so that he could see exactly how fucked-up I was. Getting wet for a man who wanted to rape me.

  "God, I could come from just looking at you." He let his fingers dance along the inside of my thigh, avoiding the place where I wanted him, where I didn't want to want him. "But that doesn't sound like as much fun."

  I took a deep, shaky breath. And then, I said the word I hadn't dared to say.

  "No."

  He blinked.

  "No," I repeated. "No. You don't have my consent. Stop. I don't want you to fuck me."

  Dull gray eyes stared into mine, and my heart plummeted.

  Nothing. No twinge of self-loathing, no hesitation, nothing inside of him that remembered who I was. That I mattered. I searched for that tug inside my chest, that thread, but nothing tugged back. He was lost somewhere I couldn't possibly reach him.

  "How can you say no to me?" His head tilted slightly, eyebrows drawing closer together. "After everything I've done for you?"

  Sick guilt clutched at my heart. But there was no passion behind his words, and I knew the truth. I owed him nothing. My virginity wasn't chattel for bargaining. Not that he knew what he was asking of me.

  Would it make a difference, I wondered? Would this version of Tate even care?

  He licked his lips again, leaning over me, planting one hand beside my head. His eyes locked with mine and I searched, desperately, for that little hint of the man I knew. Anyone, anything.

  Please.

  "You think the fear in your eyes is going to stop me?" he whispered. "It just makes me harder."

  I wanted to scream. I wanted to kick him with my good leg, to drag myself out from under him, even if it meant I'd be mangled again and unable to run. I just had to get away. I couldn't stay here. I couldn't accept this fate.

  My heart was thudding in my ears. I barely heard my own voice when I spoke, one last time.

  "Please...I don't want it to happen like this."

  He froze.

  Recoiling, his eyes briefly flashing with something I almost recognized, he stepped back, back, back until he hit the wall. He kept staring at me. My nerves were still zinging with panic, my throat constricted, as I watched him.

  Without another word, he disappeared through the door.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Trust

  Tate

  I woke up in the middle of a nightmare.

  That, in itself, was not interesting.

  Somehow Daniela and Autumn had merged, and I was the monster who ruined them. Again, not unusual. But something about it was bothering me, even before my eyes opened all the way.

  Not like this...

  Please. Stop.

  My stomach twisted.

  Mind racing, I tried to remember what had happened yesterday. Could I account for my whereabouts, or was it all lost in a haze of opiate withdrawal? I remembered going to Autumn's room. I remembered...

  I remembered.

  Dry-heaving into the sink, I remembered. Staring grimly at my reflection, gray and pallid and dotted with sweat, I remembered.

  This is who you are. It's who you've always been.

  Her words had been like a punch to the gut, sending me reeling. Saving me. Saving us both.

  Not like this...

  Daniela.

  "Please, Tate...I don't want it to happen like that. Not with some stranger who bought me. Please..."

  The two situations couldn't have been more different. But somehow, Autumn made me remember.

  I wanted to crush every single pill I had, and bury them in the barn. I wanted to burn the house down. I wanted to carve an apology in my own flesh.

  Would she ever believe me?

  Could she possibly forgive me?

  Saving her life was not enough. She'd seen an ugliness beyond the Viper, beyond just the dark impulses Stoker left me with. She saw, firsthand, what the pills did to me. Without hesitation or conscience, I truly became the monster that she insisted I wasn't. The tiny, fragile trust she'd placed in me was shattered.

  It ought to have been a relief. Wasn't this what I wanted? To be free from the burden of her expectations? For her to finally understand I was too fucked-up to save?

  All I felt was devastation.

  I hadn't known how precious her trust was to me. I couldn't have known, blinded by my insistence that I hated it, that I'd never deserved it.

  I walked down the hallway like my feet were made of lead.

  The first knock had no answer. I was expecting that. Taking a deep breath, I called out her name.

  Though she didn't respond at first, I swore I could feel her rush of panic.

  "Go away. I have a gun."

  Briefly, I actually wondered if she did. Shaking my head to clear the lingering cobwebs, I rested my hand flat against the door. A supplicating gesture, although she couldn't see it.

  "You don't," I said, feeling the comforting weight of my revolver against my chest. "I know you don't. I just want to talk. I won't touch you."

  "I have something sharp," she shot back. "And trust me, I won't hesitate to use it."

  I tried the door, but it
wouldn't budge. Somehow, with her broken leg, she must have dragged a piece of furniture to block it. My stomach churned.

  "Don't hurt yourself. Stay off your leg. Can you do that for me?" I took a deep breath. "I'm opening the door. I just want to see your face. That's all."

  She didn't answer.

  It took some rattling, but the makeshift blockade started scraping across the floor. Enough to see her. Sitting on the edge of the bed, a letter opener clutched in her fist.

  Her eyes were glinting like a cornered animal's. My chest tightened, but I pushed back the wave of anger, reminding myself that I deserved this.

  "I'll stop," I told her. "I won't come in."

  With a sharp exhale through her nostrils, she nodded. Once.

  "Autumn, I'm sorry." Every part of me felt raw. "That's not...it wasn't me."

  She snorted. "Seemed awfully familiar."

  "You know what I mean." I had to fight back against the frustration again. "You saw it. I know you did. I was fucked up, Autumn. I was out of my mind. If I'd been..."

  "You mean if you were sober, you would have only threatened to rape me, right?" Her knuckles were white around the letter-opener. "Rather than actually almost doing it."

  Growling, I snapped back before I had a chance to think better of it. "You know exactly what I am! So what the fuck gives you the right to be offended?"

  "You're right," she said, her voice quiet and cold. "I have known, all along. But for some reason I wanted to believe it wasn't true."

  This was going about as well as could be expected.

  What could I possibly tell her? That I'd rather cut off my balls than see that look on her face again? She wouldn't believe me. I didn't believe me. Obviously it wasn't true, and even if I promised her I'd never down a bottle of oxys again, I was still me. The best case scenario was still one of the worst imaginable.

  I swallowed, hard, my throat trying to rasp shut and trap all my words inside.

  Let her believe you're a monster. It's the truth.

  "Where did you get that?" I was eyeing the letter opener.

  "It was still wrapped up in the dress you rescued me in." She glared. "I took it with me when I left. Not so smart, are you?"