Pieces of Autumn

by Mara Black

  But I couldn't. I was the one making her feel this way. It was always like that. I was the light and the darkness, the pleasure and the pain. In order to be with me, she'd have to remember every time I'd hurt her.

  "That's in the past," I said, softly. "Leave it where it belongs."

  God counts her tears.

  I still didn't believe it, but if it was true, I hoped he would count other things, too. Every time I could make her smile, or laugh. Every time I could make her gasp in pleasure. Every time I held her, protecting her, loving her.

  I could make up for it. By the end, I could tip the scales, unbalancing the measure of our time together. I could outweigh the bad with the good.

  She only had to give me a chance.

  Given enough time, I could make up for every broken thing. Every woman who'd suffered at my hands. I knew it didn't matter, that there really was no cosmic Lady Justice. Broken things stayed broken. Sorry was a useless word. And one life made whole again didn't make a damn bit of difference, really. Not when so many were still suffering.

  But I couldn't change what had already happened. With the Syndicate, at least I could help undo some of the damage that had been done. I could heal people's bodies, even if I was sorely ill-equipped to heal their souls. And with Autumn, I could try to crawl my way back into the light - everything I'd been hiding from, for so long.

  I'd been unwilling to look at myself. Unwilling to see what I'd become. She had forced me to confront the truth. Everything. It was exquisitely painful, like cutting out an old infected wound, hacking away at everything poisonous and dead. Easier to let it fester, until it consumed all of me. Until there was nothing left.

  There were times, before Autumn, when I wished it really had. I prayed for the release of true madness, hoping every day that I'd wake up in a catatonic state, shuffling through the rest of my life like a zombie. If it were possible to perform a lobotomy on yourself, I might have tried. Just to taste that blissful ignorance. To forget. Forever.

  It was comforting to believe such a thing was possible. But I had seen many people broken by the world, and something in them always endured. The most beaten-down slave still had a spark. Still remembered who she used to be. Even Stoker's hardest men could still shed a tear. Some part of them still understood what they did, no matter how well they'd quieted the still, small voice of their conscience.

  At last, Autumn spoke.

  "I don't blame you for telling me," she said, softly. "But I wish I could forget."

  God, we really were one in the same.

  "I know," I said, leaning down, kissing her forehead. She melted against me, and my heart leapt. "I know. It would be easier, wouldn't it?"

  She sighed, quietly. "I always remember...back when it was still running, I used to sneak into the dollar theater and see all the second-run movies. I'd eat whatever people left behind, the stale popcorn, the old candy. And I'd huddle in the corner and watch. It was a way to pass the time. It was safe, more or less. I think sometimes the projectionist knew I was there, but he didn't say anything. He probably understood.

  "I saw that one...about the insane asylum on the island. That soldier who'd seen too much pain, too much death, so it drove him insane. He retreated from it. His own brain refused to accept what he'd seen. I went and watched it every day, for weeks. I envied him. I wished it could happen like that. But I've never seen it. People just endure. They live with the pain, it makes their lives hell - but they're so much stronger than anyone realizes. We just keep going. We can't stop. We can't ever rest, we can't ever forget."

  "What if you could?" I asked her, softly, marveling at the similarity of our minds. "What if you could have a clean slate? Would you?"

  She shook her head, violently. "No," she said. "It would take you away from me."

  My heart leapt. It was an unfamiliar feeling, almost terrifying in its newness, but I embraced it. I pulled her to me and kissed her, with all the gratitude I felt, for everything she'd given me. All the love and the forgiveness that I didn't deserve.

  "I was afraid you might hate me," I murmured, my lips muffled against her hair.

  Autumn laughed softly. "Hate you?"

  I squeezed her tighter. "You'd have every right."

  "I know," she said, softly. "But I don't. And I never will."

  And that was the beauty of it, the incredible grace of my Autumn. She didn't try to pretend I was perfect. She didn't tell me that I'd done nothing wrong. She just accepted it. All of it. And she loved me anyway.

  My whole life, I'd thought it to be impossible. Even before Stoker, I never saw anything like it. My parents, always bitter, always holding grudges against each other for things they couldn't even remember. Everyone in the world seemed so angry and suspicious. So cynical. Unconditional love was a beautiful myth, preached from pulpits and practiced by no one.

  "I'm so sorry, Autumn," I whispered. "I'm so sorry I didn't stop him."

  I had been waiting so long to be able to say that. A weight came off my shoulders, and I didn't even realize I had been carrying it.

  "If you had, we might never have met." She said this very softly, almost to herself. "Is that a terrible thought to have? That if my parents hadn't..."

  "It's not," I reassured her, pulling away to look at her, to hold her face in my hands. "It's all in the past. Nothing could change it now."

  She sighed. "I don't like to imagine what my life would've been like, if I hadn't found you."

  It ached to think about.

  "So don't," I told her. "This is real. This is everything."

  Smiling, she got to her feet. "You're right," she said. She extended her hands to me, lifting me up and pulling me to the center of the room.

  I was in a trance, following her lead, as she slotted her body against mine, resting her head on my chest.

  "Dance with me?" she whispered.

  Sliding my arm around her waist, I kissed her forehead. "Of course."

  We swayed around the room to imaginary music, the chirping of the crickets keeping time. My heart thumped in my chest, painfully alive, for the first time in so long.

  "Who do you belong to?" I murmured against the side of her head.

  "You," she said, without hesitating.

  I took in a deep breath. "Why?"

  I felt her body tense slightly. I'd never asked that question before. Never wanted to know the answer. But now, I needed it.

  "Because I want to."

  She said it softly, but with such total assurance. She wasn't just accepting, she was embracing. So completely different from the fierce but frightened woman who'd lived under my protection. In my absence, she had somehow found balance. Belonging to me, but not belonging. She was whole, but we were still each other's missing piece.

  My whole life had been a paradox, for as long as I could remember. For once, I was ready. I welcomed the contradictions with open arms.

  Finally, after a long time, she broke away, smiling like she had a wonderful secret. She stepped away from me, putting a few feet of space between us.

  "I'm so grateful you're here, Doctor."

  Flames danced in her eyes. They were just reflections, but in that moment, she could have fooled me.

  I swallowed, my throat gone very dry. Her voice was low and lilting, just the sound of it beckoning me closer without conscious intention.

  "I need your help," she murmured, lips parting, and my body swayed towards her like a charmed snake. "I'm very sick."

  Very slowly, I raised my hands to her neck and pressed my fingers under her jaw. Lightly dragging them forward, palpating, feeling for her imaginary illness that only I could cure.

  "What seems to be the trouble?" I asked her.

  Her eyelids fluttered, and I felt her pulse quicken at my touch. "A very bad man took me prisoner. He made me do things, Doctor. I begged him for mercy, but he wouldn't stop. Not until he owned every part of me." She opened her eyes again, licking her lips slowly. "Now I can't stop thinking about him. He infect
ed me with darkness. When I remember the pain, the humiliation, I go into heat. It makes me wet when I remember how I cried when he struck me. I'm not normal, Doctor. But the worst part is, I'm starting to think I never was."

  My head was swimming. "You're normal," I heard myself say. "You're very normal. You just need some time. To recover, to..."

  "But that's just it," she cut me off, her finger on my lips. "I am better. I healed, Doctor. At least, every other part of me did. Mind, body and soul. But I still crave it." She blinked, slowly, cutting me off from the intense desire in her gaze for just one moment. One moment too long. "I don't think I'll ever be cured."

  My head, my heart, my cock, were all throbbing.

  "Show me," I whispered.

  A wicked smile spreading across her face, she lifted her blouse over her head and tossed it aside. Her breasts stood proud and stiff, pink buds aching to be licked, sucked, grazed with my teeth.

  "Here," she said, cupping the soft mounds of flesh in her hands, lifting them up for my inspection.

  With the pad of my thumb, I slowly circled one nipple, feeling it harden even more under my calloused caress. "Where else?"

  Her jeans went next, crumpling to the floor. As she bent over to step out of them, I watched her breasts swinging freely, mouth watering to taste her skin again, after so long. To hear her moan as I suckled and stroked with my tongue.

  "Here." She laid her hands on either side of her pelvis, framing the damp dark spot on the fabric of her panties.

  "I need to see." My voice was hoarse, wrecked with wanting her. I loved and hated that she was in control, guiding the scenario, playing her role so well.

  "All right," she said, her eyelashes fluttering shyly. She stepped out of her panties slowly, setting them aside and sitting down primly on the edge of the bed.

  "Spread your legs," I commanded, kneeling down to examine her. "I have to get a better look so I can help you."

  My breath caught in my throat. I had missed this, so much, every part of it - her little gasp at the cool air hitting her heated flesh, the way her body opened so invitingly for me. Her arousal trickled down, sticky on her thighs, making the bedclothes damp.

  I spread her open with my fingers, trying to control the rate of my breathing. She choked back a sound, still in character.

  "Oh, Doctor," she gasped. "That feels..."

  "Am I hurting you?" I slid two fingers inside her, quickly. She moaned and tightened around me, her hips tilting up towards me. "I'm sorry, I have to continue the exam."

  "No, it feels..." Her fingers tightened on the mattress. "It feels good, Doctor. Is that strange? Is there something wrong with me?"

  "There's nothing wrong with you," I told her, fervently. "Nothing."

  "God," she panted. "Yes, Doctor, this is how it makes me feel when I think about him. Hot all over, and..."

  "And what else?" I licked my lips, aching to taste her.

  "...wet," she whispered. "Sometimes I..."

  "What?" I rasped. "Tell me. It's important for your diagnosis."

  Her eyes burned into mine as I fucked her with my fingers. "Sometimes I do what you're doing...I put my fingers inside myself, and then I taste them, and I imagine him..."

  "You imagine him what?"

  "Licking me," she moaned. "Sometimes, his tongue is all I can think about."

  I needed no further encouragement. Lowering my head, I caressed her with the flat of my tongue, lapping at her clit in rhythm with my fingers. Within seconds, she threw back her head and let out a hoarse cry, her inner muscles rippling around me.

  Christ. I knew she was in heat, but I didn't expect that. My chest swelled with the knowledge that I drove her to such distraction that she hardly needed to be touched, to explode with pleasure. Smiling, I planted a feather-light kiss on her inner thigh.

  "I'm afraid there's no cure," I whispered, raising my head, withdrawing my fingers with a wet, obscene sound. She panted, her eyes shining, body still trembling with the aftershocks of her sudden climax. "Only a treatment. But it's temporary."

  "Please, Doctor," she whimpered, grasping at my hips and pulling me forward. "I need it. I want to feel better."

  God damn it. She was going to kill me, and I was going to love it.

  I tore my shirt off over my head, quickly stepping out of my pants next, my underwear, letting it all crumple in a pile at our feet. I needed to be naked. I needed every inch of my skin against hers.

  She grabbed me again, pulling me forward so that my cock nudged against her cheek. Her mouth opened eagerly, and she sucked me in, laving the head with her tongue.

  "No," I commanded, grabbing her hair and yanking her back. As much as I wanted it, as many times as I'd jerked off to the memory of coming down her throat, it wasn't what I needed now. "You have to take it properly."

  "Properly?" she whispered, her lips parted, eyes glimmering lust. "What does that mean?"

  "It means here." I slid my hand between her legs, cupping her mound. She moaned and squirmed, and I rubbed her gently with my fingertips. "In your sweet little cunt."

  "Yes," she moaned. "Yes, God, please."

  I smiled. "Does that sound good, Autumn? My cock inside you?"

  She nodded, momentarily breathless. "Yes," she said, finally. "Please."

  "Will that give you some relief?" I teased, crawling on top of her, directing her to spread her body underneath mine, parting her legs and nestling my prick between her thighs. I rubbed the head against her pussy lips, gritting my teeth against the urge to sink inside. "How long have you been wanting this?"

  "So long," she sighed, trying to tilt her hips to guide me in. "Please, Tate. Don't make me wait any more."

  The pretense of the game had fallen aside, but I forgot to care.

  "You want it?" I kissed her, lightly, on the forehead. "Tell me how much."

  "More than anything."

  "Tell me what you'd do for me."

  "Everything."

  I breached her entrance, stretching her open, sliding in heart-stoppingly slow.

  "Tell me," I whispered, "who you belong to."

  "You." Her nails dug into my back, so hard I could still feel it through my scars. "You, Sir. Always."

  In as deep as I could go, I paused, panting against her skin, my teeth scraping her collarbone.

  "Fuck me," she moaned. "Please."

  I pulled back, and thrust back in, all the way. Her whole body quivered. She was so beautifully responsive to me, still, and instead of being dulled by her eagerness, my libido only raged higher. I quickened my pace, letting instinct take over.

  "Harder," she whispered.

  I obeyed.

  She was moaning, thrashing, meeting my every movement. Faster, faster, harder, our bodies moving in concert, forgetting everything but the need to connect.

  It felt like it was building for an eternity, but at the same time, it all came on in a rush.

  "Autumn," I gritted out, "I..."

  "Tate..." she gasped, her eyes losing focus. "Oh my God..."

  She was suspended on the edge, and I knew exactly what she needed.

  Nuzzling against that little spot between her neck and shoulder, I bit down.

  Hard.

  She screamed, and I didn't care if the whole fucking camp heard us both come.

  We both said it, or at least, I thought so afterwards. The words mingled with our cries and groans of pleasure, love you and god yes and so fucking much, I love you, I love you ringing in my ears. It suddenly seemed absurd that I'd never said it before. That I hadn't said it every day, branded it on my flesh, that I had ever resisted the notion of being so completely in love with her.

  We collapsed in a tangle of limbs, foreheads touching, still breathing each other in. I never wanted to fucking leave this bed. I had to be able to hold her, touch her, anytime I wanted. I had to be reminded that this was real.

  My head swam with realizations and memories, everything from the look of fear when I first pulled the bag off of her he
ad, to the look in her eyes when she took her revenge on Mr. Charles. On behalf of all the lives he'd ruined, all the lives Stoker had eaten alive, she was like a goddess clothed in vengeance. At the time, I'd thought it was impossible for her to ever seem more beautiful.

  I was wrong.

  And she was just as intoxicated by me. It was written across her face, very plainly, as I looked down at her.

  Her eyes shone, with happiness and unshed tears.

  "I never thought you would say it," she whispered, the words almost catching in her throat.

  My throat was growing uncomfortably tight. Swallowing with an effort, I just smiled. "Of course I was going to say it," I replied, roughly. "Just waiting for the right opportunity."

  With a watery smile, she kissed me. "You picked a hell of a moment, Sir."

  Stroking the side of her face, I wanted to tell her not to call me that anymore. It was in our past. But it wasn't, really. I still preened when I heard it, even more so now that she had the freedom to call me anything.

  "I missed you so much." She pushed that stubborn lock of hair back from my eyes, a smile playing at her lips. "I thought I'd never see you again."

  "Ought to have been a relief." I couldn't stop myself. The Viper still controlled my tongue, sometimes.

  She was frowning. "Stop it. That's over. You're not allowed to talk about yourself like that."

  "Oh, I'm not?" I couldn't hold back a grin. "Sorry, when did you start giving orders?"

  "Tate, listen to me." Her face was still serious, her eyes fixed on mine. "I wouldn't change a single thing that happened between us. I mean that."

  Holding her tightly, I murmured, "I would change everything. But also - I wouldn't. I'd be afraid to."

  She laughed softly, understanding.

  This woman, this remarkable woman - she took my breath away. There was no longer any doubt in my mind. I saw her now for who she really was. Who she had always been, who she was meant to be, before the world burned. Strong and beautiful, sun-bronzed and smiling at everyone and everything. Fiercely intelligent, seeing through layers of meaningless posturing and lies to the truth at the heart of things.