He looked at me, “DVD’s?”
“Of us, you told me there were cameras in the bedroom, where are they?”
“On a disk, here, in my office,” he said, his eyes darkening as he got my drift.
“Can we watch them downstairs?” I asked.
“Yes, the TV is connected to the player.”
“Put one on but give me a couple of minutes first,” I said.
I made my way downstairs. On the wall was what looked like a mirror until it was turned on, it was in fact, a TV. I took off my dress and opened the drawer on his side of the bed. I took out a bottle of oil, my silver vibrator, the black scarf and placed them on the bed, my glass of cold wine on the table. I heard him come down the stairs and I stood in the darkened room while the TV flickered to life, in my black lace underwear, my stockings and those sexy high heels he liked.
He paused as he came through the door looking at me, his eyes getting darker by the second. I walked towards him and undid the buttons on his shirt, slipping it off his shoulders, my hands caressing his arms and the muscles on his biceps. He bent to kiss me but I moved my head away, a smile on my face.
“Tonight, Mr Stone, I’m in charge,” I whispered.
“No you’re not, but carry on,” he answered.
“Why do you think I’m not in charge?” I asked as my hands undid his trousers, my fingers running around the waistband of his shorts.
“Because I made you this way, Brooke. So no, you’ll never be in charge, not in this room, but I want you to do whatever you want,” he said.
He was right, before him the good old missionary position was all I really knew and before him I had never had an orgasm, faked many, but never really experienced one. His statement turned me on however. Yes, he was in control and what he was saying was that he allowed me to do whatever I wanted. Right now he wanted me to explore that darker side of my brain, the one he had gently been tapping into until now.
I took his hand and led him towards the bed, he sat propped up against the pillows, his hands folded behind his head. The movie started and I was aware of the sound of my voice, of his but I didn’t want to watch, I wanted him to. I sat across his thighs and poured some oil into my hands, smoothing it over his shoulders and across his chest. I took my time to massage him, down his stomach and across his hips. I watched him, watching us over my shoulder. I saw his face change as I took him in my hands, gently letting the oil do the work, allowing my fingers to slide up and down, his cock so hard.
I listened to the sound coming from the TV, the breathing, the moaning and it was more erotic listening than watching. I could only imagine what he was doing to me. His eyes would flick from the screen to mine, a slow, wicked smile creeping across his face.
I leant across him, taking a mouthful of my wine and without swallowing it, I held that cold liquid in my mouth, lowering my head to suck him. I felt him tense. His hands fisted in my hair as he pushed my head further down onto him. My tongue swirled around the tip of his cock and up and down his shaft as he fucked my mouth. As I started to swallow the wine, I sucked hard on him and I felt him pulse, his salty fluid hitting the back of my throat. I licked him clean and then my mouth travelled over his balls licking off the wine that had spilled there, my tongue tangling in his soft downy hair.
He pulled my head up to him and I placed my hands on his chest. I let him kiss me, his mouth hungry for mine. I pulled away, my mouth finding his neck, my tongue running over his throat and I held his hands to his side, although I was nowhere near strong enough to restrain him.
“Watch the film,” I whispered.
I took the vibrator and turned it on. I ran the tip across my mouth, warming it before running it over his nipples. I wanted to see if it had the same effect on him as it did on me. I moved it down his stomach and across the tip of his still erect cock and I saw his hands fist in the bedcovers. I ran it down the sides of him, across his balls, very gently letting the vibrations flow over him. His breath quickened, in time with the noise from the TV and now I wanted to watch.
“I want you to listen, let me tell you what’s happening,” I said and he closed his eyes.
I kneeled behind him, my hands caressing and I whispered what I saw, detailing everything he did to me, every emotion in his and my face. I was stunned by what I was watching, it was me, it just didn’t look like me. My breath caught in my throat as I watched him watch me climax, the love evident in his eyes. Still I whispered, detailing every kiss, every movement. I told him how my body responded, how I felt right then, how hot I was for him and how wet. I let the fingers on one hand move between my legs, coating them with my juices and I placed those fingers on his lips, his tongue licking the wetness from them.
Twice he reached behind for me and I moved just out of his reach but then he took me by surprise. He moved so fast, he had me on my back and was towering over me. He ripped at my panties, pulling them away, the flimsy lace having no resistance.
“Want to play games?” he asked with a growl.
He tied my hands above my head with the scarf, to the bed frame and a shiver went through me. Not from fear, although his face was hard, his eyes black with desire, I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, it was the anticipation of what was to come.
“Keep your eyes open, Brooke. Watch everything I do to you,” he said.
He took a remote from the drawer and angled it towards the TV. The movie changed, now I was watching us in real time. A camera pointed down on us from the top of the TV. I watched as his head bent to my neck, kissing across my shoulders, down my chest and I watched as his tongue flicked across my nipples, his teeth nipping them.
He pulled my legs apart, totally exposing me and I watched with fascination as he parted me, seeing the wetness, the swollen clitoris and his fingers gently stroking. I watched myself come. It was hard to keep my eyes open, my body instinctively arched and I saw a small quivering in my stomach, my legs shake a little and a flush rise up my chest. My hands gripped the bed frame.
“Now you see what I see,” he said.
I cried out and I heard the cry echo back to me. I was stunned at the sight, the sounds I made and the total abandonment to him.
He released my hands. “On your knees,” he commanded. I faced the TV and he knelt behind me, holding my hair in his hand, forcing my head up to watch.
“Are you in control here, Brooke?” he asked, his teeth grazing over my shoulders.
I whimpered.
“I can’t hear you,” he said, his cock teasing me.
“No,” I cried out and I watched as he slammed into me before stilling.
I was captivated by his face, by us and slowly he began to move, watching me, watching us. He started off slow, one hand holding my hair, the other on my hip, his fingers digging into my skin. I cried out and pushed back against him, to force him deeper. He started to move faster and I watched his face as we came together, the emotion flood his eyes. He threw his head back, his stomach tensed and every muscle was defined. When he brought his head back up, a smile crept across his lips, he let go of my hair and I buried my face in my hands.
“Oh my God,” I said as I started to laugh. My legs gave way and I collapsed down on the bedding, my hair sticking to my wet forehead. He rolled to the side of me, pulling me towards him but I kept my hands over my face and he pulled them away.
“I am so embarrassed,” I said.
“Why?” he asked. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, how your face changes when you come, how your eyes sparkle like sunlight hitting an ocean. I see that every time and I wanted you to.”
I looked at him. “You think you have no emotion, but listen to how you speak,” I said softly.
He thought for a moment. “It’s only now, with you that I can feel. Like, really feel what’s inside me. Some of it I like, some I don’t.”
“Do you want to talk about the ones you don’t?” I asked.
“No, not right now,” he said, his fingers pushing hair from my face.
“I n
eed a shower and please, turn that camera off.” I laughed, climbing from the bed.
Later that night I thought about what he had said. It was a difficult time for him. If he was starting to feel his emotions, he would also need to learn how to handle them. He had successfully buried everything for so long, if that was now all bubbling to the surface he would struggle to understand some of it.
I also had an idea of what to get him for Christmas, something he would really like judging by what he had said earlier.
I wondered what his Christmas’s had been like. If his aunt was religious surely she would have celebrated. I guessed she would have made him go to church and I doubt he had ever been given gifts, but would it have been a happy day for him? I loved Christmas despite them not being particularly good. I remembered back to my childhood, I would have presents to open, but mainly I would watch the excitement on my parents face when my brother opened each one of his, sometimes many more than I got.
I remembered the mornings, there would be a stocking on the end of the bed, perhaps a book or new pyjamas and I would creep downstairs. We always had a tree and I loved to sit in the dark and just look at the lights, the angel on the top, wishing this year would be better.
My brother would come down and we would sit side by side. Sometimes, later in the day, after opening our gifts he would share some of his with me. He gave me his Action Man one year. He was such a kind man even at that age and so aware of the different treatment we received from our parents.
I had never asked them why they treated us so differently, why they favoured him over me, there never seemed any point. It was the way it was and what could I do about it now? Instead I planned that this year would be the one I had always dreamed of, surrounded by people I loved and who loved me back.
Chapter Two
I woke Sunday morning, Robert was already up, I could hear him upstairs and I could smell bacon. I had introduced him and Travis a little while ago to bacon sandwiches with my favourite HP Fruity Sauce, a Sunday tradition back home. I stretched, feeling a slight sting across my shoulders. Making my way to the bathroom, I looked at the mess we had left in the bedroom and felt my face flush with the embarrassment of it.
Inspecting my shoulders in the mirror I saw the small bruises and grazes, Robert and I would have to have yet another chat soon about his compulsion to mark me. I knew it was because he was so passionate but I was beginning to think there was a little more to it.
I took a quick shower, tied my hair back and put on some jeans and a T-shirt, made the bed and tidied the room a little. I heard Travis come through the front door, joining us and made my way upstairs. Robert was cooking, leaving his customary mess everywhere. He was full of contradictions, he had told me he couldn’t live with Travis because he was so untidy, yet, put Robert in the kitchen and the place looked like a bomb had hit it.
“Good morning,” I said as I walked over, pulling out a stool.
Robert handed me a cup of tea, frowning as I winced a little reaching forward, my shoulders sore.
“So, what are your plans today Trav?” I asked, taking a bite of my sandwich.
“I have a lunch date,” he said.
“Wow, tell me more,” I replied.
“Nothing to tell really,” he said, finishing his sandwich in a couple of bites and making his way out, a wave over his shoulder as he left.
“Do you know who it is?” I asked Robert.
“No, that’s the first I’ve heard about it. Normally he would tell me.”
Robert seemed worried, it was unusual for Travis and him not to share everything.
“Wait until he comes back, go have a boys night out, you haven’t done that since I’ve been here,” I said.
“I don’t like leaving you,” he replied.
“Robert, I’m thirty one years old, I’ll survive a couple of hours without you,” I said. “Anyway, we can’t live in each other’s pockets all the time.”
He sent Travis a text and while I cleared the mess he settled on the sofa to read the papers. Sunday was really the only day that he got to relax so we never normally made plans.
“I want to use the computer for a minute, okay,” I said making my way to the office. By giving him notice I was also telling him that if there was something I wasn’t to see, he had a chance to move it. He still had his secrets, something we were working on.
I fired up the computer looking on the internet for that Christmas present I had thought about last night. I also checked my emails and noticed one from the letting agent for my old home back in the UK, they were asking me to contact them urgently. It seemed that Michael, my ex, had not paid the last month's rent, not given notice on the lease but it looked like he had vacated the premises.
I emailed back that I was now living in America and that I would be in contact the following day. Checking the time difference I decided I needed to call him, to find out what was going on. The last time we had spoken he had called me a whore after I had told him I was with Robert so I wasn’t expecting any pleasantries.
“Michael, it's Brooke.” I said when he answered.
“What do you want?” he replied.
“I’ve had an email from the letting agents, about the rent and the lease. I sent you half of the last month's rent, why haven’t you paid it?”
“Because I haven’t, what does it have to do with you?” he snarled.
“What it has to do with me is that my name is still on that lease. We have the deposit to be returned if you terminate and half of that is mine. I’ve kept my end of the bargain and paid my half of the last month, despite not living there.”
“You not living here is your choice so don’t do me any fucking favours.”
“Look, Michael, can we be civil about this?” I asked, watching as Robert came into the room. I pointed to the email for him to read.
“All I’m saying is that you can’t not pay the rent and you can’t just walk out. What about all my things?”
“You’re things are at the tip and mine are with my new girlfriend,” he said.
“Why would you take my things to the tip? For Christ sake, Michael, there were things I wanted, my brother’s pictures, what have you done with them?”
“Gone, everything about you is gone, now have a fucking nice life,” he said as he clicked off the phone.
I looked up at Robert with tears in my eyes. “He’s thrown away everything of mine and my brother’s pictures,” I told him sadly.
It was all I had left of him. There was one of him in his uniform at his passing out parade and one he had sent me from Iraq, him sitting on top of his truck, smiling at the camera just before he was killed.
“Oh baby, I’m so sorry, what a prick,” he said as he took me in his arms. “Do you want me to talk to him, sort out the house?”
“No, I don’t want you involved, I’ll call the agents tomorrow,” I said.
How could Michael do that? I know I hurt him by leaving but he knew about my parents, he knew my brother was the only person, other than Sam, that I was close to. What a terrible way to get back at me. I could hardly ask my parents for a picture, they treasured theirs, it was like a shrine to David at their house.
We settled on the sofa and I snuggled into him, his body reassuring me.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“No,” he joked, everyone’s stock answer to that question nowadays.
“I’m thinking about Travis, him not dating. Has that something to do with his body, you know, his scars?” I asked.
Travis’ torso was covered in a mass of slash marks, something Robert would not tell me about.
“It might do. He has been in love once before but he broke it off.”
“Why?” I said, looking at him.
“Because of me.”
“Now you’re having a semi normal life, do you think he might realise it’s his time as well? You’re both still young, there’s still time for him to find someone,” I said.
“What
do you mean semi normal?” he asked.
I smiled. “You still have a way to go yet, Robert. I mean, you do have this need to bite, it’s a bit strange. Did you do that to all your women?”
He didn’t so much as laugh, more a huff.
“No, I didn’t.”
“So why me? I’m not complaining, well, not entirely, but it’s like you have a compulsion to mark me.”
I watched his face, I had learnt when to push a subject and when not to, but his face stayed neutral.
“I guess I do, it’s a habit. I don’t think I can explain it in way that you’ll understand.”
“Try me, if you want to tell me that is.”
“You know what I did to earn money, you know that I had a violent past and sometimes I had to make a statement. If someone crossed me and I had to deal with them, I marked them. I cut their face normally so every time they looked in the mirror they would remember me.”
“Oh, but I haven’t crossed you, as you put it,” I said, trying to digest what he had said.
“No, but one day you might leave me and when you look in a mirror you’ll remember me. You’ll remember where I’ve been,” he said quietly.
I thought for a moment, my eyes closed to a memory.
“That’s what he meant wasn’t it, when he cut my face. Joey said you would appreciate the significance. He wants me to look in the mirror and remember him, doesn’t he?” I said, my voice breaking.
He didn’t answer straight away and I wished I had not asked that question, this was one answer I didn’t want to know.
“He set me and Travis up one day, tried to get us killed. It didn’t work, obviously, but he couldn’t get away with it. We hurt him, badly, and I marked him, exactly as he did to you.”
I could see a pulse throbbing in his neck, the painful memory of what had happened to me, how his past had come back, how I had ended up in the middle of it.
“So, my cut was a message to you then,” I said.
He nodded. “I was supposed to come home and find you in the house, he would have been long gone but I would know who it was because he copied my signature.”
Fallen Angel, Part II Page 3