Grimmstead Academy: Submission

by Candace Wondrak

  His truth was he was dying.

  Being here had to lessen it, stop it. If Ian ever left Grimmstead—assuming it was possible—I didn’t doubt that he’d decline, day after day, until he looked like the man in that picture.

  “You can’t know,” he whispered, the frown he wore one of sadness.

  I took my hand off his leg, moving to set it on his back, rubbing small circles on it. My goal was to comfort him, to calm him down enough that he could go to bed. “While I was out, I saw a lot of things…including you.”

  Ian swallowed hard. Sweat lined his brow. He’d already drunk probably half of the bottle he’d broken downstairs, and he wanted to down more. “Really? What…what did you see?” A gentle question, but I knew why he was asking. Ian wanted to know if I knew the truth.

  It was a little while before I said, “I saw you, when you were a kid. You were sick.” I looked down, staring hard at my feet, recalling the moment like it’d just happened minutes ago. “You coughed up blood.”

  “Fuck,” Ian muttered, trying to get up, to get away from me. He must’ve been embarrassed, because of his manly pride or something equally as stupid.

  “No,” I said, grabbing his arm and holding him down. “You don’t get to run from this. The drinking, the sexual jokes—all of it is to put on a front. You do it because you’re scared.”

  “Bullshit. I’m not scared of anything.”

  He and I had to talk about the effects of aging during our one on one sessions. It dawned on me then: every single thing I was forced to talk about with these guys had to deal with their weaknesses. I spoke about psychology with Koda, aging with Ian…

  Nothing in this place was by pure chance.

  “You are,” I told him, knowing it deep down. “You’re scared of the truth.” My hand went to hold his; he didn’t pull away, though he didn’t look too happy about it, either. “I saw the picture. I know what you see.”

  Ian’s blue eyes fell to our hands, and his fingers tightened around mine. “I hate that fucking thing.”

  “I know,” I whispered.

  “I hate being me.”

  My heart constricted as I looked at him, and before I knew what I was doing, I pulled him closer to me, hugging his head to my shoulder, moving my body to face his to better fit the position. “I know you don’t need me,” I said, running a hand through his hair. It felt smooth and sleek, not thin and dry like the hair in the picture was. “But maybe, if you let me, I can help you.”

  Of course, it was after I said it that I wondered just how the heck I could help this man, but I’d figure it out later.

  “How?” The word came out in a rushed breath, and I tried not to focus on the rankness of his breath, instead focusing on how broken he was. How much he did need me, even if he’d never admit it aloud. Ian was too good to admit something like that—or, at least, he thought he was. A stubborn man.

  “I’m not sure yet,” I answered honestly, combing my fingers through his hair. “But when I figure it out, you’ll be the first person I tell.”

  “The only one,” he muttered against my neck as his arms started to wrap around my waist, hugging me closer to him. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths, which was good. He seemed to be calming himself down in my arms, which was the goal of this.

  I felt awful for him. If I could change things for Ian, I gladly would. Even if sometimes his inappropriate remarks made me furiously blush and want to crawl under a rock and hide, he was a loveable fool all the same.

  We stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, my steadiness lending itself to Ian. I was the one who broke the silence of the room, saying, “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.” Kind of felt like I was speaking to a child, but then again, we were all entitled to a breakdown every once in a while, and Ian deserved one. I couldn’t imagine how he felt, how trapped and lonely he must feel.

  It must suck.

  I helped Ian to his feet, moving him to his bed on the opposite side of his nightstand, keeping him away from that bottle. I’d take it with me when I left, just so he didn’t have any more temptation. He’d drink himself to death if he could.

  The strange thing was, I didn’t think he could. Not here. Not in Grimmstead.

  I lifted the covers, and he crawled under. Felt like a mother, but that…that was not something I would ever be suited for, and Ian was definitely no son of mine. He was simply a broken man trying to drown out reality with his vices.

  Heck, I even tucked him in, smiling down at him as I said, “Goodnight, Ian.” I started to move away, my intent to go around the bed, grab the bottle, and leave the room, let him get a good night’s sleep, but his hand shot out from the covers and curled around my wrist.

  For someone who’d just tripped down the stairs because his feet got mixed up, he sure seemed to be doing better now.

  “Wait,” he said, and I turned to look at him.

  With the silver moonlight streaming in through the window, I saw his eyes were clearer. He looked…a lot better than he did before, as if he’d never been drunk. That was impossible. You didn’t get over being so drunk that fast. You just didn’t.

  Unless…unless it was me. Unless it was me being near him. If I was truly connected to each man in this house, if Lucien had seen me his entire life and I made the noise stop for Dagen…what if I could make Ian better, too? Make his mind clearer, make him less prone to reaching for that bottle and downing its contents.

  I didn’t want to put pressure on myself, but that seemed as good of an explanation as any.

  “Can you…” Ian was, for the first time ever, cautious in what he said. He didn’t blurt it out like he always did. His smooth voice came out light, hesitant, and he gave me a pleading, desperate look. “Do you have to leave? Can you stay here with me?”

  Was he asking me to sleep with him? As in, really sleep? I didn’t know what to say, and I stared at him for a long while before saying something I might regret later: “Sure.” How the heck could I deny him when he was currently giving me the saddest puppy dog look I’d ever seen? Never had a simple look tugged at my heartstrings so much.

  Ian scooted over in the bed, still holding onto my wrist, and he lifted the sheets, obviously wanting me to crawl under there with him.

  I was long past the point where I’d stomp my foot and say this was inappropriate. It was like this house wanted me to be with these guys, which I found incredibly strange, but that was the anthem of this place. Strange, macabre, and creepy.

  He only released my wrist when I was under the covers, inches from him. Being so close to him in a bed gave my mind all sorts of ideas, but I knew now wasn’t the best time. He’d just had a mental breakdown—which, if I had to guess, I’d say he had quite often—so there was no way he was in the right frame of mind to do anything.

  I lay on my back, though I reached toward his face and ran my fingers down it, whispering, “I hope you get some sleep tonight, Ian.” If ever I willed something to be true, it was that. This man needed to, for once, forget his problems and relax, not put up a flirty front.

  I was about to pull my hand off his face, turn onto my side, facing away from him, and try to get some sleep myself, but Ian set his hand atop mine, pressing my palm flat against his cheek. “With you here, I just might.” After that declaration, he released my hand, and I rolled over, giving him my back.

  My intention was to give him some space, but Ian proved me wrong when he did the same: he rolled onto his side, inching closer to me, and then, oh, and then he draped an arm around me, holding my back against his front. That meant we were cuddling. Spooning. Me being the little spoon and Ian being the big one. I didn’t know what to think of that.

  No, wait. I did.

  I loved it.

  It felt insanely nice to have his steady breathing at my back, his arm firmly around my chest, his fingers toying with the opening of the slip. This was a game with dangerous territory.

  “Maybe I do need you,” Ian murmured, his
breath hot on my neck, his head right behind mine on the same pillow. His fingers were slow to move beneath the slip, and my breathing caught. “The real question is, we all need you, but do you need us?”

  Judging the way I felt right now, in Ian’s arms, I’d say the answer to that was yes. There was no way I’d be able to explain just why that was, but I knew it in my gut. This place, these guys, called out to me like nothing and no one else ever had. I never believed in fate or destiny before, but it grew harder and harder each day to make that statement.

  This…this was what fate felt like.

  Ian grew quiet for a while, and I was too lost in my own head to answer him. If I opened my mouth and tried to tell him, I’d sound like a fool, an idiot of epic proportions. So I didn’t. I kept quiet, trying to focus my mind on how his hand had snuck under the tied slip and now danced across the top of my breasts.

  Just a light, feathery touch. A gentle roaming of his skin on mine, tempting and teasing in the worst way.

  My heart raced in my chest; this was what I was worried about happening when Ian had asked me to stay. This was Ian we were talking about. He never wanted to keep it in his pants. I did wonder what he’d done all these years, being stuck here. Maybe his hand, maybe the same hand tracing faint lines along my chest, or maybe…

  Whoa there. I was not going to let my mind go there.

  I felt Ian’s midsection lean harder against mine, and even though he wasn’t totally hard, he was semi-erect. “Do you want to know something?” he murmured against my ear.

  What the heck could I say besides “Yes”?

  “I never sleep well. I always wander the halls,” he told me, something I could’ve figured out myself. Didn’t know if that would be considered a secret, then. But he wasn’t done. “When you came, I admit, my first thought was getting those legs wrapped around me. I started thinking of you at night, and you only made my mind spin faster circles.”

  I kept quiet, not knowing where this was going now.

  “So, naturally, I took to wandering your hall,” he admitted. “I found Koda there once, but I think it was Bram who nudged him to go there.”

  Oh, great. Yeah, bring up the resident psycho. What a great idea.

  Ian continued, “Anyways, what would you know—I found a crack in the wall, near your door. I frequented this crack every night because of what I saw when I slipped inside.”

  My skin grew hot all over. I had no idea where this was going, but I really should’ve put two and two together.

  “You,” Ian whispered, the hand under the slip moving to cup my left breast above the bra. “I saw you, Felice, in the tub.”

  I was pretty sure I was too turned on right now to be embarrassed to have been watched masturbating or angered at the invasion of privacy. My thighs clenched, and behind me, a full-on erection pressed against me.

  “Every night you were stunning. You took my breath away. Watching you touch yourself under the water…I don’t think I’ve ever seen something more erotic,” Ian told me, his voice low, falling onto my ears like honey.

  “Ian,” I spoke his name, not quite sure what I wanted to say. Did I want him to stop? Did I want him to continue and keep going?

  Ian, however, must’ve been psychic, for he whispered, “I know.” And then the hand cupping my breast snaked underneath the bra, his fingers grazing my hardened nipple, running circles around it, pinching and tweaking it and making my back arch into him. “I know you might not believe me, because it’s me, but you are the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen. No other woman, or man for that matter, could ever compare to you.”

  A part of me couldn’t help but wonder if his words were simply said to get on my good side, to make me forget how much of a player he was. It sounded like there’d been other people here at one point, so maybe he’d gotten freaky with them. I didn’t detect anything between him and the others who were here now, but I also knew that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

  Heat spiraled in my lower gut when his hand left my breast, inching downward. He had to lift his hand, coming up below where the slip was tied, fingertips running along my upper thigh until they reached their destination. He then ran his fingers along my panty line, and I could hardly breathe. He knew right where to touch me to tease, right where to apply more pressure, rubbing my clit over the lacy undergarments.

  Ian was apparently an expert, because almost immediately, the pleasure was too much. I started to pant out my breaths, my hips beginning to grind against his hand and fingers.

  “Let it happen,” Ian cooed, “let me hear you in person. Let me feel you come, Felice.” As he spoke, he slipped his fingers under my panties, running them along my slick folds and using my own wetness to rub against my clit. My swollen, aching nub was greedy for more. I no longer smelled the alcohol in his breath; either this man got over his drinking fast, or it really was me.

  But now was hardly the time to think about that. The only thing my mind could focus on was how amazing his hand felt down there, how he worked me like a pro, a master. My nerves tingled, my spine shivering with need.

  Oh, God. It felt too good. It felt so good that I was about to come the fastest I ever had.

  When the orgasm hit me, it was like an eruption of pleasure inside me, my whole body shaking and tensing up. My toes, my fingers, everything; I was rendered useless for a few moments, being able to do nothing but ride the wave of heated bliss Ian had brought within me. I cried out, because I could never keep my orgasms to myself, but that’s what Ian wanted. He wished to hear me, so he did.

  “Fuck,” he whispered, his breathing ragged behind me, “I love hearing you come, Felice.” His fingers dipped lower, running over my entrance. “You’re so wet, too. I know I just said it, but fuck.” He pulled his hand out of my panties, leaving me a hot, sweaty, desperate mess. “You even smell good,” he added, for he must’ve sniffed his fingers. “Wonder what you’ll taste like…”

  Oh, boy. I was literally going to explode in a ball of horniness right now, I think.

  “But we can save that for another day,” he said, bringing his arm around me once again. “After all, anticipation is the best, isn’t it?”

  I didn’t know about that. Personally, I thought it’d be hot if we kept going.

  But he was probably right. We should stop. We’d already gone further than I thought we would tonight. But, at least, with me here, Ian wouldn’t go for that bottle again. Plus, after that world-shaking orgasm, I was actually kind of tired.

  I slept like a baby in Ian’s arms.

  Chapter Ten – Ian

  I could not get over what happened, nor how good it had felt to have Felice in my bed. To wake up next to her, see her peaceful expression, how her lips parted slightly. To see that her slip had moved, exposing a breast covered in a lacy bra. She really was gorgeous personified. Beauty made into being, with her dark hair and eyes, her tan, warm skin, and the simple elegance she held in every feature.

  If a broken man like me could ever love, I supposed I could easily fall for a woman like her.

  As I stared at her, the light of dawn coming in through the window and lighting the room, I watched her sleep, my mind vividly replaying the events of last night as if I was still currently living them.

  She’d been so wet for me, it was unreal. And the sounds she made…I wasn’t a believer in God, not after everything in my life, but I could almost believe that he’d sent her to me, knowing she was just what I needed.

  I’d been cruel when I said I didn’t need her. It was the worst lie I’d ever told, undoubtedly. The absolute worst, because I did. I did need her. I needed her more than I could ever voice.

  I mean, hell, I’d actually slept last night. Didn’t need to touch that new bottle on the nightstand, either. I’d actually gone to sleep with her in my arms, and it was glorious. A peaceful night’s sleep was something I never thought I’d have ever again.

  But she gave me that. Felice gave me a night’s sleep, which I couldn’t r
emember the last time I’d had.

  And here she was, still asleep in my bed, so tranquil and beautiful it drove me crazy. I’d meant it when I’d said we’d do more later. How could I not want to taste her, to do everything with that tawny body when she was so damned perfect?

  Perfect. Not a word I thought I’d use to describe anyone but me, but here I was, constantly surprised at the things Felice brought out of me.

  Some of last night was a blur, but I knew she’d found me. I knew I’d fallen down the steps, shattered my half-empty bottle, and she’d helped me back to my room. I’d said mean things, like I didn’t need her, but they were all lies. The moment she sat with me against the wall, it was like everything grew clearer. I’d felt better, as if I’d never drunk.

  Felice…really was meant for all of us, I thought. Whatever ties she had to this place, she also had to us. I was not a fighter, but if Bram ever tried to go after her again, he and I would have problems.

  Of course, I’d probably end up dead like Payne, but that was beside the point.

  It wasn’t like I wanted to die. No, now that I had a glimpse of what true happiness was like, the last thing I wanted to do was wither away like the me in that picture. I wanted to live, and I wanted to be happy. Seriously no other goals.

  Beauty was everything. Pleasure was everything. With Felice, I could have both at the ends of my fingertips. I didn’t need the booze, didn’t need the drugs, not as long as I had her with me. If she ever left this place, if Grimmstead claimed her as its own and dragged her to hell, I’d probably lose it.

  No, I’d definitely lose it.

  Felice turned her head, her eyelids slow to lift as she smiled at me. “Ian,” she spoke, her voice still gravelly and rough from being asleep, “were you watching me sleep?”