by Brynley Bush
“What happened after you turned eighteen?”
“I signed a consent form and encouraged my dad to develop more cell lines from my tissue that he could use in his research to get FDA approval for its use as a cancer treatment drug.”
“Did you encourage him to share his research with others?”
“No,” he says with a small smile. “We consciously decided not to join forces with a pharmaceutical company. I come from the Amazon rainforest. It is my heritage. I don’t want anyone to make money off of something that should be free to everyone. I believed then, and I believe now, that my dad is a true healer. His goal is to help people. I wanted every child who had cancer to have the same chance to live as I did, and he was the man I believed could do it.”
Satisfied, I switch gears. “Are you an organ donor?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Have you ever given blood?”
“Of course.”
“Did you once insist on donating blood to save Marcus Dunn, the commanding officer you served under in Afghanistan, when he was shot?”
His eyes are strained but a faint smile is playing at his lips.
“Yes, I did.”
“Did anyone tell you that you couldn’t or try to stop you?”
His eyes are dancing. “No, ma’am.”
“So you were allowed to choose to give your blood to a specific person for a specific purpose?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think your organs and blood are yours to donate as you see fit?”
Camille’s attorney objects but the judge overrules his objection.
“You may answer,” the judge instructs Griffin.
His face is ashen. He needs to get off the stand and to the hospital, but I know he won’t go until he’s finished this.
“Eyes on me, Mr. Black” I say softly, willing my strength into him as he has done for me so many times.
His eyes lock on mine and he smiles. It is a smile filled with uncompromising love and unlimited promise.
“I do,” he says softly. “I chose who I gave my blood to and who I gave my heart to. I believe I have the same right with regard to how my body is used for cancer research.”
“No further questions,” I say as I sit down, my heart bursting with joy.
Camille’s attorney presents his case, trying to prove that her father had been Dr. Black’s partner during what he asserts were the initial phases of drug testing. However, we all know that the real issue that’s being decided is whether Griffin can control who gets, and consequently who will benefit from, his cell line. If we win, he can become a patent holder of the disease gene in his blood which will let him determine what research is done and how it is licensed.
After Court is adjourned, I walk straight into Griffin’s embrace and he wraps his arms around me, pulling me tightly against his chest. I inhale the scent of him as I cling to him, my eyes searching his face to make sure this isn’t just another figment of my imagination. But the beating of his heart beneath my cheek is real, as is the soft and hungry kiss he gives me.
We make our way through the throngs of people, all wanting a statement.
“You need to get to a hospital,” I hear Beckett murmur, his body holding Griffin’s up as they push through the crowd.
It can be months before the Judge rules on our motion, and Marcus and I are detained by reporters bombarding us with questions about the case and the process. After stopping to give a brief statement, we thread our way through the congested hallway to catch up with the Blacks and I hiss to Marcus, “He’s hurt. How did he get here?”
“He was apparently raising hell at a military hospital in Germany, telling everyone who would listen that he had to make it here for the hearing. He talked the Navy Commander into discharging him early and finding a reserve man who would fly him here. He called me from the base and I picked him up and drove here. I didn’t realize how hurt he was. Beckett’s got a team waiting for him at Memorial.”
We catch up with Griffin and Beckett outside on the steps of the courthouse where a reporter is thrusting a microphone in front of Griffin. “A month ago it looked like you were running from a possible crime. Today you have returned a hero. What is that like?”
Another reporter interjects, “What’s next for you?”
He turns, searching for me, and our eyes meet. He holds out his hand and I take it, twining my fingers with his as he pulls me to his side. He smiles at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and then turns the full wattage of his smile at the cameras.
“I have never run away from anything,” he says. “But it wasn’t until I was faced with the fact that I might die that I realized I have been running toward someone my whole life.”
He looks down at me and kisses me softly. It is a kiss full of loss and longing, of hope and a lifetime of love. “I plan to spend every moment for the rest of my life with that someone—loving her, skinny dipping in the ocean with her, making love to her, and falling asleep under the stars with her in my arms.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Two months later
“There’s a package for you at the front desk,” Marcus says, popping his head into my office, his large frame filling the doorway.
I groan. “Another one?”
Ever since the judge announced his ruling in our favor on the tissue rights motion last week, I have been inundated with requests from individuals, law firms, doctors, and even a pharmaceutical company to evaluate their cases.
“I think you’ll want to take a look at this one now,” Marcus says, the certainty in his voice finally forcing my concentration from the case I’m reading.
“Why?” I say suspiciously, looking up at him.
His eyes are dancing. “Trust me, Mila,” he says knowingly.
If I hadn’t already trusted the rugged bear of a man who’s been my boss and mentor over the last few years, his actions over the last two months would have won me over. He’s been amazingly supportive, letting me take as much time off as I needed so that I could stay in Houston with Griffin as he recovered from what turned out to be a lacerated spleen and a broken collarbone. When Griffin resigned from the SEALS with an honorable discharge after receiving the Navy Cross for his heroism during what ended up being his last mission to take down a high-ranking terrorist operative in Pakistan, Marcus helped him find a job as the head of a security company whose clients include celebrities and high profile politicians, making his transition to civilian life almost seamless.
“Go get the package,” he says now. “And take the rest of the day off.”
“But…” I start to protest.
It is Friday, but I still have a ton to do. I feel like I’ve been gone more than I’ve been here lately between staying with Griffin during his month-long recovery in Houston followed by my week-long visit home to Chicago to meet my new nephew a few weeks later. Just thinking about it, my eyes mist over at the memory of Griffin, my tough, battle-scarred warrior, holding my newborn nephew so tenderly with a look of sheer wonder in his eyes.
“Mila, go! That’s an order.”
Marcus’ forceful urging has me shutting down my computer and reaching for my purse.
“Alright, alright,” I grumble, shutting the door to my office behind me. “But if I get fired, I’m suing you for entrapment or coercion or something.”
I can still hear Marcus’ laughter as I reach the front desk.
There’s a large brown package waiting in the reception area with my name on it, and I eagerly tear off the brown paper, lifting open the lid of the white box. Inside is a beautiful dress in deep red with a plunging neckline and a short, flirty skirt with a handwritten note from Griffin pinned to it. My mouth goes dry as soon as I read the first line.
I plan to claim what’s mine tonight.
Wear what’s in the box and heels—nothing else—and be at the Tipsy Crow at 5pm.
Don’t be late or there will be consequences!
Griffin
My pulse
quickens at the thought. Although we have had some intense nights of passion since he’s been better as well as some tender ones, he’s never again mentioned the auction or the fact that he had purchased me to be his slave, and I’m secretly thrilled that he hasn’t forgotten.
I glance at my watch. Crap! It’s already four fifteen. Damn Marcus. How long had he known the package was waiting for me at the reception desk?
I race home as fast as I can without breaking the law and change into the dress which fits me perfectly, the bodice hugging every curve as it tapers down to a short skirt that flares at the waist. Following Griffin’s instructions, I’m not wearing a bra and the plunging neckline reveals the inner swell of my breasts. My bottom and sex, bare beneath the short skirt, keeps my mind fully focused on my vulnerability and soon-to-be compromised position.
I’m feeling flushed and needy already, and I haven’t even left my house! Just the thought of Griffin ignites my senses and creates a hunger in me that hasn’t diminished since the moment I first saw him. I had been foolish to think I could ever get him out of my system.
However, our connection goes far beyond just the physical pull. If anything, our enforced celibacy during his month long recovery made me realize how essential he is to my heart and soul. I have never met a man who can seduce my mind along with my body, who can see through me to the depths of my soul and fill my life with a perfect combination of laughter and love, conversation and comfortable silence, boundary-pushing raw brutality and heartbreaking tenderness.
Instead of taming him, he’s just become more alpha male than ever since his injury and retirement from the military, proving what I have known all along. Griffin became a Navy SEAL because he was tough; he didn’t become tough because he was a Navy SEAL. I love his dark edges, the steely core beneath his easy going demeanor, and I love how I can both lose and find myself in his dark passion.
I make it to the Tipsy Crow five minutes after five and glance around the bar, looking for Griffin. There’s no sign of him, and for a moment I wonder if I’ve missed him. But then the bartender says, “Are you Mila Kingston?”
When I nod, he hands me a padded envelope with my name on it before turning back to the bar. With eager fingers I open the seal and slide out the contents. There’s a pair of flat, silver, swirled rings along with two weighted balls held together with a nylon string. Puzzled, I pull out the note.
I remember every detail of the night we met-
The sway of your hips as you walked, knowing I was watching.
The taste of your lips when I first kissed you.
The fire in your eyes when you tried to deny the attraction between us.
And that abominable excuse for a bra that you wore that night!
Tonight you will dress for my pleasure.
The rings fasten around your nipples to keep them erect and ready for me.
The balls go inside of you for the same reason.
To keep you ready for me.
My stomach knots in arousal as I examine the objects more closely. Oh, my. I have a pretty good idea that being owned by Griffin Black is going to be an experience I will never forget.
Blushing, I look around, expecting to see his lean body leaning up against the bar, his lazy smile focused on me, but the room is empty except for a couple of businessmen and a group of laughing college kids. Puzzled, I look at the note again before turning it over. Sure enough, there are more instructions.
Go to my house as soon as you’re ready.
Don’t waste time! The punishments are adding up…
I smile. I can practically hear his teasing voice in my head, all rugged and raspy with the prospect of punishing me.
Although the idea sends a thrill of excitement through me, I nonetheless hurry into the restroom and lock myself in a stall before extracting the items from the envelope. I put on the nipple rings first. They lie flat against my areola like a shield but fit snugly around the nipples, making them erect and hard. I have to admit they look sexy as hell.
Now the balls. I’m already wet and they slide in easily. As I leave the bathroom, they roll around inside me pleasantly and I can see how a few hours of this will have me needy and begging. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, my cheeks flushed, my eyes dilated, and my nipples erect against the thin fabric of the dress.
My reflection, along with the delicious anticipation of what lies ahead, has me breathing faster as I drive the short distance to Griffin’s house. I let myself in with the key he gave me when we returned to San Diego, half-expecting to see him waiting for me here, but the house is empty. A trail of rose petals leads me up the stairs to the bedroom where smack in the middle of the bed under the skylight is a light blue box emblazoned with the words Tiffany & Co and tied up with a white ribbon. With fumbling fingers, I untie the ribbon and open the box to find a pair of dazzling brilliant round diamond solitaire earrings, along with another note.
I want to shower you in diamonds as bright as the stars
that we have made love and fallen asleep beneath.
Put these on now.
Before long, diamonds will be all that you’re wearing.
A shivery thrill runs down my spine as I put the earrings on. I turn the note over.
Go talk to Steve at the surf shop.
It’s becoming obvious that Griffin is sending me on an erotic scavenger hunt to all of the places we went when we first met, leaving the accoutrements of my impending night of sensual slavery along the way. It’s simultaneously thoughtful and diabolical—this deliberate act of making me an active participant in my coming enslavement—and just like Griffin to know exactly how to heighten my awareness and stoke the fires of my desire.
At the surf shop, Steve hands me a plain white envelope and gives me a wink. “You two have fun tonight.”
I fervently hope he has no idea exactly what’s going on or I may die of mortification and never step foot on a surfboard again, no matter how much I love it. This time I know better than to open the envelope until I’m in the privacy of my car. But there’s nothing inside but a note.
The first night I claimed you as mine,
I marked you with my hands and my mouth, my crop and my rope.
Tonight I want to see the marks of my ownership on your skin.
I want you reminded of who you belong to.
Go to the henna tattoo parlor on Mission Beach and ask for Priya.
I’m amazed at the sheer amount of effort that Griffin has put into this; it is definitely having the desired effect. My body is quickening with each directive, and each decision that is made for me, each command that is issued, serves as a reminder of his power and authority over me.
Mission Beach isn’t far, and the woman named Priya doesn’t ask what kind of tattoo I want or where I want it. She just smiles knowingly as she paints a different Chinese symbol on each of the tender pulse points of my inner wrists, and I get an inexplicable thrill from knowing she knows that I am being branded, albeit temporarily, as Griffin’s slave. She waves her hand at my offer to pay her, telling me it has been taken care of as she hands me another small envelope.
This one contains a room key with the Hotel Coronado etched on it. With eager anticipation and a familiar tug in my pelvis, I drive to the hotel, my mind and body equally ready for the heady night of passion that Griffin has been building me up for. I slide the key in and the door clicks open as I walk slowly inside, not certain what to expect. The room, like Griffin’s condo, is empty, although there are more rose petals and another box, this one long and flat, laying on the bed. With my pulse beating erratically, I lift open the top of the box.
Inside is a black fabric blindfold and another note. The instructions are simple but direct, and my stomach drops in delicious anticipation.
Go down to the beach and find the fire pit near the north end.
Your name will be written in the sand next to it.
Put the blindfold on and kneel there, knees slightly parted,
ha
nds on your thighs, palms up, and wait for me.
My stomach falls the rest of the way to my toes as my sex clenches. Griffin is a master at the mind fuck. I am excited and terrified and turned on beyond my wildest imagination.
Owned. It’s a heady and intoxicating thought.
I slowly walk down to the beach, my heart racing. My nipples, which have been held erect for the last hour by the nipple rings, are engorged and hypersensitive and they rub against the soft fabric of my dress erotically.
I find the blazing fire pit and my name carved in the sand and I drop to my knees on the soft sand. I look around self-consciously, but Griffin has chosen an isolated part of the beach and there is no one here. Hesitantly, I tie the blindfold around my eyes and place my hands on my thighs as he instructed, imagining the way I will look to him—blindfolded, nipples erect, thighs parted, and the brands of a slave girl visible on my wrists that will undoubtedly be bound within moments. My breath hitches. Anticipation tangles with want as my thighs grow damp. I wait, hearing nothing but the sound of the ocean and the beating of my heart.
“God, you’re beautiful.” His words are soft and guttural, filled with awe.
I will my body to remain still. He traces the pad of his thumb across my upper lip slowly, making sure I am aware of his power over me, and I swallow hard.
“Do you know why I sent you to all the places I did, gave you all the things I gave you?” he asks.