We Were One Once Book 1 (17 page)

I’ve thought so often of
that day that I could retrace every step, remember every touch down
to the finest of details without leaving anything out. At will, I
can picture Gillian’s eyes and how they never lost their vacant
stare, not even when Anya picked up the belt again. I can recall
how she didn’t cry out even when Anya hit her twice on the same
darkened spot, how she didn’t speak, didn’t beg or plead. Gillian’s
tears never came, not even when I pushed Anya onto the bed to be
readily accepted between her open legs.

Gillian stayed on her
knees, motionless, watching us. Ours was a fast, sweaty, nearly
silent copulation. But we both stared at Gillian as we came,
pressed together on her bed.

I left the room quickly
after in a fog. Anya’s voice followed me to the door, echoing the
words in my own head.

“We are one now, Miles.
You, me, Gillian. We are joined together now and
forever.”

She repeated something
similar to me often over that next year. That we were joined,
bonded, a true family not to be broken. Only her death tore us
apart.

I sigh again in my lonely,
dark bedroom, eyes open and unseeing. I didn’t question the
validity of what Anya said because I didn’t care. I was reckless
with love and lost with lust from that day on. I dove into the mess
of our relationship,
us
, we three intertwined, from then on.

I only cared about keeping
Gillian close to me. I did what I had to do, and I kept Gillian
safe. I did.

I close my eyes again to
continue with my bedtime story, to see Gillian’s face once
more.

Anderson Valley: Simon
Lamb

I put my knee on the bed in
between Grace’s open legs. She’s wet and hot against me, grinding
into me as I push her further onto the bed. Her hands reach for me
and I grab her wrists, forcing her arms down as I position myself
above her, straddling her left leg.

Her smile up at me twists a
little. I can almost see her mind working. In this position, I’m
vulnerable. “Try it and see what it gets you, Red.” And I almost
mean it. I almost want her to fight me. I almost want her to try to
get away, try to hurt me, show me more of her strength and
will.

She only straightens her
smile to be sweet and innocently whispers, “I’d never want to hurt
such a perfect cock, Simon.” She licks her lips, lowering her voice
even more. “How would you make me come then, baby?” She exaggerates
a few blinks of her dark eyes.

I laugh. She’s infuriating
and frustrating, but damn if I’m not liking that she isn’t meek.
“Oh? You wanna come for me?”

“Yes, please.” She laughs,
and her eyes dance between my mouth and my hard dick.

I drag her hands to above
her head and take both wrists easily with one of my hands, moving
my other arm under her waist and hoisting her up the bed to the
headboard. She remains silent, not helping, not
resisting.

Lying flat against her
side, I can feel her heat again, feel the sweat of our skin cold
against each other. I pull my face down to hers and find her lips
open and greedy, her tongue fighting for every inch of my mouth. I
bite her tip to get her to stop, to yield, but she only arches her
neck and pulls her tongue between my teeth, moaning into my mouth.
She is a willful little bitch.

I don’t let her tongue go,
keeping her face pinned to mine. My free hand roams the side of her
body, down her ribs, up her hip and thigh, over the skin inflamed
by my whip. She wiggles and moans against my teeth, pressing her
pussy into me more when I run my fingernails across raised marks. I
let go of her tongue finally, pulling my face away and bringing my
hand up to her tit. We’re both panting, and I can feel each breath
from her tiny frame. Her eyes are glazed with desire, half-open;
she wags her tongue at me, showing my teeth marks have claimed her
mouth.

I like how my hand
completely covers her breast—darker fingers over creamy skin,
fingers that I align with the marks of the whip. I gently trace a
thicker line from the top of her tit, down around her raised
nipple, to the bottom of the small swell.

“Harder.” She arches
against my touch, pleading the word with a deep moan for me to stop
being gentle.

I laugh quietly, continuing
to run my fingers across the marks I’ve given her. It’s a feather
touch that brings goose bumps and hardens her nipple more. “You
like pain, Grace?”

“No.” I look into her eyes
at her breathy response and can see that she’s not playing. She’s
not lying with this answer. She has the first hint of fear, almost
panic, but it’s gone before I can savor it.

“But you ask me to hurt you
more?” Our voices are so quiet, barely whispers. The yes from her
lips is no more than a small sigh. “Why?” I pull away to examine
her face more, my own switching between a frown and a
smile.

“Because you will anyway,
won’t you?” Her voice is higher, softer, and her eyes fill with
tears. Her scent spikes with the familiar fragrance of fear. Gone
is the lust. Fear and pain are all her eyes give me now, and her
breath hisses in and out. Her body shrinks away from my touch,
pushing deeper into the soft bed. She swallows hard and tries to
get her breathing under control. “Please…” But she stops her
whimper and closes her eyes, relaxing her body into
mine.

I watch, fascinated at her
quick changes, not moving. My hand rests on her tit, feeling the
subtle shifts in her body as they happen. When her eyes open, her
breathing is back to normal again. Her heart rate is slowed again.
The tiny tears are blinked onto her lashes, making them prisms to
shine against her dark lust-filled eyes. “You do want to hurt me
more, don’t you, Simon?”

I laugh in response to the
obvious want in her voice. “Which is it? You do or don’t like
pain?”

“It excites me.” I can see
that I won’t get another honest answer out of her. Even her scent
is back to normal. Her whole body refuses to give in to the pain
and fear I saw for only one moment.

I move my hand to swirl my
finger around her tight nipple before pinching and rubbing it
between my finger and thumb. “You are amazing.” I stare into her
eyes as I squeeze harder.

“Thank you.” Her voice
isn’t even strained, just a whisper, a raised eyebrow. Her eyes
meet mine calmly.

“How do you have such
control over your body, Grace? Who taught you this?” I kiss these
words next to her ear, gently brushing my lips down her face and
neck. My fingers never let up.

She only smiles more,
wiggling her hip against me as I twist her nipple
cruelly.

“You know I’m going to
break you?” I let her nipple go and rise to my knees over her,
still holding her hands above her head.

“I know you want to.” Her
eyes stare up at me with that softness again. “But I’ve already
been broken, Simon. There’s nothing left for you to do but love me
or hurt me.”

I can’t help but laugh at
this answer. “You want me to love you, Grace?” The thought crossed
my mind that she might be perfect for me, but love isn’t something
I’ve felt before. It’s not something I’m open to.

She raises her eyes to mine
again, and it’s the fear I see that takes my breath away as much as
her words. “If
you’re
not too broken.”

Seattle: Miles
Vanderson

Gillian came to me in the
library that night. I didn’t hear her enter, so lost in my own
thoughts and the warmth of the room. I didn’t know she was there
until she stood before me in her usual spot, the fire showing me
her body through her long sleep shirt.

We didn’t speak, not at
first. We hadn’t spoken all day, not really. The civilities of
dinner conversation, the talking around other people, the
uncomfortable silence surrounding her nightly predictions: that was
all we shared in terms of words that day. I hadn’t had her
alone.

But there she was, in front
of me. Alone finally. So much had changed between us. The speech I
had, my plan, no longer mattered. It did, but it didn’t. I hadn’t
given up my plan, only put it on hold.

I spoke first. Maybe if I
had let her go first, things might have been different. I’ll never
know, and I’ve given up thinking about that. I’ve given in to
Gillian’s belief that we’re all guided, either by the stars or fate
or karma. What happened was meant to happen.

“You were a naughty girl
with your horoscopes tonight.” I bring myself out of my reverie to
address her, an equal mix of laughter and anger in my voice. I
surprise myself with the tone I use. I’m still angry with her for
revealing our secrets to her mother. I sound like my father even to
myself, authoritative and strong. I’ve been gentle with Gillian
before, but now there’s no denying that I’m demanding a response
from her. There’s no denying that things have changed between
us.

She’d remained standing,
but her body language changed slightly. She flickered before me.
That’s how I always thought of Gillian’s behavior, flickering, like
a hummingbird’s wings on the wind. It was so quick and effortless,
one long motion from start to finish but hardly visible in between.
Or like a movie, one image would just merge into the next. I didn’t
recognize it then, but I came to know the signs later. I came to
understand so much about her later. But that night was just the
beginning in so many ways for us.

“Mama done tol’ me I’s a
bad girl.” Her voice is shaky, the fire crackling louder than her
words. There’s an odd lilt to how she sounds too, as though the
shame she must feel has an added effect of degrading her speech as
well as her stance.

“Yes. You were bad
tonight.” I sit up and lean towards her, my right hand held out for
her to take. She shrinks away, her body bending at the waist,
collapsing into her middle. She wraps her arms around herself and
falls to the floor on her knees.

I push off the chair and
drop to my knees as well, encircling her in my arms, trying to
press her to my chest. She’s frantic and wild, trying to get away
from me, backing into the fireplace, slapping my hands and
grunting. “Gillian? … Gillian! … Stop!”

In an instant, she’s calm
again, sitting back on her heels with her hands clasped in her lap.
She’s the picture of an angel in prayer with the soft glow of the
fire on one side of her. Light and dark. It’s just like that first
time I saw her here.

I pull her face towards
mine in a slow lift of my hand to her chin. “Gillian?”

“Yes, Miles?” Her voice is
calm, airy.

“Are you all right now?” I
know the answer can only be no. After all that’s happened today,
how could she be okay?

“Yes.” She grasps my hand
with both of hers. “I’ve misbehaved tonight, haven’t I?” I can’t
really see her eyes, but I see her lashes blinking quickly, her
lids rising and falling. I push her hair back with my free hand to
better see her features.

“Why did you write those
horoscopes?” I whisper this, almost sorry to give voice to the
anxiety I felt listening to her earlier.

“Those horoscopes were
written this morning.” She raises her voice and face, leaning into
me more. “Before you arrived today, Miles.” She squeezes my hand
harder. “Before you came to my room. I only read what was written
for each of us.” I’m embarrassed at her mention of this afternoon,
at what happened in her room. I know I should be the one making
atonement to her.