We Were One Once Book 1 (20 page)

I go back to thinking more
about Gillian, smiling to myself. I know she has a small apartment.
So she’s living with a boyfriend but not permanently. More
importantly, she didn’t leave me to be with him.

The thought didn’t really
cross my mind for more than a second. Gillian didn’t even have any
contact with anyone outside of my home for the last year she was
with me. I kept her fairly hidden away. She was all for me alone.
So I knew from the start that she hadn’t run away to be with
another man.

I still don’t understand
why she ran when things were so settled between us. She’ll be able
to explain it herself soon enough though. Hopefully, today. Such a
nice thought. I’ll have Gillian with me, where she belongs,
today.

Spencer said she’s been
modeling. I try to envision this. My Gillian, so shy and quiet, a
model? He sent me a few samples of her work. I force myself not to
think about the more pornographic ones. She was nearly nude in some
of them. I try not to imagine finding her on some lewd modeling job
today.

It no longer matters. I’ll
purchase the rights to any images of her. No one else will ever see
them again. Gillian really should know better than to put herself
on display for just anyone to see. Maybe it’s just another way of
acting out, rebelling against me?

Her eyes in a few of the
photos are still haunting me. I know the looks. I know all of her
looks. All the incarnations of my Gillian. She can’t hide from me,
not any longer.

She’ll learn soon enough
what happens when she tries to run and hide. She’ll learn what all
her acting out and rebelling has earned her. I smile contentedly at
these thoughts. Hopefully, today.

I’ll fire the flight
attendant when we land. I don’t want her on the flight back with
Gillian and me. I won’t want any distractions then.

Anderson Valley: Simon
Lamb

“Mr. Simon?” It takes me a
minute to realize where I am, to fully open my eyes. To remember
yesterday.

There’s another knock on my
bedroom door as I look down at my feet. Grace is curled against my
legs, sitting on the floor with her cheek pressed to my knee. My
hand is buried in her hair. She’s wrapped in the blanket I used
last night to cover her. I don’t know when she moved from the bed
to the floor.

I clear my throat, and
Grace slowly raises her head to look at me. She’s soft and pretty
except for the side of her mouth. I wince when her attempt to smile
stops with a small frown.

I’m stiff from sitting all
night in the chair, but I gently move my leg from behind her to
stand. “Don’t move.”

I quietly grab the key from
a side dresser. When I turn the knob to open it, a servant is just
turning away. “Good morning, Hillary.” I keep the door mostly
closed, hiding my naked lower body behind it. I no longer take my
sadistic pleasures out on the staff. I stopped that childish
behavior long ago, but I’m also acutely aware of Grace behind
me.

“Sorry to disturb you, Sir.
Will you be coming down for breakfast, or would you like it served
in here this morning?”

I glance back at Grace,
sitting motionless on the floor. “Please serve on the upstairs
veranda. We’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

She nods and walks quickly
away. My staff is used to my routine. That’s why she was knocking;
I never sleep in this late. I close the door but don’t lock it
again.

Turning slowly back to
Grace, I’m suddenly nervous. Yesterday didn’t go at all how I’d
intended. Last night was a disaster. I have no idea how she’ll be
this morning, despite waking to find her sitting at my heels like a
loyal pet.

I watched her till late in
the night. I don’t know what time I finally fell asleep, but it was
after a long time thinking about her.

I was honest with myself. I
admitted that I didn’t want to treat Grace like the usual girl I
bring here. From the start—not putting her in the trunk, having her
join me for a nice dinner—it wasn’t a girl’s typical first day here
with me. I couldn’t pinpoint the moment, though, that she went from
a girl I want to train to a girl I just want. When she went from a
girl I want to hurt for my own pleasure to a girl I cried
over.

It disturbed me. It still
does. I don’t like feeling out of control, yet I was with her. I
don’t like going against my routines and plans, yet I have with her
every time I’ve been near her.

I cried over her! Fuck.
That just doesn’t happen to me. I’m still shaken this morning,
still unsure of what to do. I stay against the door, only watching
her. She watches me back with her eyes wide and barely
blinking.

I came to terms with what
made me angry last night too. Grace didn’t respond how I expected.
She was perfect in yielding to my whipping her, but she was a pain
in the ass when it came to getting anything else from her. She
showed that she was willing to be completely submissive to me, but
she refused to show any fear or pain doing it. She went from strong
and challenging to soft and sweet in the blink of an eye. Oh, and
to homicidal fencing pro too. I glance over at the poker still on
the floor. Grace doesn’t follow my eyes, just keeps looking up at
me.

It wasn’t her attempt to
hurt me that angered me though. I liked that she was fighting me.
It wasn’t her refusal to give me any sign of fear either. Her
excitement only fueled my own. For the first time, I felt I had a
woman under my control that could truly appreciate my darkest
desires, match them with her own even.

I never knew what was
missing from all of the other products I trained for other men. It
wasn’t the submission because that was always there, same as their
fear and pain. I thought those were what I craved. With Grace, I
had her submission without fear or pain. I had her compliance, her
like-mindedness, a thirst for what only I could quench. And Grace
was craving for more.
I
wanted more.

I only became angry when she
was soft and sweet and open, insisting that
I
was broken. It was an instant and
unfamiliar reaction. I felt too defenseless by her words. She’s
obviously crazy, obviously broken, yet
she
was pitying
me
?! I can feel myself getting angry
again just standing here, angry and more uncertain—more unfamiliar
feelings again.

Her mercurial changes in
behavior are beyond crazy. I should drive her back to the city and
dump her. I should just forget about her, but the thought makes my
stomach flip-flop. The thought that she’ll want to leave this
morning has the same effect. I won’t
let
her go, but I want her to
want
to stay with me. I
want the woman that craves my same desires and the one that brings
out this unfamiliar openness in me.

I have no idea what to say
to her. Plenty I could say, like “you’re right, I’m a messed up
prick that’s never had a close relationship with anyone or
anything.” Or “sorry about the welts and broken lip; can we start
over?” Fuck.

“Good morning, Simon.” Her
voice is clear and sweet. She’s beautiful—still no hint of fear or
pain. She moves her hand out from under the blanket and tentatively
touches her lip, with just her fingertips though.

“Sorry about that.” I can’t
believe I’m apologizing again. Maybe because I hurt her
unintentionally? Out of uncontrolled anger? Go ahead, tough guy,
say it. Out of unfamiliar fear. I was angry with her because I was
afraid she was right. That I
am
too broken to be with her.

“You already apologized
last night.” But she’s not looking back up at me. Her cheeks flame
red.

“I thought you were
asleep.” Or passed out.

“I heard you.” Her eyes
lift to me, and I have an unsettling urge to drop to my knees and
beg her forgiveness over and over. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“I thought you brought me here to enslave me?”

“I did.” I want to say that
I’ve changed my mind, but I don’t because I haven’t made up my
mind. I don’t know if I want her around at all if it means being
out of control.

“Yet you apologize when you
hurt me?”

“I’m not apologizing for
the rest of it. Just that.” I at least sound convincing.

She seems to remember that
her body is peppered with whip marks, like she didn’t feel them
before I mentioned it. She lowers the blanket to fan out around
herself, revealing red and swollen lines across her upper body. Her
hair hides some, but her tits are obviously a mess of welts. I
wince again, seeing what I did to her.

And I’m hard.

I’m awkwardly aware of
being nude again. I look around but don’t see any way of covering
without making it obvious that I’m self-conscious right now. I look
back at Grace, and she’s watching me with a strange look on her
face. It’s like she can see right through me. I’m too open to her,
too exposed.

She rises on her knees and
moves the blanket further off herself. I can see more marks lining
her stomach and legs, but she’s moving so lithely and smoothly,
without any sign of pain; I’m distracted watching her.

Before I realize her
intentions, she’s crawling on all fours to me, tentative at first,
looking to see if I’ll stop her. I don’t say anything, transfixed
with watching her cat crawl to me. When she’s inches away, she
stops, rising on her knees. Her hands reach slowly out, still
watching to see if I’ll halt her; she takes my hard dick in her
cool and gentle hands.

I have a brief thought that
she could be planning to hurt me and try to escape, but her eyes
tell a different story. It’s not her seductive, mischievous look
from before. There’s a hint of something close to wanting, lust
that is undeniable. I almost moan seeing it. That and her hands are
ringing up and down my cock, twisting the shaft and pulling on my
balls with the most perfect gentle pressure and gliding.

“Grace…” I can’t believe
I’m going to tell her to stop, but I think we need to talk. In a
minute maybe. My stomach clenches when she slides a finger up and
over the wet tip.

“May I?” I feel her gently
pulling my cock towards her open mouth, but the sight of her
cracked lip and bruised face is enough to shake me out of the
moment.

I put my hands on her
shoulders. “Grace, your mouth…”

She ignores this and puts
the tip of me between her lips. I can feel the warmth of her breath
before she flicks her tongue out to tease the opening, to trace
around the top. Her mouth wraps around me, and I let out a long
moan as she pulls more of me into her.

She’s gentle, pushing her
tongue on me with a soft pressure. She doesn’t take me as deep, but
her tongue runs up and down every inch and her hands glide over me.
I can feel myself getting close to coming, but I want more of
her.

I gently pull her head
away, and she gives me her sweet, soft smile. On her knees, covered
in my marks, but with the most angelic and sweet face, she’s
perfect. I help her stand, and she turns to quickly crawl on the
bed, lying down with her arms outstretched for me. I have a crazy
thought about wanting to make love to her. Not just sex, not just
fucking hard like we’ve done so far, but giving her something more
to keep her smiling so sweetly at me, to keep her soft and open for
me.

I crawl in between her open
legs and wrap my arms around her as she does the same to me. I
enter her very slowly and gently. Her little moan is high pitched
and soft in my ear. I stay close to her, keeping our bodies pressed
hard, just my hips rock into her. Her legs wrap around mine,
pushing herself up and down with me. “Grace, come for me,
baby.”

“Yes, Simon.” Her soft
voice, so sweet and submissive, is almost lost in her moans. Her
whole body tenses under and around me. I tense too, feeling my own
need mounting, my own moan bursting out of me just as we come
together. I keep pushing my hips until her moans turn into soft
mews and her lips feather against my neck. I pull out as gently as
I entered and move off to her side, but I keep her pressed against
me, pulling her onto my chest. Our embrace is tight. Our breathing
slows together.