Read Grace Street (A Chapter 8 Novel, #1) Online
Authors: Ella Dominguez
Tags: #thriller, #contemporary, #domination, #bondage, #punishment, #dark romance, #alpha male
Grace Street (A Chapter 8 Novel, #1)
Grace Street
(A Chapter 8 Novel,
#1)
Copyright © Ella Dominguez 2014
All rights reserved
Published at Smashwords
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this author.
To the most wonderful & precious people
in my life - my daughter, husband, mother & family.
To the fantastic
group of beta readers I’ve been blessed with, who gave up their
spare time to help me and on short notice – THANK YOU! (although
thank you’s don’t seem like enough): Gwen from G Book Diva Blog,
Yvonne, Christina, Terri T. from My Book Boyfriend Blog, Terrie A.,
Monica, Becki, Dorothy & Gabby.
Gratitude, ‘kindness & smiles,’ sent to
CL Smith of Go On Write (
www.goonwrite.com
) for this beautiful cover
and the many others he has provided me with.
To Mallory M. for her assistance and
friendship. I wish her the best of luck in her new endeavors. Your
Mama Toon loves you!
Much love to my coworkers for their
encouragement. I’ll miss each and every one of you. I’ll be
creeping on your FB pages daily. You’ve been warned. ;)
Thank you to all of my loyal readers for
putting up with my indecent writings and sense of humor, and whose
kind words and support are what keep me going.
To the new readers who have given me a chance
to prove myself – thank you.
Victor tossed his jacket over the back of the
curved white couch, and threw himself onto it. His solid, lean body
sunk into the leather as he laid his head back and closed his eyes.
With his mind racing, he suddenly jolted upright and reached for
the journal on the abstract-shaped table only a foot in front of
him. Just as he began scribbling furiously into it, his phone rang
out.
C7
lit across the screen.
Would this bullshit never end? Letting out a
heavy sigh, he answered, his deep, baritone voice clipped with
agitation. “Why must you persist with this?”
“Please, Mr. Black, I need to see you,” a
shrill female voice choked out.
The corners of his mouth twisted upward into
a wicked, satisfied grin. “I can only imagine the pain you’re going
through.”
“Please, just one more time. Please…” she
panted out in a tear-smothered voice.
He shuffled the phone between his hands,
contemplating what to do. He had already granted C7 a goodbye fuck
just before heading home. For fuck’s sake, he could still smell her
cunt all over him.
“I already made you come once tonight. Don’t
be greedy,” he shot back with his usual coldness.
“I am greedy! I want you!” she yelled into
the phone, the panic in her voice vibrant and chilling.
Her high-pitched tone and obvious alarm
grated on his nerves. She was unstable and volatile, two
characteristics he had no patience with or time for.
Without emotion he responded, “No, I’m done
with you. Move on.” When she began to cry, he momentarily paused.
He knew she was capable of doing something rash and he didn’t want
or need the drama. “You agreed to our arrangement, Em. Remember?”
he said only slightly less frigid than before.
“How could I forget, you cold-hearted
bastard, when you constantly reminded me of that? But I need more
time with you. Just a little more time. Please, Mr. Black, I need
more time to prove myself worthy,” she began to sob
uncontrollably.
He seriously didn’t have time for this shit.
Hell, he had already wasted too much of his precious time on her
already. She would never prove herself as anything other than a
major pain in the ass.
“Time’s up,” he stated with finality as he
hit the end call button.
Guilt coursed through his veins for only a
split-second, and somewhere deep in his blackened subconscious the
word
asshole
flashed in bright neon lights. Without another
thought to it, he brushed it aside. He had no room for remorse in
his life. It was useless and only complicated things, and
‘complications,’ immaturity and people who didn’t do exactly as he
said, didn’t fit anywhere on his agenda.
He reached for his journal again and flipped
to the page he had been jotting down his closing thoughts on his
most recent test subject and finalized his entry.
Chapter 7
–
Game over.
Now that things were officially finished with
Chapter Seven in his mind and on paper, he had important matters to
attend to. Calling his realtor, he confirmed his meeting at The
Grace Street Brewery and reached for his jacket again. He glanced
optimistically at his journal one final time before leaving.
With any luck, the next Chapter would prove
herself more valuable than the others and worthy of his time and
effort. Perhaps she would provide him with everything he wanted and
needed in a plaything. Hopefully, the next Chapter would be the one
shining pupil in his long line of failures. Maybe, just maybe, the
next Chapter in his life would finally see him for who he really
was and allow him to let all his demons loose on them.
It was always darkest before the light and,
God, how Elsa needed the light. It had been dark for so long, she
had nearly forgotten what the warm feeling of happiness felt like.
She needed a new beginning and a new life. Not one to normally run
from her problems, she had done that very thing in hopes that
Richmond would provide her the change that she so desperately
yearned for. It was time to move on and start over and there was no
time like the present.
As she drove to The Grace Street Brewery, she
reminded herself to stay focused and to remain lady-like at all
times. That meant taking it easy on the chardonnay.
When she entered the large establishment, she
heard her name called over the loud din and live background music
and turned her head to see Vivien, her neighbor, waving her over to
the bar. She smoothed her cream-colored pencil skirt over her
thighs and strode over to the bar with her long, slightly-curled,
henna red hair swinging around her shoulders. Seating herself, she
promptly ordered a cranberry-orange sangria, sans alcohol. The last
thing she needed was to get lit so early on.
The atmosphere was invigorating. She had only
been on Grace Street twice before but somehow, she felt like she
was in her element with all the different shops, restaurants and
old brownstones lining the street. “I love the energy here. It
feels like home,” she half whispered to herself. Facing her
neighbor, she thanked her and returned the smile that Vivien was
giving her. “Thanks for inviting me out.”
“Anytime, Sweetie.” The brown-haired Vivien
pulled a cube of ice out of her glass and sucked on it nervously.
“Don’t be angry, but…” she started as she crunched down, “I’ve
invited a few male friends to meet us.”
Shooting her a cold look, Elsa puckered her
mouth and glared angrily at her. “Oh, Viv, why did you do that? I
told you I’m not interested in meeting anyone. I just moved here
and the last thing I want is the hassle of having to pamper some
man’s ego.”
Vivien rolled her eyes in response. “Who said
anything about pampering an ego? It’s just a night out. And, hell,
maybe you’ll get lucky.”
Elsa sighed loudly. “I’m not interested in
getting laid. And don’t you know - all men want their egos stroked.
I should know. I’m good at attracting the kind of men who demand
that sort of indulgence.” she mumbled. And those were precisely the
kind of men she couldn’t say no to and who had trampled her heart
time and time again.
She had made it perfectly clear to Viv that
men were off the menu as far as she was concerned, even if it had
been a long five months since her last tryst. She smiled weakly at
Vivien and shrugged her shoulders in resignation. No, she didn’t
need the hassle of a man, but she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to at
least enjoy the evening out.
When the men arrived, she was polite as
usual, but made it known she wasn’t interested in any kind of
relationship, physical or otherwise. It made no difference because
four shots of bourbon and two beers into the evening, the
overly-touchy blonde, muscle-head whom Viv had invited was turning
out to be a real douchebag. When he began putting his hands all
over her, she voiced her objections repeatedly, but he was
relentless. His pushiness and insufferable cologne agitated her
beyond reason and when his hand ‘accidentally’ brushed up against
her breast for the second time and he let out a disgusting, breathy
chuckle, all her professionalism and self-restraint flew out the
window.
With cheeks flushed, she hissed, “You prick,”
as she raised a hand ready to slap the smug smile off his face.
At that very moment, she heard the clink of
glass next to her and felt something cold and wet on the front of
her skirt. She jumped off the stool and looked down to see herself
drenched in sangria.
“Watch what you’re doing, you asshole!”
Blonde Douchebag garbled at the man on her left who had tipped her
drink over into her lap,
Elsa found it a little more than ironic that
the drunken Blonde Douchebag was suddenly defending her honor when
he was the asshole making unwanted advances. She grabbed a handful
of napkins and dabbed her skirt in an attempt to soak up as much of
the beverage as possible and motioned for Viv to get their drunk,
unwanted guest under control.
“I’m deeply sorry, Elsa,” she heard from
above her in an unfamiliar, husky voice that resounded with a staid
calm.
When she looked up, the man’s heavy-lidded
and seductive, pitch-black eyes staring down at her were so focused
and penetrating, she almost lost her footing when she quickly
attempted to put distance between them.
“Do I know you?” she asked, looking him over
closely.
One corner of his mouth lazily curled upward.
“No, but you really should get some salt on that before it stains,”
he gestured toward her skirt.
She quickly glanced downward. There was no
way that stain was coming out, salt or not. She frowned. It was her
favorite skirt. Making her way to the restroom, she slipped out of
the garment and spot cleaned it under the sink and then placed it
under the hand dryer. Right after wiping the sticky residual off
her thighs, she slid back into it. Her eyes rested on her face in
the mirror and she took a quick inventory of herself: smile lines
at the corners of her mouth from happier times, unmistakable sad,
dark brown eyes hidden behind long lashes framed by smudged
mascara.
Staring at her reflection and still pouting
over the loss of her much loved skirt, she recalled the awkward
memory of her last sexual encounter. She had hoped anonymous sex
would take her mind off of Patrick, but it had only reminded of her
of how lonely and in need of a man’s attention she really was. And
how quickly Patrick had gotten over her and found his next
muse.
Thinking about the failed relationship with
her direct supervisor put her in a worse mood than she was already
in. She was sure he had been ‘the one.’ Positive, in fact. Like a
love-struck idiot, she had practically picked out her wedding gown
and monogrammed linens. But that had been her fatal mistake –
assuming he felt the same way even though he had never said as
much. Their sex had been good, but she realized that’s all it had
been to Patrick – just sex. How was she supposed to know she had
been blind-sided by lust and that she had never been more wrong
about anyone in her entire life?