We Were One Once Book 1 (14 page)

I smile more as I pull into
the long drive leading up to the house. It’s an impressive
property. Surrounded by fields of grapes, orchards of olive trees,
and a network of underground caves for storing everything, the
house is a solid stone structure—massive in size and stature, set
up on the highest point.

In Great-Grandfather’s day,
this was an active vineyard. Now I only use it as my private home.
Private being the key word. I have staff, but no one stays on this
property. My staff are all loyal; the same family has served mine
for generations. They never question my orders, my peculiar
demands, and no one steps foot in the caves unless invited. Or
brought.

“What do you think of your
new home, Red?” Grace is still walking around the grand hall.
Calling it a living room would do nothing to describe its size and
lofty ceilings, or the massive furnishings and expensive antiques
that have manned the same positions on the floor plan for
generations. All have been passed down from Lamb to Lamb. The rug
alone is worth more than most homes, and it’s certainly bigger than
the apartment I took her from.

She turns to me, standing
in the center of the room, arms crossed. “Stop calling me that.”
Her voice is raised slightly, like there should be a stamping of
her foot to go along with it. It’s the first she’s spoken since we
left the city.

Smiling, I cross the room
to her and slam her down to the rug with a wide swing from the palm
of my right hand to her cheek. I’m impressed that there is only the
slightest shriek from her as her hip and hands hit the floor.
Standing over her, I’m still smiling. “Rule number 1: don’t raise
your voice to me, Red. Got it?”

Grace doesn’t look up. She
turns away from me and braces herself to stand. I let her. To my
surprise, even with my obvious handprint covering half her face,
she doesn’t say or do anything. I know it has to hurt, but she
doesn’t touch her face or show any sign of tears. Instead, her face
is soft and open, but she doesn’t look at me.

I step towards her,
expecting her to move away, but she stays perfectly still. “Look at
me.” She looks up obediently. I’m stiff looking into her dark eyes.
There’s no sign of pain. Or fear. I’m oddly even more aroused by
this. Usually I only get this hard after seeing a girl brought to
tears by a justly deserved shot to the mouth. But Grace is
definitely not most girls.

She speaks up, almost sweet
with her faraway voice, a fog circling her words, “I like to be
called Grace. It’s the name…the name I’d like you to
use.”

I put my hand gently over
the red side of her face. She still doesn’t flinch or move, just
keeps her eyes locked to mine. “All right. When you’re a good girl,
I’ll call you Grace.”

And her look melts to her
usual one of seduction—her eyes closing slightly, darkening
alluringly more. She puts her hand over mine, only pressing
slightly with her cool touch. “I believe we have an understanding
then, Simon.” It’s about the sexiest thing I’ve heard in a long
time.

It brings me back to the
first time I hit Raquel. I’d always known that my sexual desires
drifted to the more sadistic, darker side. I was the kid who got in
trouble for spanking the teacher’s ass or holding down a girl and
pinching her non-existent tits on the playground. I learned by the
time I was seven that I had to indulge my tendencies in private
only.

Grandfather paid off and
sent away more than one maid after I’d coerced them into spreading
their knees and submitting to my painful touches. His solution was
to send me to all-boys schools and only have male help around the
house. It only fueled my urges and fantasies, and one particularly
helpful driver introduced me to darker erotica at an early age. He
showed me a world in books where my desires were met.

Meeting Raquel was the
start of all things good for me. She wasn’t willing, not at first.
She laughed off the invitation I gave her to come over for a swim.
I’d met her at one of Grandfather’s boring society dinners. She
blushed and flirted with me all night but tried to act like I was a
child.

The shrink Grandfather
hired after her suicide tried to make it seem like I was a child
too—that she took advantage of me. I had his eyes popping with the
details of my repeated sexual depravity with her. I left no doubt
who was in control each and every time.

He then tried to say that
it was my way of acting out from early childhood abandonment
issues. As if never knowing my mother and losing my father just as
I was old enough to remember him were reasons for my carnal lusts.
As if I fucking gave any thought to either of my parents while I
whipped and tortured the girl.

No, my desires, my needs
were always the same for as long as I can recall. I’ve not really
stopped to analyze them. The trips to the shrink were to appease
Grandfather, no more. I knew what I wanted with Raquel and with
every girl since her—sex. Rough. Sadistic. Sex. The need to cause
pain during pleasure, the need to hear screams as much as moans,
the need to see my sadistic touch on smooth flesh—it’s all I’ve
ever wanted. Raquel was just the first to give in to my
needs.

I wasn’t surprised when
Raquel showed up at the exact time I told her to. Even then, I
understood the nuance of picking the right girl. I understood that
there are willing victims in this world, girls that will give
themselves over to the cruelest of desires, their own needs matched
by them. Sometimes, I have to help them to see their needs for what
they truly are. Sometimes, I have to introduce them to these needs.
But there is always a moment when I know that I have the girl right
where I want her, a moment when she’ll submit to anything I
demand.

With hardly a command,
Raquel had stripped out of her clothes to reveal a tiny bikini,
laughing and smiling at me as she plunged into our indoor pool. I
watched her splash around a little before calling her over to me at
the steps. I will never forget her look that first time I smacked
her, that first moment when I knew I had her. The first look on the
first girl I knew for the first time was all mine to do with as I
pleased….it’s a memory I cherish.

Raquel was perfect—hair wet
and stuck to her shoulders, arms flailing at the water, face red
from the slight slap, eyes wide with shock and pain. She had the
most beautiful look to her eyes. There was fear, sure, but
understanding too.

When I told her to take off
my shorts and suck me, I can admit, now anyway, that I wasn’t sure
she would obey. There was the smallest hesitation before her
fingers sought the top of my swimsuit, but I knew after that. I
knew the look in her eyes. I saw it many times after that, from her
and others.

Before she left that day, I
said something like what Grace just said to me about an
understanding. And I still get hard thinking about that first
girl’s response, “Yes, Sir.”

Grace has the same look in
her eyes now. She understands what we both need. Something else
lingers in her darkness, though, something untouched by me. I move
my hand from her cheek to her hair, grabbing a fistful of her silky
curls. She drops her hand to my chest.

I like the weight of her
hair. There’s so much of it, so much to her. Waif as she is, angled
and thin, she takes over a space.

Pulling her head back
roughly, running my tongue along the now painful arch of her neck,
her eyes never leave mine. “You like it rough, don’t you,
Grace?”

“Are you being rough?” I
laugh at her bravado. I can see her breathing is quickened.
Scraping my teeth against her smooth skin, across the ridge of her
collarbone, I hear her little gasp escape. Her scent strengthens as
I bend down to kiss the very tops of her breasts, filling my lungs
with her spicy sweetness.

I bring my head back up to
look down on her. “No, not yet. Be a good girl and tonight you’ll
sleep in my bed.”

Her lips curl into a small
smile. “What’s my reward if I’m bad?”

Without letting her hair
go, I shove her down to her knees. “You still think we’re playing a
game, Red. I’m going to have to disillusion you of that thought.
You’ll learn tonight that you have only one option.” I slap her
face to punctuate the next words, “Be my good girl.”

Surprisingly, she doesn’t
raise her hands to try to stop me. She doesn’t even close her eyes.
She just watches as each word becomes a sting to her cheek. Slowly,
she smiles, a small laugh in her voice, “My safeword is fish,
Trust, not that I’ve ever used it.”

I laugh too, shaking my
head. I let her hair go, and she stands smoothly. “I know that you
think this is all normal, that you’re here for your own desires, by
your own design, Grace. I’d even agree with that to a point. But
safewords and proper bondage etiquette? The usual dance between
likeminded partners, exploring the darker side of sex—that sort of
shit, you can forget about.”

I take her arm but do it
gently, like a prince escorting his lady, steadying her gait. She
doesn’t need my assistance; I just want to feel her close. I walk
us towards the curtained opening that leads to the dining room. A
fire is still going next to the long table set for two. I’d
dismissed all the staff to the adjacent property for the evening,
but my dinner is still ready and waiting as ordered.

I pull a chair for Grace to
sit and unfold the napkin to drape across her lap. I remove the
silver dome from the plate in front of her. She smiles and thanks
me. We’re just a normal couple having a quiet early dinner at home.
Well, it’s normal for me anyway.

I take my seat and am happy
to see that Grace doesn’t grab her silverware like a starved
hillbilly at the county fair. Despite her display of uncouth eating
habits at the diner, her table manners tonight are impeccable. We
eat in relative silence. There’s the usual politeness of words
exchanged over a well-prepared meal. Likes and dislikes are
discussed but only about food and wine.

“You live here alone?” She
appears thoughtful, looking up at the large artwork on my
walls.

“Yes. Just me.” I pour some
more wine for us and tip my glass to her. She smiles and does
likewise. “My cousins come here from time to time. Cary and Sophia
are the closest thing to family I have anymore, but there’s no one
else. I don’t like visitors.” I don’t like sharing information
about myself either, but it seems natural to do so sitting with her
in my home.

“But you brought
me
here.”

“Ah, but you’re not a
visitor.” She smiles at this, so I feel the need to clarify. “I
mean that a visitor has the right to come and go, to enjoy the
premises as they see fit, within social confines of course.
You
are
not
a visitor. You
can’t
come and go, and
you’re only allowed access to what
I
give you, Grace.” I smile a little more
mischievously, leaning into her. “And the only enjoyment you’ll
have will be in pleasing me.”

I begin to doubt that she
understands what I said because her look doesn’t change. No alarms
go off in her head. She takes a tiny sip of wine and licks her lips
nicely. When she responds to me, her voice is still husky and warm.
“So you mean to keep me here? Against my will? Is that it? To what
purpose?”

My smile is genuine,
beaming at her. I was afraid for a moment that she was absolutely
stupid. Crazy I can take. Stupid I can’t. I fucking hate spelling
everything out. “Yes. I mean to keep you here. I’ve meant to keep
you here for some time now.” She frowns slightly at this. As far as
she knows, we’re almost strangers. I’ll keep her in the dark a
little longer, reveal my knowledge of her in small increments. I
want to get out of her all that I don’t know already over time.
“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Grace.”

I push back from the table,
taking her hand. She rises with me, and I lead her through the
grand hall again, towards the large curved stairs. I explain a few
things along the way to my bedroom. “I have a job of sorts. It’s
one that I’ve given to myself—a hobby, a sport that others
appreciate as well. It’s lucrative, but that’s certainly not why I
do it. I bring women here and train them to be perfect submissives
for various clients.” She continues to smile, her hand relaxed
against my arm.