We Were One Once Book 1 (18 page)

“But you must have known
that it would anger your mother…”

“Yes…” She ducks her head
down a little in shame. “Did I anger you, Miles?”

I answer without thinking,
a newfound freedom and power. “Yes.” And in this moment, I
understand something that had been lost on me before. In the
bedroom, Anya started the chain of events. She directed my hands,
directed Gillian. She punished Gillian in front of me. I stood by
and watched, but I also stopped her. I had said when Gillian had
enough, and Anya had stopped without question. And when I pushed
Anya back on the bed, she didn’t resist. I held Anya down while I
had sex with her. I took control of Anya. She gave me control of
Gillian. And I took it.

“Mother said you were angry
with me…that I have to make it up to you.” Her little hands over
mine squeeze once more before she lets go and rises on her knees
more. She takes off her shirt in front of me, appearing just as she
was this afternoon, nude and beaten. But now, it’s just for
me.

Anderson Valley: Simon
Lamb

“Watch how you talk to me,
Grace. You’re dangerously close to pissing me off.”

“You
are
broken, aren’t you?” Her voice is
challenging, but her eyes stay soft, questioning. I release her
hands and smack her across the face hard, but not hard enough to
leave a mark. I want her face to stay untouched, my marks hidden
for only me to see. Her eyes cloud again, the softness replaced by
the lust once more.

She doesn’t move, just
leaves her hands in the same spot I placed them. She remains
completely open to me, unfazed even by a second slap.

“What does it take to get
to you, to crack through your ice?” I didn’t intend to say this out
loud. My voice almost cracks with the strained whispering, but I
see that my words have more effect than my hands. She turns her
face to the side and brings her hands down to cover her chest. Her
eyes squeeze closed, and she almost looks like a frightened child,
trying to hide from what she fears.

I bring my hand to her face
slowly, feathering the side of her cheek with the back of my
fingers. My voice is gentle but strong. “Don’t hide from me, Grace.
It’s no use. You’re not going anywhere and neither am I. I will
break you. You’re mine.”

My words again have an
effect, but not the one I thought they would.

With an animal cry that
startles me almost as much as the fist she brings up to jab my
throat, Grace moves quickly. I’m pushed off her with the momentum
of her movements, not even trying to stop her, still in shock at
her sudden change and violence.

Like the cat she so easily
imitates, Grace springs to the door. It’s locked, an old fashioned
door that needs the key to be opened. I watch from my seat on the
bed. She releases another animal cry in frustration, turning to
face me. My laugh is halted in my throat at the sight of
her.

Naked and covered in my
whip marks, Grace is beautiful, but her face is stretched into a
snarl and her teeth are bared, snapping at me. Her eyes are
predatory and darting around the room. Her body is hunched to
pounce—a feral and fearless posture. Her breathing is harsh and
nasal, a bull before it charges.

“I told you that you’re not
going anywhere, Red.” My words are confident, but I’m not. She’s a
caged animal and unpredictable right now. She’s tiny; I’m not
worried about her hurting me, but I don’t want her to hurt herself.
I don’t stop to appreciate the irony of my thoughts.

She ignores my words and
circles towards the fireplace, keeping her distance from me. I
don’t even move from the bed, just watch her. Too late, I realize
my error. Grace grabs the fireplace poker and brandishes this as a
weapon, holding it like a sword for fencing. She’s ridiculously
poised with it, like she knows what she’s doing. Despite the crazed
animal look still on her face, her stance is almost perfect. Her
nakedness only enhances her elegance.

“Put that down before you
get yourself hurt.” I slowly slide to the edge of the bed, not
taking my eyes off her. Equally ridiculous, I realize I’m excited
by this. My dick is uncomfortably stiff. I stifle a laugh at the
image of our two swords facing off.

“Ya likes hurtin’ little
girls, dontcha mister?” Her voice is deep and gravelly with a hint
of a southern accent I haven’t noticed. Before I can answer, she
attacks me.

She lunges at me with the
poker aimed right for my stomach. I barely move out of the way to
parry and shove her face first onto the bed, using her forward
motion against her. She’s quick, but I’m quicker, straddling her
back and grabbing her wrists before she can roll over. She lets out
one more screech of animalistic frustration and anger as I squeeze
her wrists, forcing her to release her grip on the poker. I shove
it off the bed and move off her enough to flip her over, not
letting go of her wrists.

I straddle her again,
keeping her firmly pinned down. I’m amazed at her strength and the
fury in her eyes. She doesn’t let up, trying to push and pull
against me. “Grace, calm down. I’m not going to hurt you. I
promise. Calm down!” All I can do is push her harder into the
bed.

It’s not all I could do. I
know I could knock her out. I’ve done it before as a last resort
for subduing a girl. But seeing her irrational fear and wild anger
now, after she so calmly and hungrily accepted the pain of my whip
moments ago, I’m thrown off guard. I feel an urge I haven’t felt in
a long time, maybe ever. I
want
to calm her, comfort her. I’ve done that plenty of
times—the equal parts of pain and pleasure needed to break a
girl—but with Grace, I feel an urge to protect her too. I
want
to soothe her, to
bring her out of this episode of craziness that has seized her.
I
want
her to trust
me.

I keep talking, trying to
lull and ease her back to a calmer state. It’s not working, but she
is tiring. Finally, her body and face relax. It happens so quickly,
I don’t let up the pressure on her wrists right away, just stare
into her blinking eyes. And they’re not blank, not filled with fear
or lust, only pain—deep, dark pools of pain.

Yet another version of the
woman I’ve become obsessed with stares back at me. A version that
is more raw and hurt than I could ever make her with just my whip.
A version that is completely open and vulnerable to me. A version
that has me feeling unguarded and exposed. Fuck.

She turns her head to the
side, and I watch one small tear slide down her cheek onto the
bed.

Seattle: Miles
Vanderson

I’ve judged myself for that
day, that night. Many times, I’ve chastised myself the way anyone
else would. How could I do that to my Gillian? How could I continue
the madness from that afternoon, now that it was just the two of
us, alone? How did I not find a way to end what was only just
starting?

But I’ve given up those
thoughts. I’ve seen the truth for what it was. The only way to get
Gillian away from her mother, to free her from her abuse, was to
take control. I saw a path in that moment when Gillian was kneeling
and naked before me again.

I heard her words from her
earlier predictions. She’d said that I was on a precipice, a point
of no return, but she hadn’t meant that afternoon as I had
initially thought. No, she meant that moment between just us that
night.

I had a choice to make, and
I made it. I
would
be her savior, but not in the way I had originally planned. I
would take us down the path, the only path we had open to us. I
would lead her and save her. I would keep her.

“You are beautiful,
Gillian.” My voice catches with the lust I feel, the love I feel.
Once again, she takes my hand gently, like that first time. Only
now, she doesn’t bring it to her lips; she directs my hand to her
chest, laying my fingers flat under hers.

“I’m yours, Miles.” Her
heartbeat and breathing are so steady compared to my
own.

“You are mine, and I’ll
protect you. I’ll keep you safe from now on.” She smiles at this,
her serene, soft smile. “I have a plan for us, my love, a way that
we can be together always. Would you like that?”

She nods her head slowly,
and without thinking, I move my hand across her skin. This wasn’t
my plan. My plan had been to wait, but everything changed this
afternoon. Anya knows about us, about me. I have to follow this new
plan, down to the darkest depths if necessary.

“I’m sorry for making you
angry, Miles.” Her soft, airy voice cuts into my thoughts, into the
soothing feel of her skin against my hand.

“Did your mother tell you
to apologize to me?”

“Yes.”

“Did she tell you anything
else?” I want to forget about Anya. I want to grab Gillian and run
away together, but I know I can’t. I have to see my new plan
through. It will work. It has to for our sake.

“Yes.” Gillian pauses,
blinking at me. Her heartbeat is so strong and even, it’s almost
like she’s sleepwalking. “But I don’t want to repeat her
words.”

“But you have to tell me,
Gilli. I need to know what your mother says and does. It’s
important that you always tell me everything. The truth. I can
help, but only if I know what your mother is up to. Do you
understand?”

“Yes.”

“So tell me the
truth.”

She pulls away from me, my
hand dropping to my own knees. Her body crumples into itself again.
Her stomach concaves, shoulders round, and she’s rocking back and
forth. I can hear her mumbling, see her lips moving.

“Gillian! Look at me.” It
takes just a moment, a blink of my eyes, for her to straighten up
again in response to my sharp tone. She keeps her head lowered
though, my angel in prayer.

“I’m to tell you that when
I anger her, I’m to be punished. That if you won’t punish me, she
will. She said that you’ll want to from now on.” She raises her
eyes to me but keeps her chin down. Her straight-faced stare makes
me want to cry. “Do you want to, Miles?”

“Yes.” I give this
whispered confession without hesitation. “But I…I can’t.” I grab
her face with both my hands, pulling her towards me. “I love you,
Gillian.”

“I love you,
Miles.”

It was the first time
Gillian and I said those words to each other. How perfect that it
was in the library. How strange that it was under those
circumstances.

I pulled her to me for a
kiss, our first real kiss. Only our lips had touched before in
almost chaste kisses. The kiss I gave her then was definitely not
chaste. I claimed her mouth as mine; I claimed her body as mine
with my hands, touching every inch I could reach.

I’ve blamed myself. I’ve
berated myself for not stopping, for not being strong enough to
resist the need I had in that moment.

But I’ve given up those
self-recriminations too. I’ve long since resigned myself to the
fate I sealed for us. I’ve embraced the memory of her, me, us. I’ve
allowed the dark twists of my thoughts to come to light. I’ve not
hidden behind the small attempt to make myself more innocent in all
that happened.

I claimed all of Gillian as
my own that night, right there in front of the fire. And I did
punish her. I knew it was the only way. I would be gentler than
Anya would be should I refuse.