We Were One Once Book 1 (21 page)

“You are a complex girl,
Grace.” I lazily twirl her hair against her head, liking the feel
of its silkiness against my rough hands. “I’m still trying to
figure you out. I don’t think I ever will.” I admit this quietly. I
don’t add that I don’t care if I ever do as long as she stays with
me.

She smiles, kissing my
chest. “Probably not. You are a conflicted man, Simon.” I can’t
argue with that.

“Are you hungry?” She nods.
“Good. Get cleaned up and dressed quickly.” I pull my arm from
under her and swing my legs off the bed.

She responds quickly, “Yes,
Sir.” I turn around and she salutes me with a grin, but I can see
the underlying layer of submission; she means it too. Like her
crawling to me and asking permission to suck me, this is her way of
showing her willingness to continue the submission she gave me
yesterday. It’s not the match to my darker desires, but a match to
my obvious need for control. This is her offer to give the equal
parts that I need from her. I’m still confused by her, by my
reactions to her. In so many ways.

“Grace…do you want to stay
here with me?” I’m glad that I was able to keep the weakness out of
my voice. Still, I sound husky and raw, like the words are hard for
me to say.

She nods, kneeling on the
bed, her hands between her legs—the picture of submission.
“Do
you
want me to
stay, Simon?” Her voice sounds sweet and hopeful.

I nod too. “Let’s talk more
over breakfast, sweetheart. Get dressed.”

Breakfast is a strange
ordeal. The warm sunshine and flowering trees don’t do their usual
magic on my mood. The mix of my unfamiliar embarrassment over
Grace’s fat lip and our awkwardness with each other far outweigh
the surrounding beauty.

I try to avoid seeing the
staff stare at her, then me. I can feel my face heat every time I
glance at her mouth stretched for a bite. The bruise is only uglier
in the bright sun.

I’m shocked that this
doesn’t have the usual effect on me either. I liked seeing the whip
marks. I was obviously turned on by those as usual. Seeing her face
battered though…it has the opposite effect. I stop even trying to
eat, just sip my coffee and quietly watch her. I’m lost in thinking
my thoughts, the same ones from last night.

Grace is oblivious to
anyone else. Her odd breakfast habits keep her focused on her plate
of pancakes. She didn’t have anything to doodle with, so she played
with the fruit plate instead. She turned orange slices and
strawberries into happy faces, bananas slices and blueberries into
sailboats and oceans.

I thought about not letting
her, but she seemed so happy. I stopped caring about what the staff
thought and just enjoyed watching her strange ritual. At least she
isn’t upset with me. She completely ignores the marks I left on
her. She doesn’t seem to feel her swollen lip at all when she takes
big bites of syrupy pancake.

When she is finally
finished, she slowly lowers her silverware just like yesterday.
Grace looks up at me for the first time since sitting down at my
table. I dismiss the staff so we can talk in private.

She smiles at me, wiping
her mouth gently. She seems to finally feel the pain from her lip.
I frown watching her dab at her mouth with a wet napkin, but she
speaks before I can say anything. “Please don’t apologize again,
Simon. I know you’re sorry.”

“But I want to say I’m
sorry over and over until you’re healed, Grace!” And I’m shocked,
not just at the words, but that I mean them. The same damn emotions
from last night are choking my words this morning.

“You mean that.” It’s not a
question. She’s surprised by it too. “I thought you were into
hurting women…that you liked it.”

I let out the breath I was
holding. “Yes. That’s true.” I take her hand over the table; it’s
sticky from the fruit. “I told you part of the truth yesterday. I
bring women here to break them, train them, sell them. I’ve done
this to about twenty women over the past four years.” I don’t know
why I’m telling her this. Making amends? I don’t care. Her eyes
remain soft—no shock, no fear, no judgment.

“I was going to do this to
you when I first saw you.” For some reason, I hesitate to say that
I saw her over a year ago when she was hiding, that I know about
her two lives. I instinctively think this would be what would
frighten her.

Her face remains impassive,
calm. She even smiles at me as I continue, “I am sadistic. I was
honest yesterday when I said that.” I glance down at the deep V of
her shirt; a few whip marks are visible. “I liked whipping you. I
liked how excited it made you too, but I enjoy it usually even if
the girl doesn’t.” Again, I’m shocked at my own honesty, at how
calmly I’m admitting this to her, and at how calmly she’s taking
it. “So, yes, I like to cause pain, to see what I’ve done…usually.
But…” I falter trying to make sense of my thoughts and these
fucking churned up emotions.

“But you regret hurting me
like this.” It’s another non-question. Her eyes are searching mine
though, looking for confirmation. I can only nod and squeeze her
fingers. “I appreciate your honesty. I understand the difference
between your hurting my body for sexual pleasure versus out of
fear.”

I shake my head in surprise
at her clinical tone, like the pain happened to someone else or she
read about it in a report. Then I realize she said I acted out of
fear. I frown, taking my hand back. “I wasn’t
afraid
, Grace. You weren’t going to be
able to hurt me, not unless I let you.”

“I know you weren’t reacting
to the silliness with the poker, but you
were
frightened when I said you were
broken too.” This time she doesn’t look for a confirmation. She
only sits back and rubs her hands more with the napkin, not looking
at me at all.

“And I told you yesterday
to watch how you speak to me.” She’s hitting too close to the
truth, to the frightening feel of being overly exposed around her.
I feel like I can’t hide anything from her, like I don’t even want
to. Fuck.

She looks up, wide-eyed and
sarcastic. “Oh. Are we done being honest with each other then?”
It’s the first sign of her not being completely submissive. But
she’s still soft, still
her
.

I shake my head at my crazy
thoughts. She’s right. I won’t admit to being afraid, but I do want
answers from her. “No. I have more questions for you.”

“Okay. I’ll do my best to
answer them then…as long as you do the same.” She sits up and puts
her hands flat on the table. Her face is composed still, but I can
see a shadow to her eyes, a pulling back of her open, soft
expression.

“You said you have a
safeword, but you’ve never used it. How many Masters have you
had?”

She frowns, shaking her
head, obviously uncomfortable with the word. “I had one boyfriend
once that called himself that. He said I needed a word, so I gave
him one. It was over quickly. Why does being broken frighten you so
much?” She doesn’t miss a beat.

“Because I’ve been told
before that what I like, what I want, isn’t normal.” I laugh at
myself. “Of course, selling women isn’t normal, at least in this
country, but I don’t think I’m broken just because I like things
rough.” Before she can respond, I direct a question back to her.
“So this boyfriend of yours taught you to submit and take a lot of
pain?”

“No. He didn’t.” Her pause
isn’t long. “I don’t think you’re broken for liking rough sex,
Simon. I think you’re broken because even the thought of loving
someone is enough to scare you. Have you ever been in
love?”

“No. I haven’t.” I cock an
eyebrow at her. Two can play at the short answers. I don’t argue
with her assessment either though. “But you
can
take a lot of pain. You were
perfect yesterday while I whipped you.” She smiles at this, like I
just praised her for a job well done. “So who taught you that?” She
only shakes her head. “You’re not going to answer me?”

She nods slightly. “I’m
sorry, Simon. I can’t.” But this doesn’t stop her from asking her
own question, “Why did you pick me?”

“Because
you
were so obviously broken. I liked
the challenge.” She isn’t shocked by my answer, only nods like this
is what she thought already. “You said you belong to someone else.
Who?”

She shakes her head again,
a look of regret on her face. “I guess I can’t reciprocate your
honesty after all.”

“So no more
questions?”

“It wouldn’t be fair if you
answer all of mine, and I can’t answer any of yours.” I laugh at
her earnest reply. She doesn’t laugh with me.

“And being fair is
important to you, Grace?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Because life’s been
unfair to you?”

“Something like
that.”

“So you won’t tell me about
your training or who you belong to… Do you love him?” I stop myself
from holding my breath; I brace myself to not react one way or
another to her answer. Jealousy is new for me but controlling
myself isn’t.

“Yes. And no.”

“Which is it? Yes
or
no?”

“It’s not that
simple.”

“It never is, sweetheart.”
Before she can reply, I interrupt, “Does he live around
here?”

“No. Why do you care if I
love someone else?” I’m thrown by how she continues to challenge
me, I had expected her to back down by now.

“Who says I
care?”

She only raises her eyebrow
to this answer. “What makes you think
I’m
broken?”

I laugh again. “You’re
kidding, right?” She shakes her head. I debate telling her that I
know about her time in Chinatown, that I have a theory about her. I
decide to skirt this for now. “You were fucking your boyfriend’s
brother
and
me.”
Her face flushes with embarrassment, and she looks down quickly. I
lean forward to touch her blush, to feel her warmth. I want to kiss
her cheek, but I resist. Her eyes are startled up to mine at my
gentle touch. I smile and add, “I’m not judging, Grace.” She
returns my smile with only a small upturn of her lips. I frown at
her bruised face, feeling my own embarrassment, saying quieter, “I
believe it’s your turn.”

“Why are you being so nice
to me now, Simon?”

“Who says I am?” I grin but
quickly add, “I want you to stay.” Her smile is the same as last
night, like I just gave her the biggest, most expensive present
she’s ever received. “I want to know more about you.” And it’s gone
just like that, replaced with a deep frown.

I decide to press my luck.
“I think you hide yourself away, and I don’t want you to do that
with me. I want to know all of you.”

She shakes her head, sad.
“I told you last night, I can’t give you all of me.”

“Why not? Because you
belong to some asshole that hurt you? Are you running from him? Is
that why you’re hiding?” I know I’ve pushed her too far.

I lean forward, looking
into her eyes as they slowly blank, the color becoming darker. Her
face relaxes even more and in a blink, she’s stretching. A spell
broken. Arms high above her head, one hand caresses down the other
arm to her shoulder. Her free hand falls to fluff her hair—a cat
primping in the sunshine. Her eyes sparkle, and her mischievous
wicked grin is back, a little off kilter from the
swelling.

She brings her fingers up
to her lip, touching lightly. Her tongue darts out to run over the
broken skin. “Jesus, Trust.” It’s the oddest thing to watch, like
it’s the first time she’s realizing I hit her.

“I’m sorry,” I say again
but this time with a flat tone, studying her reaction.

“You should be!”

I frown, continuing in the
same flat tone, hiding any reaction, “You just said you didn’t want
me to apologize more.”

“Oh.” She squints at me
before waving her hand in the air. “Well, I can say some pretty
stupid shit sometimes. I think you should get down on your knees
and beg my forgiveness for messing up my pretty face. I have a job
in a few days, and this is going to look like crap on camera.” She
manages a good pout despite the swelling, or maybe because of
it.