by Elena Monroe
“No teasing, please.”
He didn’t listen to other people to begin with let alone me right now.
Grimm’s tattooed hands crawled into the sides of my panties and yanked down in a hard and fast motion. Suddenly, I didn’t feel just on fire, aching under him; I also felt vulnerable—completely vulnerable and now naked, except for my bra, which I was eager to get off.
He must have seen me struggling when he turned his attention to me. His eyes locked onto mine, slowly lowering himself down on top of me, and I felt his hand unclip my bra expertly. His knees were pressed against the back of my thighs, on my back, and I wasn’t sure when they fell open.
My entire body was doing things with his permission instead of my own. Not that I objected.
Grimm’s lips were soft as they attacked my neck and trailed down my body, leaving sensitive spots for the air to brush over and make my back arch. When his tongue joined in trailing down my body, I stopped breathing all together. All of me was sensitive, on edge, and so achy that all he could have done was blow air on my pussy and I would have come.
Grimm was torture and heaven at the same time.
Without warning, a gasp exhaled from my mouth when I felt his hand cup my pussy and his tongue took a long lick curving up my breast.
The torture was a lot to handle, buzzed or not, and all of me felt worshipped as he took his time enjoying me. No one had stopped to smell my roses, lick my tits, and cup my pussy quite like him.
Looking me in the eyes again, his fingers slipping along my clit between us, and he was looking for another yes. Hellbent on them.
“Grimm, hurry up.” Every part of me strained under his every muscle. Tortured in a way that had to satisfy some kinks for him.
“Calm down. I don't fuck raw. I'm not trying to have kids.”
He was brutally honest. I didn't care. I just wanted him to hurry up before I took matters into my own hands.
My hands were ready to touch myself if his fingers were going to keep teasing my clit. Tattoos, those slits for eyes, the rose rings on either side of his nose, his bushy eyebrows that shouldn’t compliment his features, but they did, and the don’t-give-a-fuck attitude that felt like a challenge. His body this close to mine was all I needed to rub my own clit until I orgasmed.
I've had practice.
His knees forced mine apart more as his body lowered over mine, palms flat against the sheets and the gold chains he always wore dangled against my full breasts.
Normally he looked like a nightmare, but right now? Nothing but a damn wet dream and lady boner.
“Grimm, I want this.” I was begging him to stop toying with me when I felt his knuckles brush up against me lining himself up to me. His tip made my legs quiver even more, anticipating the thrust that came next.
“Fuck. You’re wetter than I expected…” His surprise didn't go unnoticed.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I kissed his sharp jaw, trying to return any kind of favor I could. “How wet did you expect me to be?”
“You shouldn't be this wet for me, Abigail. I'm not a good person.”
Taking matters into my own hands I pushed his shoulders down, and to my own surprise, he let me. If he wasn’t going to make moves, I was.
Hands still on his shoulders, his back pressed against the headboard, I straddled him. Our bodies not touching, yet I felt for his length and shook against his tip finding my clit.
“Maybe I don't want a good person.”
His hands were on my hips, keeping me still in his tight grip. “Abigail.” His voice choked out a firm warning, but I didn't heed it. I sat down on him, feeling myself stretch with every sinking inch. The whimpering, the moans, my body shaking… even with him inside me, I felt out of my body.
Every inch was a new piercing grazing nerves and senses. One I didn’t have the chance to notice when he dominated our foreplay. A sensation I had never felt, it was overwhelming as I sank further down, inviting more of him inside me.
The bars pushed through his thickness horizontally and were touching me in places no one had. If I was really honest, every part of him touched parts of me that I thought were off-limits.
My eyes fluttered down to half-mast, and my body shook already. His hands gripped my hips like a warning when they slid to my back side, gripping my ass just as tightly, pulling me flush against him. My tits no longer bounced with his chest against my own. My clean, tattoo-free skin was stark against his covered skin.
My chest was tight, and I could feel my need to breathe beating against me, but I couldn't exhale right now. Right now, Grimm was doing things I only imagined in my head.
“Fuck. It doesn't even matter how wet you are when you're this tight... Move or I'll make you.”
Without testing his patience, I used his shoulders to provide some stability as I lifted myself off his length just to sit back down on him again. I whined out with my forehead touching his shoulder, every part of me wilted on top of him, begging for him to keep me up.
“Grimm. I... Grimm.”
I was a wreck in the best possible way. My whole body was shaking on top of him. He was tearing me wider than I expected, and every movement felt like I was orgasming a little.
Grimm inside of me felt like the first time an orgasm ever taunted me. I should have been embarrassed, but his cock would take it as a compliment.
“I know. I know, baby.” His hands, full of my ass, rocked my hips back and forth on his length as his lips brushed against my neck. “You're gonna come on top of me like a good girl, and then I'm gonna finish myself right on these tits.”
“I’m...” My voice stalled out, and I felt my body tense under the feelings.
“Yesss…” His green light was all I needed to let go on top of him as my hips stopped moving, but Grimm kept my movements going.
He let me ride out my orgasm until I felt the full body sense of calm after. Returning to moving my hips, he brought his arm around my waist, holding me still from riding him to his orgasm.
“I'm good, babe.”
“What do you mean? You didn't come...”
Lifting me off his lap, he separated us easily and dropped me to his bed carefully. “I did that for you, toots, so you can stop picturing me naked at work. Any more googly eyes, and I was gonna fuck you on my desk with everyone watching.”
Pulling the condom off his still hard erection, I watched in a state of confusion and more shock.
“But you're... you can't walk around like that.” I was trying to think of reasons, solutions, or who had that much control in life to deny themselves this kind of pleasure.
He chuckled like I was some stupid girl who didn't get it. “Can you go downstairs and eat something? I’m sure you have the drunk munchies. I need to shower off.”
Disappearing into the bathroom, he closed the door behind himself, and I heard the sound of the shower start up instantly. Still stunned, I sat back on my heels still naked in his bed. Listening carefully, I waited to hear the sounds compete with the shower for dominance of him getting off.
Walking by the door in his shirt, I threw on without any panties or pants I twisted it open. The door cracked, and I heard the unmistakable groan of Grimm.
I was going to have to formulate a theory about this. He wouldn’t get off with me. Everything was private in Grimm’s life… even getting off.
It made me wonder what he did with other girls.
Did he make them come to only get himself off privately? Did he not trust women with that job? Maybe the office girls were right in thinking he was gay.
Thankfully, he wasn't one of the many LA residents with a fucking Starbucks in his kitchen. The fancy machines us low-class didn't know how to work or relate to anyone who had one. Grimm was a simple man, with a black coffee maker that we all knew how to work.
GRIMM
I had never met a woman who battled an orgasm with caffeine and still fell asleep. Mixing uppers and downers.
When I got out of the shower, I
saw her coffee mug on the bedside table, still hot to the touch, and her passed out. She made herself so comfortable I didn’t have the heart to wake her up. She certainly wasn’t driving home still trashed anyways.
Letting her sleep, I found the remote and flicked on Netflix, letting some show play about teenagers looking for treasure.
My mind was keeping me distracted enough. If I thought the fallout of fingering her was bad enough to avoid her and hand her off to Khaos, then what would fucking her mean?
I couldn’t fire her. The paperwork, meetings, and bullshit would only end in me having to clean it up the way I was hired to anyways.
Finishing her coffee she abandoned, I don’t know when I fell asleep. Abigail wore out every ounce of control in my body without much effort.
I woke up downstairs on the couch, not remembering how I got there or even why my gun was in my hand resting on my thigh. Unclutching my hand around the handle, I placed the gun on the table after unclipping the magazine and counting to make sure all the bullets were there.
Lost time wasn’t a rare happening lately. Before Abigail got shoved onto me as my secretary, I was losing time more often than I wanted to. I would wake up in different places with no real reasoning on how I got there—in my car, in my shower, my couch, the cage in my basement… anywhere but my bed and always with my gun in my hand.
Waiting for the coffee to brew, I leaned onto the counter, elbows pressing into the granite, as I scrolled through messages I normally ignored from Khaos, Vic, Bo, and my mom. A storm of communication was just waiting to sweep me up. Hearing the distant clacking of heels against the marble floors, I snapped up in horror, thinking I had to be hallucinating.
My mother could not be here right now. The shadow moving behind the frosted glass wall closing in on me left me no time to run or hide.
Seeing me, she stopped like she hit a wall, and I cursed myself for not ducking behind the island, like a respectable adult, who had just fucked their employee, but not enough to see my o-face.
Walking over to the table, I picked up my gun and tucked it in the back of my sweats before walking back to my coffee, when Abigail breezed down the stairs in my shirt that hung down to her mid thighs. I could tell by her still sleepy eyes and stretching she wasn’t awake enough to realize the pretentious perfume hitting her nostrils was my mother standing in my kitchen.
“Who are you?” My mother’s eyebrows wrinkled in confusion and disgust—a look she perfected being the wife of someone powerful.
I watched Abigail’s cheeks flood a bright red, trying to become invisible. I couldn’t even help, turning my head up to the ceiling and cursing silently in my head. This was not my life right now. This moment was not happening for the second time with my mother showing up uninvited and overstaying her welcome with a pantsless Abigail.
“We’ve actually met before… Abigail…”
I was impressed that she spoke at all. My mother was like Medusa, turning people to stone and muting them with one look.
“Why don't you stick to coffee and phone calls? Or whatever it is you do.”
Her tone was grating my every nerve this early, before caffeine and my meds. Twisting the bottle tops open, I collected my horse pills when I grabbed my cup of coffee to wash them down with. “Boundaries. We’ve talked about this. You and Vic need to stop conspiring together. I'm eating, taking my meds, doing therapy, working out, and showing up to work. I'm not gonna explain myself.”
“I'm sorry. Do you need something? This is a private conversation with my son, Jason.”
“Stop. First of all, it's Grimm. I don't go by Jason. Secondly, she's my assistant; that's punishment enough to exclude her from your shit.”
She put up her hands and paused before following me outside, exactly how I wanted her to, away from Abigail being in the crossfire. Leaving the sliding door open, I walked onto the fake grass and squinted in the harsh sun’s brightness, even this early.
“Fine. Fine, I’m behaving. You missed your MRI last week.”
“And?” My disinterest in the topic was clear, as I waited for her to complain and give me the third degree, or whatever controlling moms do with their monster sons.
I had been getting MRIs done semi-regularly since I started therapy at the age of 10. My therapist was worried I had psychosomatic tendencies stemming from all the trauma I endured, so monitoring my brain scans was her way of keeping me in check.
“And what, Jason? You can’t skip these things. How else are we supposed to know you are okay?”
Her fake fucking concern matched her fake nails, fake tan, fake fucking voice, trying to sound as human as possible, when I knew her best. My mother could fake caring. She could probably fake a lot more, and she was as cold as ice. Nothing about her was warm and fuzzy. She knew what this world was, how to behave, how to look, how to turn a blind eye… the perfect cult member, perfectly brainwashed.
“I’m breathing, aren’t I?”
She didn’t like sass or jokes. I was her only child, so that shit didn’t go over well. Silver spoon took on a new meaning when you’re the only heir to the Rothschild name. Unheard of, really. I’m shocked it wasn’t forced upon her to breed more monsters, for the sake of the Clave.
“Jason! Mind your tongue!” That was a Clave saying. See how easy she used it in a sentence? Good little cult member. “You’re doing so well that you have a gun shoved into the back of your goddamn sweatpants and a half-naked girl in your kitchen!”
Taking out my gun, I extended my arm above my head and pulled the trigger back, letting it go off into the air. I watched my mother jump out of her perfectly polished skin, and her hands flew up to her ears, covering them from the loud pop.
“Good. Do I have your attention now? Abigail isn’t your business. You’re the one who forced me to punch in and out at an office I don’t use for anything. And my gun? It’s always on me.”
Abigail poked her head out, surveying the scene to make sure I didn’t kill my mom, I’m sure. Not this time…
She looked confused more than terrified, which also had me impressed. “Grimm?”
Throwing up a hand silently telling her I had this under control, she nodded nonchalantly and went back into the kitchen. I rounded my arm across my mother’s lower back and guided her back inside to leave. “Okay, thanks for visiting, but call next time.”
Being stubborn, I could feel my mother stiffen and push back against leaving. “You’ll reschedule your MRI, right? Dr. Pothen is a longtime friend. Don’t forget.”
I ignored her until we got to my front door. “Yes, mother. I’ll call and reschedule if you learn to call before showing up. Maybe even ring the fucking doorbell.”
She gave me a look that shouted I shouldn’t be doing anything I wouldn’t be comfortable with my mother seeing, like I was a child. As an adult, there were a lot of things I didn’t want my mother seeing.
Abigail was standing there with a smirk across her mouth, like this was all comical. Maybe from an outsider's perspective, it was funny, but either way, my mother wasn’t joking.
“She seems fun…” Not holding back the laughter spilling from her mouth with her fingers not doing anything to hold them back any longer. “What’s up with all the pills?”
I watched her fingers spin the bottles in between her fingers reading the label, well trying to, out loud:
Ziprasidone (for bipolar)
Lurasidone (for schizophrenia)
Xanax (for anxiety)
Ambien (for insomnia)
Propranolol (for tremors)
Risperidone (for nightmares)
“Wait, Risperidone… I know this one.” Her voice gave nothing away except the familiarity of knowing one of the many drugs I’m on. I could see the wheels in her mind turning, and I couldn’t figure out what was going on behind those almond-shaped eyes. “For nightmares, right?”
Color me fucking impressed again. There was more to Abigail than met her beige outlook on life.
“Someth
ing like that…” I played coy, waiting for her to tell me how she knew that.
“Mine were like night terrors. Sweating, crying, screaming, sleepwalking. Not fun.” Her eyes shifted down to the pill bottle, focusing while she spoke, and I could see her face frown, thinking about it. She looked insecure sharing it, yet she had no walls as high as mine.
“There’s more than meets the eye with you, huh?”
Putting the pill bottle down, she took the coffee mug right out of my hand, standing almost flush against me. “Way more. You aren’t the only damaged good around here. I just handle it better.”
My hands were on her hips, and I held her still, not wanting this moment to end. I wanted to soak up as much Abigail as I could, and I couldn’t even tell you why.
“Full transparency,” I mocked her own demands.
Handing me the mug back, she took a step forward in nothing but my shirt between us. “An eye for an eye. You told me your Illuminati, which I’m still digesting, so I guess I can tell you my woes…”
She didn’t move. It was like she wanted me to pay attention, because she wasn’t gonna say this again. I got it. I’m the same way, never repeating myself.
Continuing with a tall posture and this weird look in her eyes I couldn’t place… fortitude? Guts? Valor? Something that looked and sounded like courage but wasn’t as fleeting. “My dad has a gambling problem, and when I was in middle school, the people who got their hands dirty for whoever he owed money to decided I was collateral. My mom said I was gone for six days, but I was only 10. Time didn’t move the same when you're terrified and confused. That wasn’t even the worst of it, honestly, being taken by a loving family, not as bad you’d think.”
She swallowed hard taking a pause, and I knew that meant the heavy rain of this storm was coming. “When my dad showed up, I realized he wasn’t there to rescue me. He wanted to strike a deal. That all went south pretty quickly when they cut off two of his fingers in front of me. I don’t even think they did it in a cruel way; it was a warning that my dad couldn’t be trusted. After that, my dad shoved religion so far down my throat I was deep throating crucifixes.”
