by Elena Monroe
The show had just gotten to the part where someone died for knowing too much.
Just like me. Grimm had told me more than he should have.
In front of the door, my PTSD really kicked in, making my heart thud so hard it rippled through all the bones in my chest. “Who is it?”
“Open the door, Abigail.”
Only one person used my full first name as frequently as my mother.
Grimm.
Opening the door to a Grimm in a white shirt, light grey sweats, and loud shoes, I felt my heart and ability to breathe both get choked up. It was the first time I had seen him in light colors. It made him seem less haunted, tortured, murky waters…
“What are you doing here? It’s 10 o’clock.”
He didn’t push past me or explain how he knew where I lived. I don’t know why I bothered indulging myself with this kind of surprise. He was in a cult, had plenty of money, and knowing where I lived was probably as easy as picking up coffee.
“What’s the whole truth, Abigail?”
I swore I could see Grimm shaking while his forearm leaned against the frame and his fists were balled up so tightly I saw his knuckles turn a pale lifeless shade.
“Whole truth? About? I’ve been honest. More than honest.”
Stepping out of the way, I sidestepped to let him in with a wave of my hand. I lived right off a very popular street with people walking almost all the time, and I didn’t need the gawking if Grimm was about to lose it.
Slamming his closed fist against the frame, his voice wasn’t quizzical anymore; it was brooding and menacing. “About your childhood, Abigail. What did the priest do to you?”
I had only told him my parents shoved religion down my throat, not that something else had happened. I already told him I was kidnapped and watched my father have fingers removed in front of me. Pity wasn’t something I wanted from him… anyone but him.
“That’s a little deep…” I was still waiting for him to come in when I walked away from the door and found my half empty glass of wine on the table.
“Really? Deeper than I was the other night?”
Spinning around, I faced him. “Why are you bringing this up? How do you even know? It’s the past.”
The past was better kept in the past. I managed to get over the nightmares and hatred for my family with the benefit of distance. It wasn’t easy, but I knew deep down it wasn’t their fault that the priest’s methods of therapy hadn’t exactly been approved and recognized outside of torture.
If I thought about it too long, the scars on my back started to tingle with memories and phantom pains.
“It doesn’t matter how I know, Abigail. I’m not gonna sleep tonight until you tell me the whole truth.”
“And nothing else but the truth?” I had to stop the smile from cracking over my full lips at my own joke. His eyes were digging into me, piercing every ounce of lightness I was trying to bring to this moment—failing, but trying. I could still see him vibrating, less shaking, but still so angry it was manifesting physically.
“This isn’t a fucking joke, Abigail. Do you want me to fucking snap? Do you wanna be responsible for what comes next?”
His threats were heavy and dampened down any humor inside me, expelling it completely.
“It’s in the past. I don’t ask you about your past and hope it’s okay to bring it all up again.” I was stalling and hoping he didn’t catch on.
I dropped down onto my ass on the couch’s arm when he stalked closer to me, stopping right in front of me in all his tattoos and height, trying to scare the truth out of me. But, it’s hard to scare someone who has locked eyes with the Devil and survived it. Grimm was practically an angel in comparison.
His face was tight with tension. “What do you wanna know? I’ll pretty much tell you anything at this fucking point.”
His fists were still tight and knuckles still devoid of color. I tilted my chin up to meet his gaze. “I don’t know… Tell me anything. Something personal. It’s weird if I’m the only one…”
“I’m in a cult. I’m one of the four horsemen. I kill people for the Clave. I borderline torture the women I’m with to get off. What else?”
“Wait. Back up… like the biblical horsemen?”
He wasn’t in a joking mood, so I knew he was being serious, but this was a lot. Not just in a cult, cool. Killing people? And he thought he was bringing forth an apocalypse?
“Not like that. We’re each a horseman: death, famine, chaos, war. That’s our purpose in the cult to fulfill our roles. I kill. That’s the kind of monster I am.”
My posture wilted, and my shoulders caved in at his confession. It was hitting me like a ton of bricks, and as if that wasn’t enough, I’m pretty sure he just became hotter.
Being in a cult? I can deal with that.
A killer? Not gonna lie, it was inspiring that same kind of heat to bloom in the pit of my stomach. Most men wanted to be the kind of tough to actually go through with hurting others when they’re wronged or pissed off. Grimm did that.
A horseman? He lost me with that one, but it was okay because my two feet were still firmly placed in trying to not be turned on by his blood-lust hobbies.
The real problem was how special Grimm was making me feel with all this information that I knew hadn’t poured from his lips to anyone else. Just me. It was obvious this was the first time with that poorly constructed delivery of blunt force trauma.
“So Khaos is obviously chaos? Vic is war? Bowen is famine? Who decides?”
I wanted to savor him trusting me enough with the information, but my head was spinning and it needed to find some kind of control.
“The Servants of Patmos decides with our parents. It was a private boarding school we all attended to prepare us for this life. I’m pretty sure I said enough, Abigail. What did the priest do to you?”
I stilled in a way that I even wondered if I was still breathing and living. My voice cracked and barely made it out of my throat. “Confession, penances, immersion therapy, chastising, writing out the Bible until whatever demons they saw in me faded enough to make it stop.”
Yanking me up by my arm, I felt like a ragdoll as he circled me, looking at every inch of skin exposed in my tank top. I suddenly felt naked and vulnerable, and the heat I once felt was now bile trying to come up instead.
Moving around me, he lifted my tank top up my back and every part of me turned to cold, hard stone in his grasp. I could feel the tears well up in my eyes, and the scars that had finally lightened up tingled with everything I pushed down after I compartmentalized it away.
The scars on my back had only lightened up after rounds of topical meds and dermatologist appointments that made up my entire high school experience. I could still see them in the mirror though. All the faded raised lines overlapped and congested my back.
Grimm’s hand barely touched me, but I could feel his touch hovering, silently, as he looked me over.
“Is he in jail? Dead? How long did this go on for?”
Now I could clearly see how he felt. His head was spinning too, and he wasn’t concealing it anymore, not with angry fists or anger that shook him.
“Better part of a year. When your dad single-handedly blames you for his failures, shit happens. This was my own personalized shit.” I tried to not let my voice get bullied by the tears now dripping down from my lashes. It was hard to keep a calm tone when someone like Grimm was staring into your darkness, your depths, your crucifix hanging upside down on your wall.
“Why didn’t you testify?” His words were still sharp and blunt.
“He didn’t molest me or rape me. Those kids had it so much worse than me. I could deal with the bad shit. Those kids needed the same shit they force fed us: confessing his crimes, taking this justice as penance, immersion therapy by living as those kids the rest of your life, and chastising for hating every minute. That’s what that trial was.”
Letting my tank top drop back down to cover my back, I felt hi
s arm wrap around my chest, holding me to him while the tears shook my body. No matter how much you process the bad shit, it always stings having to remember it. Wounds faded, but memories didn’t. They even outlive you sometimes.
“You’re beautiful, Abigail.”
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe I modeled to build my confidence after everything, but in reality, it was just to hear those words. When I finally did, I didn’t know if I believed him.
“You don’t have to say that.”
Manipulating my hips, he turned me around to face him, and I thought he would argue with me. Instead, he threw me over his shoulder like a ragdoll who only weighed a few ounces. My hands were on his back, and I pleaded with him, “Grimm, put me down!”
“Which is your room?”
He didn’t actually wait for a response before he pushed open the door to Jus’s room. Barely taking in her aggressive choice in decor, he stomped away in the other direction. All I could see was his ass and back muscles peering through his white fitted shirt. Without warning, he tossed me onto my bed before ripping off his shirt when my eyes were level with his crotch. Those sweats were making it obvious his dick was awake and aimed right for me.
His lips nipped at mine like I was fragile. I wasn’t. I didn’t break under the whip, under my dad’s betrayal, under the pressure to say I was violated by a man of the cloth, or the pressure cooker Grimm forced me into the minute I started on his desk.
I was choking on the one thing I thought cured me: control… until Grimm made that seem fragile too.
GRIMM
Most people would have looked down and saw Abigail as weak, maybe even broken. Maybe even an easy lay, because only a few minutes ago she had thick tears rolling down her cheeks.
All I saw was this strength in her I envied.
She had gone through as much hell as I had, and somehow she managed to keep her head on straight.
Granted, mine was fucking contaminated with a tumor pressing on who knows what and probably feeding into the parts of me my monster liked.
You had to envy someone. You had to praise them and take them for who they are in order to get a hard on like I was sporting.
Abigail’s shorts were the thin cotton that you weren’t made to leave the house in. I could feel how fragile they were in between my fingers when I tugged them down to her ankles. It didn’t sound like she meant to moan my name when it slipped out.
Her nipples pressed against her thin tank top, making it obvious how sensitive she was to my touch when my fingers skimmed her skin and watched her hips lower down to her bed. She was begging for control when her entire body was betraying her by just being this turned on.
Good, I wanted her to feel just as crazy as I did for her.
Kneeling on her bed, I grabbed her ankle and lifted up her leg to meet my mouth. Her head fell to one side with her eyes closed as I only let my lips brush her against her smooth legs. When I reached her inner thigh, practically hovering over her, I placed her leg on my shoulder moving onto her other leg kissing up to her ankle instead. Her almond skin matched her almond eyes, and the freckles she randomly had resembled beauty marks instead.
Blessed with too much beauty, someone had to smite her to bear the marks.
“Grimm, no teasing. We did enough of that.”
There were gasps and hushed moans between each word. It wasn’t helping my dick any. Every time I heard her pant, it made my dick jerk.
“This, right here, is exactly how you make me feel all the time.”
My head fell to the left side, lips brushing her skin with every word, and my hands yanked her panties down from her ass.
“You have more control than I do…” That was surprising in her voice.
“Not when it comes to you, Abigail.”
She wiggled, trying to make her panties come off easier, when I didn’t need any help. They were coming off, even if I had to rip them off.
One quick pull, and her panties still remained whole when I shoved them into my sweatpants’ pocket.
I had never seen my dick raise like this without the glory of making someone do what I wanted, when I wanted, how I wanted and mixing in some violence.
The pain is what really turned me on. I wanted to feel the pain that was intangible, always humming inside me, become tangible enough to sting on my skin. Giving pain, receiving pain… it all got the job done in making me come.
I once had a girl punch me in the face back at boarding school just to get my attention while she rubbed her crotch against mine at a party. I went from uninterested to paying very good attention.
Abigail’s hands pawed at me, trying to reach the band of my joggers to push down between us when I pulled off her panties from her ankles and dropped her legs on either side of me. She didn’t dare close them; she let me look at how perfectly slick she was.
Reaching between us, my thumb found her sensitive clit and rubbed the same exact way I had before in my bathroom. Her hips circled and pushed up to meet my motions. Letting my hand catch my weight, I idled above her, thumb still working her clit and my tongue gliding against her neck. I could tell she was already close.
She was so controlled I would believe it if you told me she vetted guys on the same level as the FBI before she let them into her panties.
“Abigail…”
“Grimm, it’s real.”
Her chest was heaving, and my lungs were on fire, trying to inhale and exhale while watching her unravel below me. She knew exactly what I wanted to ask her even though I couldn’t bring myself to actually ask. I didn’t want to know if it wasn’t real.
Her knees rubbed my hips, and my dick was listening very closely to her moans as my fingers walked the neckline of her tank top down far enough to expose her nipple to my mouth.
Her scars matched mine—different traumas but both broken by others.
Abigail’s legs shook against me, and I watched her come so gracefully I could have come inside my boxers. Bringing my thumb to my lips, I sucked off all of Abigail with a grin that felt permanent.
She leaned up, speaking into my neck, hot breath hitting my skin as she whispered, “Do I need a safe word?”
I didn’t bother responding when I pushed my lips against hers aggressively, hungry, starved for her. With my hand on her neck, keeping her lips on mine, I felt her lips part and grant my tongue access to hers. Her delicate hands pushed down my sweats with my boxers, only enough to slip her hand in and grab a hold of me.
The only response I could give her was my head shaking back and forth in a silent no.
Fuck, my head was spinning, and my body was on fire.
“When do I get to return all the favors you keep doing for me?” I sat back on my knees, but she sat up, making sure the distance between us was existent.
Pushing my sweats all the way down and tearing out of them, I pushed her back, making sure I had the perfect view of her. “If you didn’t drive me so crazy, I might allow that… You’re making it difficult to think straight, let alone stop myself from coming inside your pretty mouth.”
“Are you going to let me help you finish this time?”
The flash of insecurity sprang to her features. My inability to let her have that part of me before made her question if I desired her at all. My whole body was trembling and shaking with anger at the people who hurt her and the fucking pulsing my dick was doing. If you didn’t desire her, then you probably weren’t into women. Letting anyone make me come was something I rarely did.
Abigail witnessed my kinks and perversions, like letting a girl sit on the floor of my kitchen, letting me do whatever I wanted to her. It was the quickest way to my dick, but I rarely let them see that part. That meant giving them a piece of me.
The darkness? I had plenty to spare.
The shit Abigail wanted? Not enough.
I couldn’t give her an answer when I wasn’t even sure. Watching her reach ecstasy seemed satisfying enough.
Pulling her tank top off, I e
xposed her completely, while I pressed my knees into the back of her thighs, making sure they stayed open. Her full lips pulled me in when my open mouth found hers. My hand wrapped around myself and guided my tip between her legs. The tightness of Abigail forced me to enter her with some aggression.
With our lips still brushing and feeding each other, through stalled out breaths, I whispered, because it felt right, “Just friends. You know that, right?”
I was giving her more than I was willing to see the fallout of, and that required clarity.
She nodded her head, slowly making her lips messily nip around my mouth and jaw.
Every inch of me, all six evenly spaced horizontal bars on the underside of my cock, was acting like a ribbed condom making every inch of me plunging deeper the reason she panted.
She melted down into the bed, any residual tightness dissolving with every sharp thrust. Sharp movements were a must when Abigail was this wet.
“Grimm…” She panted, and her legs twisted with mine as her arms wrapped around my neck keeping me close to her.
My hips pushed against hers, wildly giving up on a pace. There was no such thing as a fucking pace with her. We spent enough time avoiding this.
“Say you understand, Abigail. Just friends.” Painfully slow, that was the new pace I was torturing her with until she agreed.
“Yes… Yes!” In an exhale, she agreed to both my dick and nothing being born from this.
Abigail had my dick in a vice, tightly hugging me even while being this slick. Still holding myself above her body leaving no real room between us, her hard nipples scraped my chest with every motion. She was getting tighter when her palms, fingers, and thumb all caressed the sides of my face, making sure I maintained eye contact.
She wanted to make sure I watched her come. That wasn’t something I would miss.
“I want to make you come,” her voice rasped, and her lip got stuck between her teeth.
She was making sure she saw me come.
My hips pushed into hers with force and a sloppy fucking pace to match. My abs tightened, and I couldn’t hold back the groans boiling over my lips when her legs kept brushing my hips, coaxing me into giving her what she wanted.
