You want her to live? Get those wet clothes off her.
“All right, Grace,” I say. “Let’s warm you up.”
I start with the tie around her waist. It’s wet and knotted tight. When I finally loosen it, the front of her dress falls open. My balls tighten.
Her hips are two curvy C’s facing each other. Her stomach is hollow and her ribs show. My eyes skim over her, taking in every detail. A brown mole on her sternum. White lacy bra, white lacy panties. Barely enough to cover the tiny mound underneath.
Her life is a mess, but this morning she put on matching lingerie. That says something. She has a little life-force left, a shred of determination.
Lifting one shoulder and then the other, I pull the dress off her body. Her head falls to one side and damp strings of hair cover her cheek.
She’s not a woman right now. I won’t let her be. This is something I have to do.
Undressing her is like gutting a fish or skinning a deer. It’s clinical, a necessity that won’t stir or arouse me. She’s just a female animal under my control. She needs tending. Modesty and chivalry have no place here.
Her bra clasp is in front between her breasts. I press it and it springs open. I push aside my emotions.
Sweeping the bra cups aside, I pull the straps off over her arms. I glance at her breasts. I register their size and firmness, and the delicate brown-pink of her nipples. I cup my hands around them to feel the temperature of her skin. Still cold as ice.
I slide my hands to her ribs and waist. My hands are so hot on her frozen skin, I’m surprised she doesn’t wake up. My pulse throbs in my neck.
A thousand times I’ve imagined ripping her clothes off, shredding them in my hands while she screamed. I gave myself full erections as I pictured bending her over in the courtroom and hate-fucking her until she came all over my cock while her parents watched. Halle-fucking-lujah, Mr. Garrett. Your bratty little angel can’t get enough of my enormous dick.
But I never imagined her blacked out and helpless on my floor. At my mercy. Sleeping fucking beauty.
My cock is huge for her, the head so swollen it aches. So much for clinical. I’m a man first. My blood and brain have their own agenda. Hunting, fucking, devouring. The weaker the hunted, the better.
But still, she needs tending. Whether I want her or not.
Hooking my index fingers over the edge of her wet panties, I pull them down to her thighs. Her waxed cunt is small and even, closed as tight as the bud of a flower. A tiny spring rose.
I’ve seen a hundred girls and been bored to tears by most of them. Same pussy, same tits, same seduction routine. Any difference was barely memorable.
I expect to feel the same now. I try to. I don’t.
My heart pumps so hard I see spots in front of my eyes. I’m hard as a fucking rock.
God, she’s beautiful. In this state, defenseless, with her eyes half-closed, she looks like the most innocent thing in the world.
And I’m the beast who fantasizes about kidnapping her. Who, in some fucked up, roundabout way, actually did it.
Teeth set, I yank her panties to her ankles and pull them off over her scratched, dirty feet. Her thighs fall open and her pussy glistens in front of me, a dark pink slit of wetness and plump flesh. I’ve never seen anything so pretty, except her face.
She’s so gorgeous. And this is so depraved.
Except for the part about saving her life. Yeah, that.
The blanket isn’t enough. I’m no EMT, but I learned enough survival skills from my grandfather to know the basics.
I stand and pull off my t-shirt. Boots and jeans are next, then my boxer briefs. All six feet five inches of me stand naked over Grace Garrett with a massive erection and one foot planted on either side of her.
My spoils. My sweet, senseless prey.
I kneel beside her. Cold radiates from her skin like dry ice.
Turning her on her side, I wrap myself around her – body, arms, and legs. I groan at the first touch of her velvet skin. My broad chest against her slim back, my thick, stiff cock against her ass. I haven’t seen her ass but I can feel it. Round, firm, and high. Perfect. And so cold.
I pull the blanket over both of us. Her cool, soft breasts rest against my forearm. Her waist is a deep dip under my hand. My breath grazes her ice-blue cheek.
I can feel her frozen blood pulling heat from my body. She’s drinking in my warmth, coming back from practically dead. My cock has never been so big and strapped with veins. My hips strain forward, aching to fuck her.
One thrust and I could be inside her, filling her with life-giving seed, thawing her beautiful cunt from the inside out.
I pull her closer, squeeze her harder. She’s all mine, and she doesn’t even know it.
I clench my jaw remembering how she used to look at me. I could feel her rage across the courtroom, her need to see me suffer. But then her guard would crack, and her eyes would dart across my body, resting on my shoulders, my arms, my hands.
Once I even smiled at her. It wasn’t a kind smile. It was a smile that said, someday I’ll fuck you until you admit what you are. A slut for my cock. A whore for the power I hold over your life.
I breathe in the rainy-dirty-flowery scent of her hair. She smells like a lost little girl. Like dead leaves and tears and the inside of a stranger’s car.
She scares me. She isn’t happiness and roses. She’s a girl who grieves and wants to die. She acts strong but she’s fragile as fuck.
I keep my hands still. Holding her, warming her, but not really touching her. She wouldn’t want me to touch her. I’ve seen it in her eyes. She’d rather die than live because of me.
But she has no choice. Whether she lives or dies is my decision now.
I grind my hips into her ass. Her head falls back against my shoulder like she’s begging me to kiss her neck.
I brush my lips just below her ear. Breathe hot air over her skin to warm her blood.
And then I bite that tender patch of skin. Just once, hard enough to leave a mark but not to tear her open. I groan. Blood fills my cock and my balls throb with unshot come.
Beautiful girl. This isn’t violating her. It’s saving her fucking life.
“Everything’s okay,” I whisper. “It’s just us now.”
My hands feel charged. They won’t stay still another second. I have to feel her.
Holding my breath, I trail my fingers across her soft belly and over her breasts. Her nipples stiffen under my rough palms. They’re dark pink and rigid, begging to be sucked. I pinch them between my fingers and feel them respond.
Her body has its own life. It wants me even if her mind is a black, empty space.
I slide my bare feet around one of hers, heating her icy toes. I can feel the deep scratches in her soles. She didn’t get these trying to run from Vernon.
She had no shoes on. No coat. No handbag.
“What happened to you?” I whisper. “Who did this?”
She was drunk. Out of her mind angry. Anyone could have hurt her, chased her through that dark cemetery in the rain.
The cemetery. Fucking of course.
Jealousy spears my gut as I think of her at James’s grave. Going back to him after seeing me. To reconnect with a dead man, the only man she’ll ever love.
She may have felt heat with me, but she had so much more with him.
I have no right to be jealous. She hates me and I hate her. That’s where it ends. But I can’t miss the parallel, or the old, scarred-over wound.
I know that kind of love. I wish to fuck I didn’t.
Grace’s ghost almost killed her tonight. If she doesn’t let him go, someday he will.
“Lucky girl,” I whisper. “You’re safe now.”
A breath shivers through her and her hand twitches. I could warm up towels to cover her, but then I’d have to leave her. I can’t do it. Even for a few minutes, I won’t leave her alone.
I find a cold patch on her hip and another on her ribs. What parts of
her have I missed? The deep, tender parts. The ones she’d scream at me not to touch.
I reach under her round little ass and between her legs. My cock throbs with the desire to fuck, but this isn’t about want. She needs me. She needs my heat.
I’ve jerked off a hundred times thinking of fucking her with my fingers. Priming her for my cock by stretching her open with one. Then two. Then three.
All in good time. I’m not her lover tonight. I’m her savior.
I groan when I touch her cold, tight slit. So sweet. It parts with gentle pressure from my thumb. Grabbing the thick root of my dick, I slide the head between her cunt lips.
Slick. Smooth. Jesus fuck.
I almost explode at the first touch. She’s too tiny, too tight, too soft. Her velvet pussy grips my cock as I rub from her clit to her ass. Every stroke is so electric, the friction could start a fire.
Her cunt opens as I rub it back and forth. It’s creamy and slick, and my cock slides easily. “Were you an excited girl tonight?” I murmur. “Why is your little pussy so wet?”
Even limp in my arms, she’s so fucking inviting. I want to fuck her alive again. I want her to wake up on my cock, her pussy stretched to the limit, an orgasm welcoming her back to the world.
But I won’t do it. When I break her, I want her to feel every thick millimeter. I want it to hurt. I want to see those big green eyes surrender when I shatter James’s memory and finally put the bastard to rest.
“I’ve got you now,” I whisper to her. “You hear me? For as long as I fucking want you.”
Maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear her heart starts beating faster.
Grace
I hear moaning.
Hour after hour. Again and again. There’s nothing in the world but that haunting sound. Nothing to see or feel or taste.
Just moaning, over and over. Every time, a little bit different.
My eyelids are heavy, too heavy to open or blink. I want to open them but I can’t. It’s not time yet. Somehow I know that.
Much later, I’m realize that the moaning is coming from me. It feels like hours since I started hearing it. Days.
I blink once. The world appears in fragmented snatches, jagged bits of wall and floor. Stone, beams, a high window showing a sliver of flat gray sky.
My mouth tastes like metal. I feel sick to my stomach. I close my eyes again and the feeling goes away.
It’s almost nighttime when I open my eyes again. I’m more awake now. Awake enough to be terrified. My heart races so fast I can’t count the beats.
My body trembles as I push myself up on wobbly arms. After a few tries, I’m able to sit. The walls reel a little before going still.
I’m lying on a bed. I’m naked. The white sheets are tangled as if I’ve been thrashing in my sleep. There’s a comforter in a heap on the floor.
Fear and confusion grip me in waves. What is this place? What happened to me?
I look at my hands, my arms and legs. I must have been drugged. Maybe beaten unconscious. But my head doesn’t hurt. I don’t see blood or bruises, just cuts from jumping and walking in bare feet.
My mouth is dry, my eyes filmy. I glance around, trying to find one familiar thing.
The room is small and strange. The stone walls are a dark gold color with tiny pits in them. The floor is a different stone, black and shiny with silver fragments that glisten. The ceiling soars maybe fifteen feet above my head. Thick wooden beams arch across it. Their rich dark color soothes my eyes.
I’m at Isaac’s. I must be.
Whimpering, I yank the sheet up over my breasts. With a frantic feeling of dread, I touch my pussy. No blood. It doesn’t hurt. Nobody’s raped me. Yet.
I have to get out of here. I can’t wait for him to come for me.
I look from the window to the beams to the floor. There’s something weirdly opulent about this room. The sheets feel impossibly smooth against my skin. Everything seems elegant and expensive, from the pillows to the down comforter to the gray velvet headboard.
Can this really be Isaac’s farmhouse?
I’ve seen pictures of it. I pretended to be interested when he showed off the renovation to my parents last year. I remember thinking, renovation? All I saw was flowered wallpaper and rough pine floors.
Maybe I’m in rehab, or jail. I did something terrible last night.
Has it only been one night? What do I remember? Hands clutched to my racing heart, I try to think.
Jumping from my parents’ window. Lying on James’s grave. The silver heart on his headstone. Walking. Freezing rain and endless wind.
That’s all. Nothing else.
I push the sheets aside and sit on the edge of the bed. My legs quiver as I try to stand up. Sharp pain shoots through my ankle and my knees wobble. I kneel down and crawl to what I hope is a door.
There’s no handle, just a rectangular seam in the wall. I push against it. It doesn’t budge.
I press my ear to the stone and listen. The silence is so deep I feel swallowed by it.
I sit back and rub my swollen ankle. Time passes. The sky gets darker.
It takes until sunset to gather my nerve.
I knock lightly. “Hello?” My voice sounds weak and raspy.
I put my ear to the door again. Dead silence.
I call out again, and again. “I’m awake. I’m here.”
My voice breaks and I cough. Maybe no one can hear me. I have to be louder.
I stop talking and use my fists to pound the door. The sound hurts my ears. I pound until my hands ache and tears are streaming down my cheeks.
I’d be relieved to see Isaac now. I’d take any human being who can explain why the hell I’m here.
It’s dark now, the kind of deep, consuming dark that makes me feel crazy. I run my hand along the walls but there’s no switch. Panic rises in my throat but I push it back down. I need to stay calm. It’s all I’ve got.
I feel my way back to the bed and curl up in a ball. “Sleep,” I tell myself. “It’s the only thing you can do.”
A moment later, I hear footsteps. I scramble into a corner and pull my legs up to my bare chest. My pulse hammers in my ears.
The door swings open slowly.
There’s a figure in the doorway, backlit by a bright light. I blink my eyes and squint.
A low, golden light glows on overhead, and a figure steps into the room.
A woman.
She’s wearing a long, flowing red caftan and high-heeled leather sandals. Wavy blonde hair flows down her back. As she approaches I see that she’s pregnant, at least six months. And she’s beautiful, with full lips, high cheekbones, and china-blue eyes.
This is not Isaac’s wife.
This isn’t my life, or reality as I’ve ever known it. This is insane.
Fuck calm. I have to get out of here.
I jump up and lunge for the door. With almost effortless grace, she reaches out and locks an arm around my throat. Her grip is just strong enough that I can’t speak or move. I’m too weak. My legs quiver under my weight.
She reaches out with her free hand and shuts the door. “Going somewhere?” she asks, her voice soothing and light in my ear.
I shake my head. “Good,” she says. “Then I won’t have to do that again.”
She lowers her arm slowly and lets me go. I back away and crouch against the side of the bed.
I don’t try to cover myself. I don’t care that I’m naked anymore. It’s a trivial detail compared to the craziness of this moment.
“Who are you?” I say. “What the fuck is this place?”
“I heard you were feisty,” she says, smiling, “and you are.”
“How did I get here? Do you work for Isaac?”
“Isaac?” She seems genuinely puzzled.
I just shake my head. I despise her smooth, confident control. She’s what I always wanted to be and never was.
She squats in front of me and rests her elbows on her knees. Her long-fingered hands clasp
lightly. I try to stand up again but she clucks her tongue. Shamed and defeated, I sit back down.
“You can fuck with me or we can be friends, okay?” she says. “You decide.”
My whole body hardens with fury. “I want answers. Now.”
She smiles again. “Then start asking questions.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Coral,” she says.
“Did you undress me?”
“No. You were naked when I got here.”
I glare around at the strange stone walls. “Where’s here?”
“A house.”
“Obviously,” I spit out. “Who owns it?”
“A friend of mine.”
I roll my eyes. “You want to expound on that? Man? Woman? Name?”
Her expression doesn’t change. “Later.”
I drag my fingernails along the floor, not caring that it hurts. “What the fuck am I doing here? What do you want?”
“To help you, Grace.”
Hearing my name shatters my last nerve. My eyes flood with tears. “How do you know I’m Grace?”
She reaches out and takes my hand. “Come on. Come with me.”
Digging my toes into the floor, I stiffen and pull back. “Where?” I sound rattled and hysterical.
“You must need to use the bathroom by now, and I bet you couldn’t find it. There are no doorknobs in this house.” She gives me a conspiratorial smile that says, we’re both women. You can trust me.
I let her pull me up and lead me to the other side of the bed. I watch her warily. She touches the wall and part of it slides open.
A light comes on inside, illuminating a luxurious bathroom with a soaking tub, double sinks, and a glassed-in shower. Everything looks as polished and elegant as the bedroom. The modern fixtures remind me of the kind of upscale hotel I’ve always wanted to stay in but could never afford.
“Where’s the toilet?” I ask.
“Around the corner,” she says, letting my hand slip out of hers. “Go ahead.”
Breaking Grace Page 7
