Breaking Grace

by Rose Devereux

  I never thought I’d have the opportunity again. I can’t give it up, even if I have to sell my soul. I’ve already sold my body.

  I turn my face into the pillow and squeeze my eyes shut. The horrible part is that I find it flattering. Bram wants sex to be part of the deal. That makes me feel good. It means he feels it, too, this sick, desperate thing between us. I’m not alone with it anymore. All those hours in the courtroom, all of my fantasies about him – he knew. I’m so ashamed, and so miserably glad.

  He wants me. He sees me as a woman. Not just as trouble, but a girl he’d like to fuck.

  My pussy throbs at the thought. James loved me, but he didn’t want to fuck me. Not like I want to be fucked. Even though I don’t want him near me. Even though I hate him with all my heart.

  I’m scared. So scared of what I’m about to do.

  I get up and press my thumb to the nearly invisible pad on the wall. The overhead light comes on, a dim, gentle glow. As I scrawl yes on the slip of paper and slide it under the door, I feel myself falling. I’m lost. I’m in a black hole where there’s no right and wrong. There’s only me versus him.

  Somehow, I’m choosing this.

  Bram twisted and manipulated and backed me into corners, until it became my decision to stay. To be locked up of my own free will.

  And now I’m a willing prisoner. Bram Russell’s bitch.

  A whore for the hope that someday, I’ll be happy again.

  It’s barely dawn when the door opens. I sit up with a start, clutching the robe over my chest.

  Bram walks in. He looks wide awake. He’s wearing drawstring pants and nothing else. He’s carrying a tray.

  The early light casts shadows across his chest. His arms, chest, and stomach are sculpted ridges of strength and power. The black chain link tattoo on his wrist winds around his arm and ends at his elbow. He’s big but perfectly symmetrical, as if every fiber of his body was designed. He looks like a warrior, the god of every female fantasy that ever existed.

  I’m shivering with nerves, but I can’t stop staring. I knew he had this body. A suit couldn’t disguise it. Nothing could. He’s a mountain. A concrete wall. A force of nature.

  Before I can shove the traitorous thought away, I compare him to James. James was thin and athletic but he wasn’t…this. Blessed beyond all reason. A machine meant for fucking.

  It’s horrible that I look at him that way. That he’s using his body to rattle me. It only makes me despise him more.

  “Good morning,” he says. Nothing about the note. Nothing about my transformation from good girl to murderer’s slut.

  I sit in shamed silence. If he could read my thoughts when we were in the courtroom, can he read them now? Do I not even have the refuge of my own mind?

  He purses his lips. “You’ll say good morning when I enter your room.”

  And so my sentence begins. If I thought it was going to be easy, I was dead wrong.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m too old for finishing school.”

  He sits and sets the tray on the bed. It holds a plate with a steaming vegetable omelette, toast, coffee, and orange juice. My stomach growls.

  Suddenly he grabs my face between his thumb and forefinger. My cheeks dig into my teeth. “Good morning. Say it.”

  “Let me go.”

  His fingers are like a vice. His fallen-angel eyes bore into mine. He smells like something so warm and intoxicating it makes my heart hurt.

  “We’re off to a rocky start,” he says, his clipped tone making my stomach turn. “Say good morning.”

  My eyes are watering and my nose stings. That stubborn streak. You were born this way.

  Yes. And this is a man who is capable of pulling a trigger. Who can kill someone on impulse and not feel a second of regret.

  “Good morning,” I manage. My tone makes it sound like fuck you.

  “Excellent,” he says, dropping his hand. “Now eat.”

  “I’m not hungry,” I say, my stomach aching for food.

  He sighs. “The two things you want are freedom and revenge. I told you they’d be earned, and eating breakfast is your first task.”

  Setting the tray on his lap, he slices into the omelette and shoves the fork toward my face. I know I look like a petulant child as I turn my cheek, but I don’t care.

  “Eat!” he orders.

  By now my stomach is twisted in knots. The thought of eating makes me sick. I can’t do it.

  But not because I’m angry. Because being this close to him is bad for me.

  He’s too beautiful. He smells too good. I hate how he makes me feel.

  I can see the outline of his cock against his thigh. He’s not wearing underwear. All that covers him is a thin layer of material. My fingers twitch to reach out. To feel a man’s cock for the first time.

  It’s huge. Is it still thick from waking, or is it always like this?

  After a whole life without touch, my body is a force of its own. It won’t stop. It won’t respond to anything I do. It will only respond to him.

  “Take the fork and eat,” he says.

  I shake my head. I’m terrified I’ll touch him. Before I know it I’ll be on my knees, pleading with him to fill my throat with his dick. To make me forget everything but right now, and fuck the life back into me.

  Suddenly his patience snaps. He sets the plate down and pulls a strip of coiled rope from his pants pocket.

  “What’s that?”

  His face is rigid. “An appetite stimulant.”

  I scramble across the bed, but he whips out his hand and grabs my wrist. Instantly my fingers go numb. Kicking the sheets, I try to thrash away but there’s no use. He’s worse than I thought, and so fucking strong. A brute-force bastard.

  I haven’t been overpowered since Isaac ripped my panties off in my father’s office. But this is different. Even though it scares me, my blood is pounding with excitement. There’s something perversely soothing about his power.

  It’s sick, and wrong, and I won’t let myself like it.

  He jerks me toward him. I flush as my robe falls open.

  A devil’s smile curves his lips. “Beautiful tits. See what happens when you resist? You expose yourself even more.”

  “You stripped me while I was unconscious,” I shoot back. “This isn’t the first time you’ve seen them.”

  “You’re right. Nor is it the last.”

  With expert speed, he wraps my wrist in rope and binds it to the other one. I try to yank my wrists apart but they won’t budge. My robe gapes all the way to the hem.

  Now my pussy is exposed, too. Bram’s eyes scour from my nipples down, making my skin burn.

  “I didn’t agree to shit like this,” I say. “You don’t own me.”

  He grabs my wrists and tightens the knot even more. “The note outside your door says I do.”

  “I’ve heard rumors about you,” I say. “That you like this kind of stuff.”

  “I like slave girls tied up with rope?” He laughs. “Does that shock your delicate sensibilities, Grace? Is it a mortal sin?”

  I flush. He makes me feel like a stupid child. “I’m just repeating what I heard.”

  “And you liked hearing it, didn’t you? You liked imagining all these lewd, dirty things I do. And now they’re happening to you.”

  I yank at the rope. “I knew this was a mistake.”

  “And yet you decided to stay anyway. Now eat your breakfast before I force it down your throat.”

  I expect his eyes to be hard and cruel, but he looks almost amused as he raises the fork. And why shouldn’t he? Only a few hours in and he’s already winning. Asshole.

  I want to jerk my knee up to kick the plate away, but I’m so hungry my stomach burns. As I reluctantly open my mouth, I hear my own voice in my head. There’s a reward at the end of this. Remember why you’re here.

  The omelette is still hot. There’s a dusting of salt over the top, and the inside is creamy. It tastes so good it brings tears to my e
yes. Blinking hard, I chew and swallow.

  “Good girl.”

  He feeds me another bite. He doesn’t take his eyes from mine.

  I can’t remember the last time someone fed me. Maybe my biological mother when she was stoned out of her mind. I have no memories of her and my father, and I’m glad.

  Bram watches my face like he might watch a baby’s. “Good,” he says when I swallow again. “We need to put weight on you.”

  “We?” I say. “We’re not in this together.”

  He’s still got that enraging, amused look. “Oh, we’re not?”

  “We’re both here for our own reasons, and that’s where it ends. Tying me up won’t change that.”

  He breaks off a corner of toast. “You’d be amazed at what tying a woman up can do.”

  “I’m not like any other women you’re used to.” A flash of stupid jealousy scours through me.

  I’m stunned silent when he agrees. “No. You’re not like any of them at all.”

  He feeds me another bite. When he pulls the fork from my mouth, a tiny piece of egg falls onto my thigh. I reach for it on instinct, but my hands are cinched together. It’s a clammy, claustrophobic feeling, but there’s something almost calming about.

  I have no choices. I can’t do anything but exist and follow orders. Open, chew, swallow. Sip coffee as he holds the cup. Watch his sculpted face and hope to be praised.

  Good girl. No one’s ever said those words before in my life.

  Bram picks up the scrap of egg from my thigh, puts it in his mouth, and swallows. His gaze is so intense I can’t stand it, but I can’t look away. Even my eyes feel bound and helpless.

  “You’re an excellent eater,” he says. “I’m proud of you.”

  I snuff out my pleasure with a cynical thought. Of course he’s proud of me. I’m doing what he wants. Instead of mailing letters and speaking my mind, I’m tied up in his house behind a locked door.

  “Almost finished,” he says. “Open wide.”

  As I take the last bite of omelette, guilt smothers my heart. For fifteen minutes, I’ve been no where but in this room, eating my breakfast with Bram Russell. It’s the longest I’ve gone without thinking of James in two years.

  There must be a reason. Fear, the strangeness of the situation, Bram’s huge, overwhelming presence. I’ve been shocked into the moment against my will.

  When I get back to real life, I’ll be myself again. People don’t change this quickly. They don’t really change at all.

  Bram sets the plate on the tray and takes the last sip of coffee from my cup. The gesture is so familiar and intimate, I blush.

  Glancing down at my chest, he smiles. “You really are a mess, aren’t you?”

  I follow his eyes to my cleavage. There are toast crumbs stuck to my skin. A splash of coffee has dripped on my chest and dried.

  “You fed me,” I say in my defense. “My hands are tied.”

  “Yes, they are,” he says, his voice a deep rumble.

  I hold out my wrists to be untied but he ignores me, raising his hand toward me instead.

  “Don’t,” I say, leaning back.

  His eyes are stern. “Someone has to take care of you.”

  He parts the robe in a smooth, expert motion. All of my muscles stiffen. Taking a white napkin from the tray, he lightly brushes off my breasts. “You’d think I was feeding a child,” he mutters. “A sweet, clumsy child.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “I’ll call you what you are. A child. A slave. A sexy little brat.”

  Good girl. Sexy. My stomach is in knots and my face is hot. I want to say something cutting but my tongue is useless. All I can feel is the linen sweeping roughly across my nipples.

  “Next time we’ll have to put a bib on you,” he says.

  “You don’t get to do this,” I manage to say. My nipples are stiffening into tight points.

  “Do what?”

  “Tie me up, make me eat, play with my body. As if you bought me at auction like a horse.”

  “A very pretty, very expensive horse,” he says, and smiles.

  He pulls the napkin away and watches my nipples turn hard and dark red. I swallow down a surge of humiliation.

  “You like that,” he says.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Really? Your nipples say otherwise.”

  I glare at him. “Is this legal? To tie a woman up and mess with her…body parts this way?”

  “I’m sure it’s not.” He drops the napkin on the bed. "If you didn’t like how that felt, maybe this will feel better.”

  Reaching both hands out, he lightly squeezes my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. I let out a quick cry of shock. An electric jolt travels straight to my clit.

  His eyes rip into my face. “Pleasurable, yes?”

  I open my mouth to say go fuck yourself but only a whimper comes out.

  “I thought so,” he says. “Coral told me what a needy girl you are.”

  I flush. “But I’m not.”

  “Really? She told me you’re in need of a good, hard fucking.”

  I’m humiliated, angry, and in love with the way he says those words. A good, hard fucking. I’ve never had one. I can’t imagine how it feels.

  He pinches my nipples again. This time, all I can do is lift my chin and lean into his fingers.

  I ache. I’m drained and bruised. For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt nothing but physical and emotional pain.

  I need this. Just for a minute. And then I’ll make it stop. Somehow.

  Lip caught in my teeth, I watch his face. His jaw and cheekbones are sharp and angular, almost artistic to the eye. No man should be so intoxicating to look at. Especially a man with such a mean, dark heart.

  Arousal floods my pussy as he rolls my nipples gently between his rough, callused fingers. “Enjoy this,” he says. “You deserve it after the last two days.”

  I swallow hard. Stop him, Grace. Fight. Scream. Push him as hard as you can. Try to kick him in the balls.

  But my thoughts scatter and disappear. Nothing exists but his hands and my nipples. Nothing matters but the depraved bliss coursing through my body.

  What would my parents think if they knew? How would Isaac punish me? But they won’t, and he can’t. Not as long as I’m here with Bram.

  The sheets are wet under my pussy. I can’t move or he’ll see what I am. He’ll know I have no control.

  “You’re not the only one who likes this,” Bram says. His voice is rough, almost angry. He grabs my bound hands and brings them to his cock. I try to yank them away but he forces me to feel him through his drawstring pants.

  Staring at his face, I shake my head. A man’s cock can’t be so big and thick. It can’t be this hard. Hard as a rock, just like they say.

  But it is. He groans as my hands explore and squeeze and stroke through his pants. A spot of wetness blooms on the linen and spreads.

  He wants me. He wants to fuck me. His cock wouldn’t be that big if he didn’t.

  Maybe it’s so hard because I’m helpless. Maybe that’s what he likes, and that’s why I’m here.

  And that’s why I’m so wet. So needy I’d give anything to come while he touches my tits.

  I pull my hands away and ball them in my lap, pushing my breasts closer together. Bram makes an animal grunting sound at the sight.

  I’ve never felt wanted by a man. Not like this.

  My fingers are a millimeter from my pussy when Bram’s eyes narrow. “Who said you could touch your cunt?”

  Cunt. I’ve never heard anyone say it out loud.

  “I don’t need permission,” I say, sounding stronger than I feel.

  “In this house you need permission to breathe. Hands on my cock. Now.”

  Cool air greets my pussy as I circle my hands around his cock again. I can feel his veins through his pants, thick ropes of excitement that circle his dick from big, round head to heavy balls.

  If I told him I’d neve
r touched one before, he wouldn’t believe me. My parents always assumed I was sleeping with boys, but I never even touched James. And even when I wanted James too much to wait, he insisted. I won’t let you break a promise to yourself. Your father wouldn’t think very highly of me if I did.

  It seemed so easy for him. It was almost like he didn’t want me. But with Bram, it’s like he has to touch me. Like even though I’m helpless, I have total control.

  My clit pulses in time as Bram’s fingers squeeze, pinch, and stroke. He’s a monster, a but my body doesn’t care. It wants touch and affection. It wants what it’s never had.

  I squeeze my thighs together, trying in vain to pleasure myself. Bram clucks his tongue.

  “You haven’t asked permission,” he says, his voice like warning roll of thunder. “You never learned proper self-discipline, and it’s time you did.”

  I run my tongue along my lower lip. I’m so desperate for a moment of happiness that I hardly take in his words. All I can feel is the white-hot fire snaking from my nipples to my clit.

  I want to close my eyes, but I can’t stop looking at his face.

  “Jerk my cock,” he says.

  I blink at him and swallow. “What?” I whisper.

  His breath is fast and heavy. “Jerk it. Move your hands.”

  He must mean move them up and down. He thinks I know what he means, and that I know how to do it. I don’t.

  Flushing, I pump my hands awkwardly. The fabric of his pants bunches up between my fingers.

  He gives me a hard, disapproving look. “How much experience do you have?” he barks, his fingers gripping my nipples so hard I wince.

  “Some,” I say. “I mean, plenty. Enough.”

  His smile cuts through to my soul. “You’ve never touched a cock in your life.”

  “Yes, I have,” I say, almost choking on my deceit. “It wasn’t as big as yours, but…”

  “I don’t believe you,” he says. “Have you even seen a naked man?”

  Tearing my lip in my teeth, I nod. “James, once…when we were in his car…”

  “Showed you his cock,” Bram says.

  “Yeah.”

  “But he never fucked you.”

  “No.”

  His slides his hands around the sides of my breasts and up to my face. My nipples throb painfully without his touch. His palms are so large they cover me from my forehead to my chin.