It hurts and I can hardly breathe, but I won’t stop. I don’t want to. Clutching his ass, I meet his thrusts with my mouth, concentrating until the flow of cock, mouth, and tongue are just right. Bram must feel it, because his breath is heavy and deep.
“Now moan,” he says.
I stop. Mouth full, I give him a questioning look through my lashes.
“You heard me. Moan. I want to feel your pleasure vibrate through my cock.”
I’m embarrassed and shy. I almost pull away. But the look in Bram’s eyes is so encouraging, I can’t disappoint him.
I try it, just a brief, light hum in my throat, and Bram’s cock swells and pulses in my mouth.
“Holy shit, that’s beautiful,” he whispers, threading his fingers through my sweaty hair. “More. Louder.”
I push my other hand between my legs and trembles a finger across my clit. My toes curl and my nerves sizzle. “Mmmm,” I moan, louder. I feel the soft, tingly vibration through his cock and into my lips. My cheeks tremor from the sound.
“Show me how much you love sucking my cock,” he says, ramming hard into my throat. “Moan for me, beautiful.”
I want so much to make him cum. To know I’ve given him pleasure, and done well. To earn back his trust. To be better than any girl who’s sucked him before.
His one and only. After last night, now I know. That’s what I want.
As soon as I start moaning again, the pulsating starts. I feel it in the base of his cock, throbbing against my lips, and rocketing up his steel shaft until cum spurts onto my tongue. Moaning, I hold my lips tight. He groans loudly. He can’t contain the bliss.
His cum pours like nectar down my throat. I swallow every drop, nearly choking there’s so much of it. Now, part of him is truly, deeply inside me. In my bloodstream. My cells and my bones.
The last pulses fade and his fingers relax in my hair. As he pulls his still-thick cock from my mouth, a trickle of cum trails down my chin. Smiling, he kneels in front of me. His body is so beautiful, so tight and ridged, that looking at it makes my skin tingle. He licks the dribble of cum from my chin and feeds it to me with his tongue.
“Happy birthday to me,” he whispers.
Butterflies rise from my stomach into my throat. Mouth wet and open, he tastes himself, and me, and both of us together.
“You’re incredible,” he says.
My whole body glows. “Do you mean it?”
“God, do I mean it. One day soon I’m going to fuck you. But I’m going to make us both wait because it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”
He picks me up in his arms and brings me to the bed. He strips off my bra and panties before taking off his clothes and lying beside me.
I’m so aroused I’m covered with goosebumps, so wet my thighs are sticky. But all I want is to feel him next to me. To put this confusing, rollercoaster day behind me and be close to him. Even if it’s wrong. Even if it can’t last, and breaks my heart.
It feels strange to snuggle up beside him, but so natural. Like I’ve been waiting to do it forever. His arms are big and strong, and wrap all the way around my body. I can hear his slow, heavy heartbeat under my ear.
“I wish you’d told me it was your birthday.”
“I forgot myself,” he says.
“How could you forget your own birthday?”
He pauses, and that pause says everything. “Birthdays weren’t very important when I was growing up.”
“Why not?”
“Single mother, not much money, same old story.”
I look up at him. His eyes are angled toward the ceiling, but I can see a glimmer of pain. “It’s a story I’d like to hear,” I say.
“Nothing much to tell.”
“Tell me anyway.”
He does, in a cool, flat voice. As if it doesn’t matter that he never knew his father, or his mother was distant, or she died when he was sixteen. As if getting bullied and beaten up is just part of growing up. I can hardly imagine him as a skinny, frightened kid, shooting his grandfather’s gun in the woods after school.
“Where’s your father now?” I ask.
“Dead. My mother’s buried next to him. I guess they’re finally back together after all these years.”
I hear so much emotion just under the surface of his words. I wish he’d let me see it. I wish he’d tell me everything. “It must have been hard not having her attention when you were young.”
“Yeah,” he says. “My dad came first, even though he wasn’t there. I mean, she kept his place set at the table for two years after he left.”
“But he never came back? Not once?
“Yeah, he came back. In a pine box nine years ago.”
I can almost feel the wound in his heart as I listen to it beat. He’s not the privileged, perfect man I thought he was. He’s not cold. He’s a lot like me. A little bit damaged. Strong on the outside, but broken underneath.
“I know it’s not the same,” I say. “But my parents wanted a boy instead of me.”
Bram’s eyes are intense as they search my face. “They did? How do you know?”
I swallow. Even after all these years, it feels forbidden to say it.
“I used them to hear them talking. I was young so I couldn’t understand everything, but I had this feeling. And once...” I swallow down a rush of tears. I can’t believe I’m about to cry.
“Once what?”
“I was looking for Christmas ornaments in the attic and I found a box of baby clothes. Little blue bibs and tiny socks. They were all for a boy. Maybe my mother had a miscarriage, or they were trying to adopt and it didn’t work out. I don’t know. I asked her about the box but she said it must have been there before they bought the house. I could tell it wasn’t true.” I shake my head against his chest. “I just know I was second best. They wanted something else but they got me.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Bram says. “Your parents couldn’t ask for anything more than you.”
“Really?” My voice breaks but I can’t help it.
“Really.”
My heart swells with sadness and regret and joy. Bram makes me feel special. He makes me feel seen. Like even if I’m not perfect, I was worth saving.
His hand strokes up my belly, lighting sparks along my skin. “You don’t know, do you?” he says. “You don’t know why I left after I spanked you last night.”
My stomach does a tiny dip. “Is it something I did?”
“Yes,” he says.
My heart sinks. I’m so inexperienced. I cried and asked for more and embarrassed myself. I did something wrong.
“You mentioned James,” he says. “Just after you came with me.”
I frown. “I did?”
“You asked me – if I had to. And I understand, Grace. I’d ask, too. I just wanted you to be with me for a minute without thinking about him.”
There’s a dark note in his voice. I hurt him. I hurt Bram Russell, who has everything. Who could have anyone.
I have that little bit of power. And I thought I had none at all.
“But we’re not…supposed to care,” I say. “Are we?”
“No,” he says, his fingers dancing over my ribs, my nipples, my neck.
“We have a deal, and this isn’t part of it.”
I feel him shrug under my head. “Maybe that deal has changed. Everything’s the same except now…it matters more.”
I smile and get as close to him as I can. It matters.
I guess all I ever wanted was to matter. I just can’t believe I matter to a man like him.
Bram
We go downstairs naked and I light a fire in the fireplace. While Grace looks through my DVD’s with a gray throw draped over her shoulders, I heat up the four-course dinner we never ate last night.
“Do you speak all these languages?” she asks, shuffling through the foreign film case.
“No, but I’m amazing at reading subtitles,” I say.
She smiles. I can count on one hand the times she�
�s smiled at me, and almost all have been tonight. Each one is so different, and so fucking beautiful.
I pop open a bottle of wine, fill two glasses, and set them on the coffee table. I watch her as she unwraps Miriam’s gift basket, lips pressed together with concentration as she peels back the cellophane. The throw slips off one shoulder, revealing the gorgeous constellation of bruises on her ass. My bruises. My ass.
Two weeks ago she lay unconscious on my rug. I wasn’t sure she’d wake up again. To see her here tonight, radiant and alive, is a dream.
We sit on the floor with our backs against the couch and eat from plates on our laps. Beef tenderloin, grilled shrimp, roasted vegetables, linguine. We share a chocolate torte that I pile high with ice cream, and even though I can’t find any candles, Grace sings.
Happy birthday, dear Bram.
She sits cross-legged with her back straight and her pretty tits exposed. Her voice is soft and a little nervous, and she hits one note a little off-key. It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever heard. The craziest and best birthday I’ve ever had.
“I wish I had a present for you,” she says.
“You do,” I say. “It’s downstairs.”
“There’s a downstairs?”
“Oh, yes. The red devil’s lair.”
She smiles again, and even though there’s a still a hint of exhaustion in it, I’ve never seen her look happier. Maybe I never wanted to train her, or ease my guilt. Maybe I always just wanted this. To banish her sadness, and make her happy again.
“The red devil’s lair?” she says, licking a smear of frosting from her finger. “You’re kidding.”
I stand up and put out my hand. “No, my little angel. Let me show you.”
She pads down the stairs behind me in her bare feet. I can hear her sweet breathing as she tries to keep up with my long-legged stride. For the last two hours, it’s almost been too easy between us. And she’s too smart. She’s figuring out who I am. She knows that, with me, every ray of sunshine is followed by a thunderstorm.
The hall lights are still set low from the night I found Grace in my yard. I lead her to the door at the end and stop. I let her feel how close and claustrophobic it is here, with no windows and only one way out.
I know this is a risk. I might trigger her just as I’m gaining her trust. But I have to show her. I need to see her here.
“Only a few people have been in this room before,” I say, pressing my thumb to the sensor on the wall. The door clicks open.
She pulls the throw around her chest and peers inside.
“Follow me,” I say. With a brave little breath, she steps into the darkness behind me. A light springs on overhead, illuminating the room in a sudden sweep of brightness. But I’m not looking at the room, or what’s in it. I’m looking at her.
She stops breathing and her eyes widen. “What is this?”
“My favorite place in the world,” I say. “My collection.”
Shivers rise on her arms as she glances from wall to shelf to glass case. Her spine shudders. She’s surrounded by instruments of death, each more beautiful than the last.
“But…why? Because you liked shooting in the woods?”
Her sweet question makes me laugh. “It’s been a passion since my grandfather gave me his rifle and knife. They’re over there.”
She follows the tilt of my head to the case displaying my most valued treasures. Her eyes flicker over the serrated blade of the knife and the scratched and battered rifle. The tremble of her shoulders makes my cock swell.
To see such a fragile girl surrounded by so much deadly power is intoxicating.
“He was a soldier?” she asks.
“A soldier and a prisoner of war. He didn’t have it easy, even after the war. He never had much money.”
“He’d be proud of you, I’m sure.”
Those simple words bring fucking tears to my eyes. She glances up just as I turn away, but she knows.
“You miss him,” she says.
“Yeah.”
I go to the case and slide the door open. Picking up the knife, I hold it in a beam of light. “He killed three guys with this when he was on watch one night. His rifle jammed and it was all he had. It was pitch black in the jungle. Hand to hand combat. He got a purple heart for it.”
Her lips are parted as she listens. She looks fascinated. “It’s amazing he escaped.”
“He didn’t,” I say. “There was a fourth soldier who took him prisoner. He was in a bamboo cell for three years.”
“Oh, Bram,” she says, slowly shaking her head. “My God.”
“Pretty intense,” I say. I hold the knife out flat on the palm of my hand. “Have you ever touched something like this before?”
She shakes her head. Her eyes are round and nervous.
“It was decommissioned by the military because it was considered too brutal.”
I pick it up by the blade and hand it to her. Reluctantly, she takes the thick black handle. The knife looks huge in her slender hand.
“It’s heavy,” she says. “Is it still sharp?”
I step close to her. She holds the knife away from her body as if it might explode.
“Find out,” I say, and turn up my wrist. Her pupils are huge as I take her hand and bring the knife down. The blade rests coldly against my skin.
She looks down at my crisscrossed veins and the chain tattoo winding up my arm. “Bram, please.”
“One cut and I’d be on my knees bleeding. If you were fast enough, you could cut the other wrist before I knew what was happening.” Her pulse pounds under my fingers.
“If you were on your knees, why wouldn’t I just cut your throat instead?”
Though her words sound confident, her voice is as soft and unsure as a child’s. She’s beautiful, such a contradiction.
“You’re learning.”
“What am I learning?”
“To protect yourself. To exploit your opponent’s faults.”
“What are your faults?” she asks.
“Simple. I want you so fucking much it makes me crazy.” I try to press the knife down but she resists with all her strength.
“What’s wrong?” I say. “I thought you believed in vengeance. An eye for an eye.”
“I do. I mean…I don’t know anymore.”
With a smooth, practiced motion, I take the knife from her and spin her around. Arm belted around her shoulders, I yank her against me and raise the knife where she can see it. She freezes like a terrified bird.
“In our arrangement,” I say, “one of us has to win. If it isn’t you, it’s going to be me.”
She drops her head back and looks up at me with glittering eyes. “Why can’t we both lose?”
Her lips are parted, and so fucking kissable I groan. Lowering my head, I plunder her sweet mouth with my tongue. She tastes like chocolate and fucking.
Her lips are so soft, full, and wet. She kisses me with abandon, like a horny teenage girl who’s never kissed a boy before. Reaching back, she hooks her arms around my neck, bringing my mouth down hard on hers. Her breath pants in and out and I can hear her heartbeat.
“Does this scare you?” I ask against her lips. “This room? These weapons?”
“Yes.”
“Because it makes me seem violent?”
“No,” she says. “Because I like it.”
She likes it. The thought makes my cock so painfully hard I lose all fucking control.
I step away from her and set the knife on a shelf. She’s a vision in that blanket with nothing underneath.
“So…where’s your birthday present?” she asks.
“It’s not something you can see,” I say. “It’s something you’re about to feel. Has a man ever eaten your cunt, pretty girl?”
She shrugs.
“In your fantasies, but not in real life. Isn’t that right?”
“Maybe,” she says, but she can’t hide her desperate need from me. Under all that shyness, her body’s on fire.
Taking her by the shoulders, I back her into a corner. “Move a muscle and you’ll spend two days leashed to your bed.”
She whimpers a protest, but doesn’t budge.
There’s a chair a few feet away – I yank it toward us and drop to my knees. Grabbing her slender ankle, I plant her foot on the leather seat. “Open,” I say.
She pulls her knee back an inch.
“I said open,” I bark, and push it roughly as wide as her leg will go.
Palms flat against the wall, she looks down at me. I pull the blanket from her shoulders and toss it aside.
Her bare cunt is right here. Mouth-level, parted, perfectly smooth. Her clit is tiny, barely visible under a pale pink hood, and her inner lips are already slick with excitement. With craving me. Her captor. The man she wanted to kill.
“You’ve never given this perfection to anyone before. Why?”
She bites her lip. “James didn’t want it.”
“You offered yourself to him and he refused?”
Shame darkens her face. “I once told him I wanted to wait until we got married. I changed my mind, but…he wouldn’t.”
Pure, unadulterated bullshit. James wasn’t religious. Something else was going on. Knowing him, it was underhanded and immoral.
No single man with a cock would pass up this beauty. The heady scent of it rises to my brain, making me feel pussy-drunk before I’ve even tasted her.
She gasps as I nip at her inner thigh. A bright bloom of redness appears on her glass-smooth skin. “Ouch,” she whispers.
I’ve never licked a virgin before. Never given a woman her first experience of hot and wet. She sucks in a breath as my mouth comes closer. She can feel my heat, and it scares her. But she wants it more than anything.
I kiss all around her cunt. Taking her other bare foot in my hand, I slide it over my huge, bare cock.
“You feel that?” I say, flicking my tongue over her left hip. “That’s what I’m going to fuck you with.”
Her hands tremble on my shoulders. A clear trickle of desire runs down the inside of her thigh.
Breaking Grace Page 18
