Leather and Grace

by Maggie Ryan

  Eventually, between them, they pulled him from the swamp and helped steady him as he climbed the now very slick bank, the kudzu vines crushed into the mud and murk of the ground beneath them.

  Once he was back in the clearing, his knees buckled and he sank to the ground but kept his love in his arms. A breeze sprang from nowhere and though he knew it should have chilled them as he held Grace, both dripping wet, instead it seemed to envelope them in warmth. Leaves swirled around them, wisps of white moving fluidly against the black of the night.

  “Beth,” Grace said, “she’s here.”

  “Yes.”

  Everyone and everything else dropped away as the couple experienced a moment neither would ever forget, a moment where the horrors of the past were left behind and the path to the future was opened.

  “Love each other always.”

  Though the words were not spoken aloud, both Quentin and Grace murmured their promise and, with tears in their eyes, they thanked the woman whose life had been taken. Both lifted their eyes towards the stars as the white mist gathered and caressed them for the last time before swirling away, seeming to dance with the joy of freedom to disappear and begin the greatest journey of all.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It wasn’t until the next morning that Quentin woke. His eyelashes fluttered as if the effort was too much for them to open, and yet they did.

  “Grace?”

  “I’m here,” she said, standing and then bending forward over the bed to gently stroke his forehead before brushing her lips across his skin. “How do you feel?”

  “At the risk of sounding like a wuss, like hell.”

  “You’ll never be a wuss, my love, but you have been in hell.” She couldn’t help the tears that fell on his face. “God, I was so scared I was going to lose you.”

  “Me? I was terrified that I’d lose you. Grace, I am so sorry…”

  “Don’t,” she said, her hand squeezing his. “You saved my life. You almost died because of me.”

  He shook his head, moaning a little as he lifted his free hand with the IV needle stuck into his flesh. “Don’t you know that if I’d lost you, I wouldn’t have survived?”

  Grace didn’t correct him as she felt the same way. He was the other half of her soul. When he tried to roll onto his back, she reached out to stop him. “Don’t, you need to remain on your side, at least until the doctor comes in.”

  “Why? I want you to climb up here and let me hold you.”

  “Quentin, don’t you remember? You were stabbed. They wouldn’t even take the knife out until they had you in surgery.”

  “Fuck! So that’s where the knife went.”

  She shook her head. “I knew you were tough, but honestly, who doesn’t know when they’ve been stabbed?”

  “Macho men who think their women will think less of them once they are discovered to be humans after all,” Laurie offered as she breezed into the room. “Grace, I expressly remember you promising me that if I let you out of your bed, you’d sit in the chair and not move around.”

  “But he woke up and…”

  “No excuses. You need to get off your leg.”

  “It doesn’t hurt—”

  “What’s wrong with your leg?” Quentin asked, once again attempting to move.

  “Listen up, folks. Until further notice, the only boss in this room is me! Grace, sit down before you fall, and Quentin Doucet, if you don’t stop trying to squirm around, I’m going to find great pleasure in tying you into position!”

  Grace and Quentin both gaped at her until Grace giggled. “Man, you sure are a bossy nurse.”

  “You haven’t even begun to see bossy,” Laurie said, moving to help Grace back into the wheelchair she’d been sitting in at Quentin’s bedside. “I love you both dearly but after scaring the hell out of me and Brody, the least you can do is follow my orders.”

  “I’m sorry,” Grace said, “I was just so scared, too.”

  “I know, honey,” Laurie said, moving the chair back so she could return the platform that her patient had lowered in order to move as close to the bed as possible. Lifting Grace’s leg carefully, she soon had it elevated. “It was a miracle that I will continue to thank God for, but now that he’s done his part, we must do ours. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Grace said. After kissing her cheek, Laurie turned her attention to Quentin. She checked all the monitors and grinned as she told him she needed to take his temperature.

  “Hmm, now where did I put that big, thick thermometer? You know, the one that goes up a naughty patient’s butt?”

  “You even try that and I promise that once I get out of this bed, you’ll not sit for a year!”

  The women giggled and he grinned when she also bent to give his cheek a kiss. “Welcome back, Quentin.”

  “Don’t you mean welcome home?” he asked, remembering the conversation that seemed to have started his new life.

  “Oh, I knew you were home from the moment you stepped into Brody’s room. It just took you a while to realize it.”

  After making sure he was as comfortable as he could be, she promised that the doctor would be coming in soon. “Please don’t try to move,” she said. “Keep wiggling and you’ll break the stitches. You might have been unconscious when they were put in, but believe me, I can arrange for them to be replaced without the benefit of anesthesia by a green intern anxious to get experience.”

  “Yes, nurse, I promise to be a good boy.”

  “Oh, please, like I’m going to fall for that. That line never saves my ass when I yell it. Stop trying to suck up and just behave!”

  Grace was having a hard time stifling her giggle as she listened to the interplay between the two.

  “You know I love you, right?” Quentin said.

  “I know, and I love you too, you big lug,” Laurie said, bending to kiss his cheek again. “Now close your eyes and get some sleep.”

  She met Grace’s gaze, and Grace quickly made a promise of her own. “I won’t bother him but please let me stay.”

  “Only if you promise that until the doctor clears him to move, the only thing you’ll be holding is his hand.”

  “Laurie!” Grace said and then burst into giggles, her eyes and mind instantly going to a part of Quentin’s anatomy that was definitely not attached to the ends of his arms. Laurie just winked as she swished out the door.

  “Now that’s a sound I love to hear,” Quentin said, drawing her attention to his face, where his eyes were closing. She thought he’d already succumbed to the medicine she’d seen Laurie inject into his IV bag until he squeezed her hand and added, “Almost as much as I love the sound of you screaming my name when you come.”

  ***

  Jason visited, and it was a quiet conversation as he filled them in on what had happened. It had basically been Sammy who’d convinced him to change course and follow Quentin instead of the line of police cars headed towards Starla’s shack.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Jason said. “That giant of a man moved like a waif through the trees. He never hesitated… as if he knew exactly where you were.”

  Quentin nodded. “I have no doubt that he did.”

  “I really thought you were going to convince her to drop the knife,” Jason said.

  “So did I,” Quentin said, “until she seemed to realize she was holding it. God, I’ll never forget the look in her eyes when she lunged at Grace.” He paused and shook his head. “I was hoping to end it without another death, but I’ll always thank God that you were there.”

  “I am as well, but we weren’t the only ones, were we? Beth was there as well, wasn’t she?”

  Looking at Grace and seeing her smile, he nodded again. “Yes, she told me to hurry, and Grace said she appeared to tell her that I was coming. She gave us her blessing…”

  “And you gave her peace,” Jason said, laying his hand on Quentin’s shoulder.

  ***

  Grace was the first to be discharged, and yet she still
spent every day at the hospital. Her sprained ankle didn’t keep her from hobbling between Brody and Quentin’s rooms, until Laurie pulled some strings and got the men moved into a room together. Though they were in a hospital, people passing their door often heard laughter and would smile, many taking the sound of hope with them as they either returned to their duties or visited their own loved ones confined within the hospital’s walls.

  After he’d been approved to move, Quentin began physical therapy. The knife had not only pierced his flesh, but with the roll down the bank, it had continued to slice through muscle, causing more damage. One day, Grace told him to take it easy, that there was plenty of time for him to heal. He’d grinned and stated that he wanted to make sure that when he left the hospital, he’d not only be healed, he’d be able to lift his hand higher than his shoulder.

  “Why?”

  “Oh, babe, you really have to ask?” he said, slapping his uninjured left hand down onto his thigh.

  “Oh, I see,” she said, flushing as the sound made her bottom clench.

  Another visit had Quentin pulling her onto his lap and her protesting that he was still recovering.

  “Stop wiggling,” he said, bending down to nuzzle her neck. “Or do I need to bend you over my knees? I might not yet be able to give you a proper spanking, but I’m sure I have enough strength to put a naughty plug up your bottom.”

  “Oh, God,” she moaned, her face heating at the memory of that experience. Shocking herself, she then giggled. “You know, I never asked what the hospital staff thought when I was brought in wearing nothing but Detective Stewart’s jacket and that plug.”

  “I’m sure they thought you were a very good submissive. I mean, babe, you were kidnapped, beaten, and almost murdered, and yet you never lost it. That’s pretty amazing.”

  She might have snuggled into his chest to hide her face as Brody chuckled from his bed, but secretly she was rather proud of herself.

  ***

  On the day of his discharge, Quentin slid into the passenger seat of his truck and grinned as Grace bounced on the seat, her small hands on the wheel.

  “Do not get used to this,” Quentin said, and when she rolled her eyes and turned the key, he groaned. “Really? Hard rock? Woman, you do not change a man’s radio station.”

  “Hmm, perhaps I should just hop out and inform the doctor that you are far too grouchy to go home.”

  “Perhaps you should put the truck in gear and consider that all that physical therapy has ensured that when my palm begins to itch, I shall be able to scratch it quite successfully across your cute little ass.”

  They were met by a room full of people, all cheering and welcoming them home. Hannah gave Quentin a gentle hug and then squealed when he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed hard. “I won’t break,” he said, bending to give her cheek a kiss.

  “Don’t you ever scare Sammy like that again!” Hannah said, wiping her eyes.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Quentin said, releasing her and accepting a hug from Sammy.

  “How are you doing, son?” the large man asked when he finally stepped away.

  Pulling Grace into his side, Quentin’s smile lit up his entire face. “I couldn’t be better.”

  Sammy grinned, slapped Quentin on the back, hugged Grace, and announced that the spread he’d laid out was getting cold. The party was loud, the food delicious, and the sweet tea and beer consumed as friends celebrated the joy of being together.

  Epilogue

  A Year Later…

  The show was an even bigger success than Grace’s first. Strains of soft jazz wafted through the large space, not from any sound system, but from the instruments that came to life in the hands of George Mathias. A larger than life canvas was displayed in the front window, where George’s wife, the love of his life, showed the older woman sitting at her husband’s feet, a hand on his knee, her face turned up, her lips curved in a soft smile as he played for an audience of one. Rapture, its title, was reflected on both of the couple’s faces.

  People moved about the gallery looking not only at Grace’s art, but at her husband’s. Jewelry was displayed beside exquisite leather pieces. The painting she’d done of Laurie was on one wall, the falls of the flogger Quentin had made for their wedding splayed across the mounds of her bottom, the expression on her face giving the painting its title: Bliss.

  “I still can’t believe that’s me,” Laurie said, her cheeks flushed as Brody chuckled.

  “Believe it, honey, that is definitely my wife.”

  Grace accepted yet another hug and expression of thanks and then slipped away. There was another painting, and it was the only one she truly prayed that its owner would love as much as she. Turning a corner, she hesitated seeing Quentin standing before the canvas centered on the wall. He turned and smiled, holding out his hand and issuing the same words he’d uttered on that day.

  ***

  “Grace, come,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “I’m not sure this will work,” she said, not looking at him but at the array of tripods she’d set around the area.

  “It won’t matter,” he assured her.

  “It does matter. You said you wanted a gift of a painting for your wedding present. Let me set up one more camera. It will…”

  Walking to her, Quentin took her into his arms before she could turn away. “Babe, you’ve given me the greatest gift of all… you, in the flesh.” He tilted her face to his and lowered his mouth to within a centimeter of hers. “Flesh that I have promised to stripe, and flesh I promise to caress for the rest of our lives… beginning now.”

  His kiss had settled her, and his hands helping her undress had her trembling even before he led her to the St. Andrew’s Cross. He’d fulfilled his promise one evening when he’d taken her upstairs and placed her over the barrel. She’d come not once, but twice as the flogger stroked every inch of her ass. It had been incredibly erotic and yet, for this painting she wished to give him, he’d chosen a different venue, and would use the gift he’d crafted for her. Once he’d buckled leather cuffs around her wrists and ankles and attached them to the chains, he stepped closer, running a finger along the gold of the collar he’d placed around her neck the day they’d wed. They’d worked together in its creation. He’d first crafted one of leather, and she’d recreated it in gold. The lock was hidden in the braided handle, the thin strip of leather depicted in gold encircling her throat signifying their mutual love of the medium and each other never out of their sight.

  Quentin ran his fingers through her hair and down her body, circling her peaked nipples, dipping into her navel and stroking softly across her sex. She moaned and arched towards him, accepting his kiss with passion and the tremble of anticipation. Stepping away, he picked up not one but two single-tail whips, allowing the leather to unfurl from their coils, and watching her watching his every movement. He snapped one and then the other, the sharp sound followed by her almost desperate moan. He hadn’t even started and yet he could see a glistening between her legs, a drop of her arousal sliding down her inner thigh.

  “God, you are beautiful. Are you ready?”

  ***

  She thought he was the most magnificent thing she’d ever seen. Standing before her, she felt she could come from just watching the ink on his body undulate from the muscles he used to lift and snap the whips he’d crafted. He wore nothing but the black leather pants that fit him like a glove, molding around his cock that was testament to his arousal. He’d shut down all the lights in the room except those in this one corner. The room should have seemed cavernous with only two occupants, and yet it felt intimate and just perfect.

  Looking at the man who had stolen not only her heart, but her soul, she smiled. “Yes, I’m ready, sir.”

  It had been the most incredible experience of her life. The whips had lifted and within his hands, had licked and kissed her flesh. The cracks had ended with her gasps and soft moans as they wrapped around her body, leaving evidence of their caress
in small, raised wheals. It was a dance… it was a symphony… it was magical. From the first stroke, they both forgot the cameras, their only thoughts on each other, and when she arched for the last time, screaming his name as she convulsed, the music didn’t stop… it was joined by his own cry as he released her, wrapping his body around her, holding her against him, whispering that he loved her.

  ***

  This time it was Quentin who lifted a hand to wipe tears from his cheek as he stood before the painting hanging in the place of honor in the gallery. She hadn’t allowed him to see the finished canvas before this moment. He’d been positive she’d choose one of the many photos of her on the frame, and yet he should have known that she’d had a different idea. Instead, she’d chosen one of the two of them, one that depicted him holding her close. One of her hands lay against the ink of his tattoo, the other circled his neck. His head was bowed and hers lifted as their eyes drank each other in. The leather coil of one of the whips he used lay against the small of her back, the tail caressing the curve of her ass. The black of his pants contrasted not only with her pale flesh but also with the red heels she was wearing.

  While no person who ever laid eyes on the painting would doubt that the couple shown belonged to each other, only the two of them would fully understand the swirl of white that had been painted into the dark background.

  Looking at the title, he smiled. “It’s absolutely perfect,” he said, and it was. He’d been lost in the darkness of despair until she’d entered his life. She was not only the first ray of light he’d known since Beth’s death, she was his salvation. They’d gone through hell, and yet with God’s grace, they’d found help in the deepest pit with softly spoken words of hope. No matter what came in the future, they knew they’d found heaven in their whispered words given that night in the swamp.

  The script on the small brass plate simply read: Promise.

  The End