The Uprising (GRIT Sector 1 Book 2)

by Rebecca Sherwin

  “Take out the gold key,” I said, as I took out a gold thong. “Open the bedroom door with it.”

  I stood as she rummaged. I walked as she did, with the same foot at the same pace—I wanted to feel like I was right next to her. I opened the office door before she could open the bedroom door and tossed the thong away. I watched it flutter to the ground at the top of the staircase. I closed the door just as Trixie opened the bedroom door.

  “Good girl,” I reinforced, wishing I could stroke her hair and kiss her neck, too, to show her she’d pleased me. To show her I loved her. “Now, step outside.”

  “What?” she shrieked, stumbling back a step and gripping the doorframe to keep her upright. “Elias, no.”

  “The fourth package is waiting for you.”

  I could see the torrent of war inside her. Her curiosity told her to find out what the package was. Her fear told her she was safer staying locked up in the bedroom than she was roaming the corridors. She was.

  “Come on, Ashford,” I encouraged, switching the camera to the one in the corridor, hidden on the ball of one of the curtain poles. “No one will see. It’s purely for our pleasure.”

  “You assume I take pleasure from this.”

  “I know you take pleasure from it. You love the thrill as much as I do.”

  “It isn’t you walking the house half-naked.”

  I switched the microphone to play from the speaker down the hall, coaxing her out with the promise of moving closer to me. “Come to me, baby.”

  I watched her knees buckle as her lips parted for a gasp. I could no longer hear her, but I had perfect vision as she glanced around her and took a step outside.

  “Follow the sound of my voice.” I watched her lips move, and chuckled when I realised she’d spewed a profanity “Language, Ashford.”

  She took one step, then another. The corset kept her body tense and poised, the heels elongated her legs and I watched the gentle swell of her hips from behind as she continued in my direction.

  “There’s a thong at the top of the stairs. Pick it up and put it on.” I stole a glance at my watch. We were running out of time.

  Trixie walked towards the staircase and I switched cameras to travel with her. There were hundreds around the house, arranged in a loop so I could effortlessly transition from one to the next. She stopped at the top of the stairs and looked down at the underwear. How am I meant to bend down? she mouthed.

  “Keep your back straight and squat.”

  Rolling her eyes, she took a deep breath as her skin flushed with embarrassment. Yes, I’d watch her perfectly sculpted ass and simultaneously eat from between her legs with my hungry stare. Trixie took one more breath, parted her legs and squatted nearer to the floor. I wanted her in that position with my cock ramming up into her. Fuck. She grabbed the underwear and brushed the flyaway hairs from her face.

  “Get up,” I groaned, absentmindedly stroking my cock again, imagining Trixie’s hands choking my shaft with the angry grip she held the thong with.

  She got to her feet like a fucking pro and I commended her natural sensuality. She was born to be a harlot. My harlot.

  “Put it on.” How? “Lean your back against the wall and put one foot through the holes at a time. You can shimmy if you want, let me see those tits bounce.”

  Her cheeks roared to a chagrin red and I smirked. I also knew she was wet; panting with need, clenching in desperation, heart racing in fear and anticipation.

  Trixie did as I’d suggested, leaning into the wall opposite the camera and I had no choice but to free my cock and fist it in a death grip to stop it throbbing when she raised one leg and parted the lips of her glistening pussy as she eased a foot into the underwear.

  “You’re so wet, baby,” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper as she stumbled and set her foot on the floor with an uneven stamp. How can you see? “I’m the master of stealth. You’re right in front of me.” Taking a deep breath, I allowed a groan to travel along the corridor as I slowly stroked my cock. “Would it help to know I’m fisting my cock? Just like you told me to do. Although I wish it were you.”

  Stop it. A needy eye roll. A hungry lip lick. Her legs pressed together.

  She smirked. Fuck, it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen in my entire life. Arching her back so she bowed from the wall as much as the corset would allow, she bent her other leg slowly—torturously slow—and I watched as she exposed her cunt to me…intentionally this time. Seductively. Provocatively. It took everything I had not to burst from the room and fuck her brutally against the wall. Pressing her foot back to the floor and parting her legs, Trixie gyrated her hips from side to side as she eased the underwear up smooth toned legs and, finally, she slipped her hand between her legs to cup her pussy. One stroke. One stroke through cotton over her tight cunt and I was a goner. My balls reared up and my thighs bunched, making me growl like a beast as I stilled and held my breath, waiting for the climax to subside. Trixie pinged the side of the thong, snapping it against her hipbones before she stood up straight and mouthed, what next?

  “Walk down the stairs. Slowly.” I sat up, loosening my grip on my cock and trying to think of the Queen or something to control myself. “One step at a time. Make me want you, baby.”

  Trixie only had to breathe and I wanted her, but the glint in her eyes that penetrated the camera lens and travelled straight to my cock, told me she was game, despite her discomfort. Taking a restricting breath, she slid along the hallway and out of view. I switched cameras and watched from the landing as she caressed the handrail and took a tentative step down. Her small hand glided over the polished mahogany and she squeezed—it resonated between my legs. When she dragged her hand through her hair and tugged it free from the knot, I groaned, not caring who heard. Right now, it was just Trixie and me. The staff could go fuck themselves if they thought we’d stay locked in a room. No, this house was mine and they would have to get used to it, if they wanted to keep their jobs. Silky strands of raven hair cascaded down my wife’s back, swishing across her waist as she swayed her hips and lowered herself to the next step. With the corset pulled to an excruciating tightness, her ass was primed and accentuated. Her strong shoulders were squared and poised. Her legs, toned and tight and fucking heavenly when they were wrapped around my waist, moved her body with such grace, she could have been training her waist with the contraption for decades.

  “Trix…” I moaned, watching as she dropped her head back and halted her movements.

  I could hear the need in my voice; I sounded like a man starved of oxygen. I was raspy and hoarse, and barely hanging on to my eroding control.

  I didn’t know if she responded, if she said my name back at me with the same desperation. I had to see her face.

  “Get down the stairs,” I growled, switching to the next camera, in the foyer, so I would see when she emerged and rewarded me with her cosmic eyes.

  When she reached the bottom and stepped onto the waxed floor of the foyer, her eyes met mine. I knew she couldn’t see the camera hidden in the corner of the mirror, but I knew she could sense me, where I was watching from, and that I was watching—fixated—on her. What now? she mouthed. I was desperate to hear her. Switching the microphone to the one in the office, I called her name, drawing her attention from where she bore unbridled desire into the lens.

  “Come in here, baby.”

  She did, quickly following the sound of my voice and pushing the door of the office open. I moved with her, tracking her like a predator. She stood in the doorway of the office, so close to the place of evil she made seem so fucking erotic. I stopped breathing, and I didn’t inhale again until my lungs protested and my brain forced me to suck in a strangled breath. My feet twitched, my leg muscles contracting with the urge to run to her. The anticipation was too thick. The need was too strong. The magnetism I’d felt between us laughed at me and pulled a little harder until I lurched forward in my chair and slammed my hands to the desk with a rumbling roar.


  “Slide the bookcase across,” I growled. “Go into Sector 1, Trixie.”

  She asked why, but she wouldn’t get an answer. The powerlessness I felt at forcing her further away from me, losing my control, letting her take it with an impeccable ass, fuckable lips and a pussy that was mine alone, reminded me why I’d started this. Another Eli moved in to help me see this through. I gripped the arms of the chair, wishing I could bind myself here and take the choice away.

  “Do as you’re told, Ashford.”

  She asked me if I was planning on punishing her if she disobeyed, but she took a step closer to the bookcase, leaving the door open to bathe her in the fading daylight from the world outside.

  “No. I’m going to dangle it in front of you,” I answered without thought. “Are you uncomfortable, Trixie? Do you need some relief?”

  She nodded. A whisper of an affirmative crossed her lips.

  “Then if you do not step into the Sector, I promise you, I will not touch you.”

  For how long? God, I wished I could hear her voice. I needed to hear the need, the desperation. I needed her to beg me to take her like I wanted to.

  “Until I decide you’ve earned my touch.”

  She wanted to know if I would reward her if she obeyed. Punishment and reward. Pain and pleasure. The two extremes waged war on my mind and I wanted to inflict them all at once.

  “I will give you what you need, Ashford. Don’t doubt me.”

  Nodding, Trixie morphed into her stronger self. She transitioned into the woman who owned the Sector with me. She thought I’d shut her out, but I hadn’t. She thought she wasn’t in, but she was. She didn’t make decisions with me, because they’d already been made for me. She’d been present for everything that mattered. She was yet to witness torture, and I would keep that from her for as long as humanly possible. She had witnessed captivation and incarceration. She had played a hand in death. She had watched us dispose of bodies—she thought I hadn’t known she was there, but I had. I felt the shift in the atmosphere whenever she was within a mile radius. Trixie was as far into GRIT as her destiny had led her to so far, but her journey was not over yet.

  I watched from the camera in the bookcase as her face contorted with effort and she pushed it aside. While I could reveal the evil in the foundations of the house I lived in with a simple push, women had been intentionally kept out. But Trixie had the strength to break the walls. She pushed the bookcase aside just enough to squeeze her body through the gap she’d made, and she stepped down into the Sector.

  What now?

  “Walk the corridor.”

  She took her first step, throwing her arm out to press her hand to the stonewall when she wobbled on the cobbles in her shoes. I watched her lip curl as she growled, frustrated with herself and her body’s refusal to obey. She took another step, her chest rising as much as the corset would allow when she tried to take a breath.

  “Stop,” I ordered when she’d reached a door. “Go inside. I left it unlocked for you.”

  The small piece of additional information was her undoing. She was unashamed when she pressed her hand to the door; she was trying to connect. Now she knew I’d been here, she wanted to get closer. She wanted to touch what I’d touched, stand where I’d stood. She wanted to reminded herself this was real as her mind made the descent into insanity. Twisting the looped brass handle, she pushed the door to the jewel room open.

  “Go to the case in the centre.”

  The glass cabinet in the centre of the room was mine. It was full of the gems I’d been gifted, just for being a Blackwood. There were untouchables, those that hadn’t been exposed to oxygen since Elizabeth Ashford secured them away. Inside that case was the scent of our creator, the same oxygen she would have breathed in; the same carbon-dioxide she’d expelled from her lungs as she acted to protect her family’s fortune.

  “Package number five,” I said as she arrived at the cabinet and curled delicate fingers over the edge to peer in. “I’ve unlocked the case. Open it.”

  Trixie rounded the cabinet to find the opening, digging her nails into the gap to pry it open. She moved slowly, as if afraid she’d shatter the glass and contaminate the pieces. She knew which once was for her, and plucked the black box from its purple cushion before carefully closing the door and placing the package on top.

  “Open it,” I said, moving to a different camera so I could capture her face. I turned the microphone on to the jewel room. “Open it, Trixie.”

  She jumped and her fingers popped open the box. I watched her gasp. I watched her hands tremble as she looked down at the package with a glistening gaze.

  “It’s called mahogany obsidian,” I explained, proud of the intricate piece in her perfect hands. “I found it in Japan. It’s formed when lava cools rapidly, causing it to form like glass on the earth’s surface. You’ve got two colours swirling in yours.”

  Black and gold?

  “Yes, black and gold.”

  Her piece was mostly black, with a sheen that was rare without artificial polishing. The blackness of the first colour was an intense contrast to the second; it was like the blackness of night, with swirls of vivid orange that licked the translucent mineraloid like an inferno. It was shaped like an arrowhead, ready to spear through the underground—it was how I’d seen it when I found it. Now I realised it was Trixie. She had successfully speared through my rigidity, and reminded me of my plan. The one that involved the very thing Trixie’s new piece depicted. Fire.

  “I think you’re right,” I confessed, squeezing my hands in my lap as she inspected the piece of rock I’d had incorporated into a choker with onyxes and black diamonds. The piece was priceless, like my wife. “I think the answer to saving this city is to burn it to the ground.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her. Instead, she plucked the fragile piece from the box and held it between two quivering hands. She raised it to her neck, taking a second to extend her fingers and press it to her throat before her hands disappeared behind her and she fastened the piece in place. It fit her perfectly. Having my hands around her throat had served me well; I’d been able to measure a collar for my wife, and she wore us both on her neck with pride. The minute the choker closed and settled against her milky skin, she stood taller. All discomfort disappeared as she nodded and mouthed a thank you.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” I said, switching the camera onto my phone and standing from the desk. “Stay right there.”

  I shoved my chair back and stood, watching Trixie’s fingers caress her new piece as I left the office, closed and locked the door, and walked the landing to the bedroom I’d had prepared earlier this morning. Picking my tablet up off the bedside cabinet, I transferred the footage to it, and propped it up where I could watch Trixie as I readied for tonight. She would be able to hear me, and the minute she stepped into the next room, I’d be able to hear her. I made a mental note to tell Trace I wanted microphones in every room. Never again did I want to be cut off from the seductive rasp of my wife. My fire.

  I pulled my clothes off quickly, tossing them onto the chair. It was out of character for me to not fold them—to not even place them on the chair. I no longer cared. I stood naked and painfully erect in front of Trixie, even further away from her, and gripped my cock. She killed me. She would kill me. I had no doubt of that; she’d signed my death warrant the second she’d recommended quiche to me in her boss’s loft. I just had to hang on to my life and accept my fate when it arrived.

  “We’re leaving the estate tonight,” I said as I crossed the room and found some underwear. I swiftly pulled on a pair of boxer briefs and tried to trap my throbbing cock beneath the cotton. I winced when I touched the head, eliciting a spark of desperation to surge up my shaft.

  Why?

  “Because we have somewhere to be.” I frowned. “You don’t want to leave?”

  She shook her head. I’d expected her to be eager to get out, to see the city inside the barricades, outside of the priso
n she’d called home for months.

  “No choice, unfortunately. We have commitments.”

  A solemn expression crossed her beautiful face, contorting soft features into those of worry and nervousness.

  “Don’t worry,” I soothed. “We’ll be together.”

  She relaxed marginally, but it wasn’t enough to ease my anxiety. Pulling the shirt off the hanger on door of the wardrobe, I shrugged into it and buttoned it up quickly. The soft cotton whispered over my skin, but all it did was draw attention to how hot I was, how constricted I was; how something as simple yet specific as specially-threaded cotton shirts could remind me how much I’d fallen. I pulled socks on next, then shoved my legs into my trousers. Then I lost track of what I put on next, my routine forgotten as I watched Trixie circle the room and wait for instruction. I couldn’t take it.

  “Leave the room, baby,” I said, fastening my tie around my collar and snatching up the tablet. “Turn right and walk until I tell you to stop.”

  She jumped at the chance to leave the room, stroking her hands over her obsidian before stepping outside the door and pulling it closed between her. She continued along the corridor.

  “Left,” I growled, when she stopped at the intersection. Instincts should have told her where to go. “Stop at the end.”

  Muting the microphone, I left the bedroom, bounding along the hallway and down the stairs, confident she couldn’t hear me as I began to close the distance between us.

  “Go in the room,” I ordered, growing impatient and no longer bothering to play the game. I was done. “The sixth and final package awaits.”

  She was eager to see the gift, and tore into the room with no hesitation. I stumbled on the final stair as I watched her jolt to a halt as soon as she’d stepped into the room. She should have known I wouldn’t leave her naked. My heart galloped and bile rose to my throat at the mere thought of anyone seeing Trixie dressed like that. A sudden craving for blood and death joined my savage possessiveness.