by Sebastian Ex
“I think we should talk about it. I’ve been patient with you, Ella, but I need to know what happened and who you’re afraid of, or I won’t be able to protect you.”
The uncertainty is still there, and her thoughts are churning as she considers what I’ve said.
“I can’t tell you everything. But I can give you the basic story.”
Suddenly the hammering in my ears calms, and the rage that was on the cusp of bursting through begins to recede. Finally, I might get some clue as to what she’d endured and why that first night at the club she was hiding and crying.
“Okay, I’ll take that, for now. Come on, I think we both need a drink.” I wait ‘til she steps past me, and with my hand to the small of her back, I guide her into the kitchen.
“I don’t want a drink, but I’ll make a cup of tea for myself.”
I sit at the island counter, and we fall into our routine fairly easily. Ella brings me a tumbler, and the bottle of scotch, and puts the teakettle on the stove to boil water for her tea.
“You may need more than one glass of scotch,” she says as she eyes the bottle she’s put in front of me.
“I’ll understand if you can’t tell me everything, but just don’t lie.”
She nods her head, telling me she understands what I’m saying. We’re both enshrouded in silent, intense contemplation. I’m impatiently waiting for her to make her tea, so she can finally tell me what the hell is going on.
I look around the kitchen, and notice small touches of her everywhere I look. When I last took her to Walmart, she asked me if she could buy some flowers to brighten up her room. Of course, being the dick I am, I said “No, because they die.”
I felt like an asswipe after saying that to her, and had three dozen roses delivered to her later that day. Some ended up in her room, but most were positioned around the penthouse.
Her usual shuttered, hurt eyes melted into a soft haze of happiness. If receiving flowers made her happy, then I can only imagine the joy and calm my tongue or cock might bring her. I know she thinks about it too, because I often catch her looking at me with a small smile on her lips.
“I’ve lived in foster care most of my life,” she starts dragging me back to the present. I notice she’s now sitting next to me, and I turn toward her.
“I know we’re not all blessed with fantastic lives. It must have sucked for you,” I say.
“In more ways than you can imagine. Anyway, a few years ago, when I was eighteen, I aged out of the system. I met a guy. He was so good to me. Bought me flowers, opened doors for me, took me to beautiful restaurants.”
“You’re describing me,” I mumble, somewhat angrily because evidently, someone else has deliberately done these things to gain her trust – and betray it – before I came along. I want every man before me to pale in comparison to me, truth be told. I hate that there was anyone else to begin with.
“You’re kind. He was…not.” She stops talking, her face showing she’s lost in the past, her body trembling.
“Hey.” I put a hand on her thigh and slightly squeeze, snapping her out of memory, “It’s okay. Nothing bad is going to happen to you here.”
She drags her gaze back to me, and I’d be an idiot not to notice how tight her features have become. She’s drowning in remembered fear. I get the feeling whatever is buried in her past is cruel and dark.
“At first, he was great. He was so gentle. But it was all a façade, just a ruse to gain my trust. He was and probably still is, a skilled predator.”
“What happened?” I rub my fingers on her thigh, reassuring her it’s okay to tell me.
“I didn’t really have anything after they turned me loose, so I moved in with him. He gave me everything I could want…and a few things I didn’t.” Her body visibly shudders. “I wasn’t even in his house for three weeks, before it started.”
“Did he hit you?” Beating a woman? He is an animal, nothing more than shit you scrape off your shoe on the side of the curb.
“If only it was that.”
“Then what?” My damn heart is leaping, about to bounce out of my chest.
“The third week I was there, he brought over two men he was showing around town. Both were from out of state, both considerably older.”
My throat tightens, like cold fingers have just latched on and are clasping.
“He had me…” she pauses. Her eyes become red and tears are threatening to fall. “He made me have sex with them.”
What the fuck? What do I do with this information? First of all, find the bastard who did this to her, and fucking kill him. “Tell me more,” I say, my voice low and eerily calm.
“I ended up being a reward for his big new clients. The more money they brought over to the bank he was working for, the more he’d let them do to me. But they weren’t allowed to scar my arms, face or legs. They kept it all here.” She indicates her torso. “And my back.”
“How bad did it get?” I turn aside to pour more scotch into my tumbler because I’m not sure I have the strength to look at Ella and not wrap my arms around her.
“I really don’t want to say,” she whispers then a strangled sob follows.
“I said, how bad did it get?” I’m trying to remain calm, but it’s virtually impossible.
“I’m sorry, Matt. You must be thinking how disgusting I am.”
I stand, run my hand through my hair, and walk away from her, trying to calm the river of lava flowing through me. “I think you’re strong, and beautiful, and the most courageous woman I’ve ever known.” I go to the family room and stand by the floor-to-ceiling window. Leaning a palm against the cool pane, I concentrate on the scurrying people below as they go about their lives.
I don’t feel her approach, but I can feel her warm palm on my shoulder, and instantly my wrath calms. “It’s okay to think I’m repulsive. I can barely look at myself in the mirror when I wash. I can push these horrid scars to the back of my mind when I’m dressed.”
My breathing is still quickened, but now for a different reason. “Ella, I don’t think you’re repulsive. Right now, I’m holding back from grabbing your shoulders and shaking you until you tell me where I can find this sick fuck. It’s taking every ounce of control I can muster not to go find him and fucking kill him. Pound his face in and slit his damned throat for treating you like you were nothing more than a fuck toy.”
“That’s all I was,” she replies quietly.
I feel her warmth almost touching me. She’s close; I know it. I can feel her next to me. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“It’s not your fault. But I’ll understand if you want me to leave.”
I hear her feet on the floor, moving away. “Don’t you dare think you’re going anywhere. You’re staying here with me, where I know you’re safe.”
“I shouldn’t have brought my past here. I shouldn’t have concerned you. I never wanted you to see the marks from what they did to me.”
I turn to face Ella. She’s not crying, she doesn’t even look like she’s going to cry, she’s showing me strength. Her back is straight and her chin is high. “Show me all of it. I want to know what you’ve been through.”
“No. You’ll be repulsed.”
“Ella, I promise you, nothing you show me will diminish my opinion of you.” Ella’s shoulders sag, and she squeezes her eyes shut, obviously debating with herself what she should do. “Just show me so I know what I’m dealing with.”
“You’re not ’dealing’ with anything. I am.” She puts air quotes around “dealing”.
I take a huge breath and let the air slowly escape from my mouth before I open it, “Just show me.” I pause and look straight into the depth of her brown eyes. “Please,” I finally add in a lower, calmer tone.
Ella goes quiet. The seconds keep ticking and my mind races with thoughts of finding the man who did this to her and ending him. To make him hurt, exactly the way he made Ella hurt. I’ll find out, right down to the smallest detail, what he d
id to her, what she was subjected to, and I’ll make sure the pain he receives is twice as bad. No real man hurts a woman or stands by while someone else does.
“Okay, I’ll show you,” she says after a long pause.
What the hell am I about to see? And why am I so insistent upon her showing me?
Nine
“You need to sit over there.” Ella points to the arm chair furthest away from where she’s standing.
“I will do no such thing. I’ll sit here. Remove your shirt and show me.”
“Please don’t be angry at me.”
What the hell? At her? Hasn’t she listened to a damn word I’ve said? “Are you deaf?” I ask, my hands going to her shoulders then slowly sliding down to take her hands in mine. Then I realize what I sound like. “I’m not angry with you, Ella,” I tell her more gently.
Ella’s eyes leave mine. She drags her gaze down the length of her right arm, until they finally settle on where our hands are joined. “I’m not deaf, but I’m afraid you’ll get angry when you see what I’m hiding.”
“I can’t guarantee I won’t get angry. I can’t even promise I won’t get so livid I may break something. But I can tell you with absolute certainty I won’t be mad at you. My anger will be for the bastards who did this to you.”
“Okay, but please sit,” she says and points to the arm chair.
I let go of her hands. But wish I could wrap my arms around her. I want to show her support and assure her I wouldn’t consider anything on her body repulsive.
“I’m ready,” I say, sitting in the chair and preparing for the worst.
She grips the bottom of her t-shirt in her hands¸ and slowly pulls it up over her head.
The initial thing that stands out is the sheer number of scars she has. From her navel to her tits, she’s covered in welts. Straight lines, curved lines, some scars are thicker on one end and thinner on another, round marks that look like burns. I can’t help but sit forward and raise my hand to feel her skin. Ella flinches, but my eyes go to hers, “Don’t move away; I won’t hurt you. Let me touch you.”
I’m watching her, and her breathing becomes erratic as she stands stock-still and allows my fingers to make contact with her broken skin.
“I’m sorry you have to see these.”
“Were they done with a cane?” I’ve seen marks like these on a woman’s body before, but nowhere near as deep as these.
“At first he’d let them use a cane, but one guy, one of his ‘big clients’, got really bad. He broke the cane on my back, so he used a whip after that. They had me chained up on one of those hooks they use for carcasses at a slaughterhouse. I could see the blood dripping down my legs, I could even hear me screaming and begging for him to stop, but he just kept going. After a while, it stopped being painful. I just left my body. It was strange, because even though I had stopped feeling anything, it was like I was watching him beat me from outside my body.”
I move my hands from her skin, and grip the chair’s armrests. My knuckles turn white, and my heart pounds so loudly I can hear its constant drumming in my ears.
“Go on,” I say, though I really don’t want to hear anymore.
“Master got very angry at me because apparently, I passed out and I stopped being fun for his client. His client got so angry he had to stop so he…he…”
“He what?”
“He sodomized me.”
I bring a hand up and rub it over my face then run it through my hair as I angrily tug on the ends. “Turn around. Let me see your back.” I know my voice is harsh, but I can’t seem to soften it.
Ella slowly turns, and her back is just one big scar. I can see where she was beaten because there are pin prick marks on either side of the long ones she received from where she was stitched up. Some scars run over older ones.
“He allowed me to heal before he brought the next lot of men in. They didn’t beat me. I had to fuck them, or suck them off. Sometimes it was just two, sometimes it was more.”
“How long did this go on for?”
“Two years, until I was twenty. Then I found a chance, and I ran. I’ve been running ever since.”
“Who is he?” I can sense I’m falling into anger again.
“I won’t tell you.”
“Goddamn it.” I stand and grip her shoulders, spinning her around. “Who the fuck is he?”
“I can’t tell you. He’d hurt you and he’d make me go back. I’d rather die than let him get near you.”
Ella won’t tell me to protect me? I don’t think so. “It doesn’t work that way. I protect you, not the other way around.”
“Please, just leave it. I couldn’t handle it if he hurt you, and I don’t want him to have any idea where I am.” She looks at my face and her eyes slip down to my mouth.
The alpha in me is struggling with control. The dominant, protective side is just about to erupt in full force. I need to avenge her, to hold her and make sure her damaged mind heals. “Ella, I need to hold you, just for a moment. I need to know you’re okay.” My hands slide down to her elbows.
Her eyes leave my mouth, fall to where my fingers are touching her, shielding and also claiming her. “I don’t need to be held.”
“Bullshit. If there’s anyone who needs some simple human tenderness, it’s you,” I almost growl, pulling her to my body. The heat between us penetrates through my clothes, touching my skin, making it blaze with fire. “Bullshit,” I say again, snaking my hand up her back to weave into the hairline at the nape of her neck.
“You didn’t even look at my breasts. You only looked at my scars,” she sighs as I move her head closer to my mouth.
“I was looking at the beauty of the woman in my arms.” I skim my nose down her jawline, smelling the freshness of the soap she used in her shower.
“You just feel sorry for me because I’m ruined.” She’s trying with all her might to keep her walls high around her.
“Once I kiss you, I won’t be able to go back to the way we were. I’ll protect you and cherish you.” She’s fighting, I can tell by the worried look. Her perfectly-shaped eyebrows are knitted together, her lips are slightly downturned, and her chest is heaving, trying to pull air into her lungs. She’s resisting, attempting to reinforce her barriers. “I won’t hurt you.”
“Please, stop,” she begs me, her eyes closing as she leans into my touch. “I can’t survive you, too.”
I trail kisses from her chin to her ear, stopping to suck her sensitive earlobe into my mouth. “You won’t have to survive me, because I’m not going anywhere and neither are you,” I whisper, then nibble on her earlobe. “I’m right here, and I won’t ever hurt you.” My left hand splays over the scarred skin on her lower back, dipping my pinky into the top of her pants, grazing her thong.
God, I want to rip them off, smother her with kisses, and let my tongue discover every part of her body.
“Matt,” she moans, arching her tits into my chest. Her head goes back, and her neck becomes sensually elongated. My mouth waters. I need to taste her, as much of her as I possibly can. Darting my tongue out, I follow the contours of her neck, stopping only to nibble, suck, and swirl my tongue in the hollow between her collarbones.
Finally, her resolve falters and I feel her hands in my hair. She roughly scrapes her nails across my scalp. The ferocity of her motions travels my nerves and goes straight to my cock, teasing it to life. My hard-on is as ravenous as my tongue. I want to lick, taste, and devour her entire body. To show her what sex really is, how her body is meant to be pleasured, not tortured. It’s built to be fucked, not mistreated. It’s meant to be cherished, not ruined.
With my right hand still tangled in her disheveled hair, I fist it tighter and bring her head up so I can look into her eyes.
“I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?”
“Don’t apologize.” I crush her mouth with mine. I can’t be gentle right now. I need her to know I mean this, that I’m claiming her. I’m taking the hurt, and replacing it wit
h desire and pleasure. I’m telling her with my mouth that she’s got nothing to worry about because I’ll never let her be hurt again.
Our tongues dance the lover’s steps, a tango for two, in an erotic, all-consuming kiss. My lips coax hers to surrender, and finally she does. The kiss becomes greedy, consuming, but I make sure I hold her in a way she knows she’s treasured and safe.
She finally pulls back, and both of us are breathing hard. “I’m not ready to have sex with you, Matt. Please don’t make me.”
That one statement alone causes my hard-on to immediately deflate, not because she won’t have sex with me, but because she’s begging me not to force her. I have to remember where she’s come from. I’d treated her like any of the other women I’ve had, and although she seemed to enjoy it, I did not kiss her the way she deserved to be kissed. I let her go, step back and sit in the arm chair.
“Sit,” I say to her, sweeping my hand to the sofa beside the arm chair. Ella sits and looks at me. “First of all, I didn’t ask you to have sex. I can tell you’re not ready. Second, don’t ever say that to me again. I’m not him. I don’t take women who don’t want me. And third, when – and yes, I said ‘when’ – we do have sex, it’ll be when you’re ready and not a moment before. Do you understand?”
She hangs her head in shame but nods.
“You not speaking to me isn’t going to cut it either. When I ask you a question, I expect a verbal response.”
“Yes, I understand,” she says in her timid, little kitten voice.
“Good, I’m glad we’ve cleared that up. I don’t want a repeat of you thinking I’m going to take what I want from you regardless of your feelings. Now, I’m going to call Brandon and get him to organize someone to cover your shift, because we’re not going in to the club tonight. Instead, we’re going to order Chinese, you’re going to put a sappy, girly movie on and I’m going to pretend to be watching it while I’m really on my tablet researching something that’s actually interesting to me.”
“Why?” She crosses her arms around her bare torso, again putting a barrier up between us.
“Because after what you’ve told me, I don’t think I can concentrate on work. And any motherfucker who put their hands on you or might otherwise gave you shit tonight, I’d likely hurt. I need the rest of the day to calm down, and you need to relax and let me care for you.”
