Eternally Yours: Bliss Series, Book Six

by Hall, Deanndra

  “Yes, sir.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody so bewildered in my life. It’s like somebody put her in a boat, cut it loose, and let it drift away, all without giving her a paddle.

  I make a couple of sandwiches, get some chips out, and find a box of snack cakes in the pantry. “Lemon-lime soda or dark cola?”

  “Which should I have, sir?”

  This lunch will take us all afternoon at the rate we’re going. “Which do you like best?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Okay, let’s try this. If you went to the store and got whatever you wanted, what would it be?”

  “I’ve never done that, sir.”

  “Then water it is.” I don’t know what else to do. This is not going well―at all. After I set a glass of ice water on the table, I motion for her to sit. Once I’ve gotten my drink and sat down, I take a big bite of my sandwich, but she just sits there. “Are you going to eat?”

  “May I?”

  “I wouldn’t have given you food if I didn’t intend for you to eat it.” I’m trying hard to not be a smartass, but it’s very difficult. To my surprise, she picks up the sandwich, takes a big bite, chews, and then stops to stare at the sandwich. “What’s wrong?”

  “Sir, what kind of mustard is this on the sandwich?”

  Oh, shit. I probably put something on there that she’s allergic to, but how would I know? Dear god, this is horrible. “It’s a German mustard I ate when I was a kid in France. I love it, and I found it at a store close by, so I always buy it.”

  “Sir, it’s delicious. I’ve never tasted mustard like this. It’s so good.” Finally, she attacks the sandwich with gusto, eating like she hasn’t had food in a week. I almost laugh. Maybe we’re over the hump. But I see that she’s watching me. I haven’t had a chip yet, and neither has she, so I pick one up and pop it in my mouth. Next thing I know, she’s eaten half of hers. “These chips are really good too. You have good food.”

  “Thank you. If there’s something you like and want me to buy, just let me know and we’ll get it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tomorrow we’ll get you some clothes. How long has it been since you’ve been to a salon?”

  “I’ve never been to a salon, sir, just those hair cutting places at the strip mall.”

  “You’ll go to a salon and get your hair fixed up. Nails and toes too. And we’ll get you some pretty jewelry.”

  “Sir, you don’t have to do all this. I’m fine, really. It’s not necessary.”

  I frown. “If you’re going to be seen with me, you’ll look nice. You’re a very pretty young woman. You should be proud of your looks.”

  The blush that spreads across her cheeks is a vivid red. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re welcome. Let’s finish up and we’ll go to the office.” This should be interesting.

  The ride over is filled with what a nice car I have, how pretty the stores on my side of town are, what a big grocery that is down the street, how there seems to be an unusual number of coffee shops near my neighborhood. All of that seems strange at first, but I’m beginning to grasp the gravity of the living situation she’s been in for years, and it’s horrifying. Apparently this jerk she was with kept her confined to the house.

  Brian is warm and friendly to her when we arrive, and Cirilla has snacks ready and has planned some things Rayanna can do while we’re there to keep her busy and sort of let her see a bit of what my job entails. There’s a big stack of filing and Cirilla spends about five minutes showing Rayanna how to do it. Never saying a word, I observe, and when Cirilla leaves the room, I make a mental note to check later and see what kind of mess she’s made.

  She finishes in record time, which throws up all kinds of alarms for me. But when Cirilla asks her to come into the kitchen, I check what she’s done and find it’s perfect. She got everything filed exactly where it’s supposed to be. Now I know she’s not unintelligent at all, just repressed.

  I have a favor to ask of my sister-in-law. “Cirilla? Are you busy tomorrow?”

  She just laughs. “I don’t know. Sir, am I busy tomorrow?”

  “Not if my brother has something he needs you to do!” Brian says with a laugh, and I know he’s figured me out.

  “I do. Would you take Rayanna shopping? She needs clothes, shoes, underwear, toiletries, everything. Plus she needs her hair done, and nails and toes.”

  Cirilla nods. “The hair, nails, and toes will probably have to wait for an appointment, but everything else, yeah. We can get that done tomorrow. Does that sound okay, Rayanna?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” There goes that head dropping again.

  My sister-in-law deserves a medal. I clap my hands together and smile. “Good. That’s all settled. Shall I bring her here?”

  Cirilla shakes her head. “No. I’ll come and pick her up. Not a problem. About ten?”

  “That sounds good. Does that sound good to you, Rayanna?”

  “Yes, sir.” That’s all she says, her voice muffled as she speaks toward the floor.

  “Very good. So we’ll see you tomorrow at ten, Cirilla, and thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m looking forward to it,” she says as we walk out.

  “Your sister-in-law is very nice, sir,” Rayanna says as soon as we’re on the road.

  “Yes, she is. She’s a special person and Brian loves her very much.”

  “And she’s his submissive?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he loves her?”

  “Uh, yeah. Why is that so hard to believe?”

  She just shrugs as she stares out the window. “Masters don’t love their slaves. They’re slaves.”

  “That’s not necessarily true. Masters and slaves, Dominants and submissives, they can love each other. All my friends here are Dominants, and their submissives are also their wives. They’re very much in love. Why wouldn’t they be?”

  “That doesn’t happen in real life. That’s a fairy tale.”

  “No. It’s not. It really isn’t.”

  Shock slaps me in the face when she turns, her eyes fiery. “Prove it.”

  She wants me to prove it? “How can I prove that? What will it take to prove it?”

  “Fall in love with me. Make me fall in love with you. I don’t think you can do it, sir.”

  “Oh, you don’t, do you?”

  “No, sir. I don’t.”

  “Well, we’ll see about that.” I must be a raving idiot. She just issued me a challenge and I accepted. I don’t want to fall in love with this woman, and I don’t want her to fall in love with me.

  But what would it be like if that happened? A royal, fucked-up mess. That’s what it would be. This is six weeks. I can’t afford for that to happen. And if I say that, if I take that attitude, if I hold back, she’ll say, See? It can’t happen. It’s a fairy tale. Thing is, I don’t want to be in love with this woman. Not this woman. But the woman she’ll become under my care?

  Yeah. That’s the woman I want to fall in love with. So, Rayanna …

  Challenge accepted.

  * * *

  “This is really good. What is it?”

  I pick up another piece with my chopsticks. “Sushi.”

  “Hmmmm. It’s rice and other stuff. What’s that in the middle, sir?” she asks just as she puts another piece in her mouth.

  “Raw fish.”

  “Acchhhhhh!!!!!” she almost screams and spits it onto her plate. It’s all I can do to keep from laughing.

  “I thought you said it was good!”

  “That was before I knew what it was, sir!”

  “And that changes the taste how?”

  I see the gears turning in her mind. “You’re not supposed to eat fish raw. It will make you sick, sir,” she argues.

  “No, that’s chicken. Raw fish won’t hurt you if it’s properly prepared.”

  “And how is it prepared that makes it okay to eat, sir?”

  I shrug. “I have no idea. I just know that’s t
he case. I’ve been eating it for years and I’ve never gotten sick one single time.”

  “Lucky you,” she huffs. But she’s a curious one, and I watch as she picks up another piece and sniffs it.

  “Go on. It won’t bite you. You ate two of them before you found out what it was.” I can’t help it―I’m laughing. I watch as she dips it in soy sauce and pops it in her mouth. “Now see? It’s good!”

  “I have to chew fast and swallow it mostly whole. Ick,” she says and makes a face. I’m almost rolling, and I hope no one else in the restaurant can hear us.

  By the time dinner’s over, I’m breathless from laughing and she’s still scowling. But once we’re in the car, she turns to me and grins. “I’m sorry, sir. I really did like it. I was just trying to make you laugh. You have a nice smile.”

  That’s something no one’s ever said to me. “Oh! Well, thank you! I think you succeeded. I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time. I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings.”

  “No, sir. It was fun. And I haven’t been in a restaurant in a long time.” The ride gets quiet, but she breaks that silence to ask, “Can I tell you something, sir?”

  “You can tell me anything.”

  “And you won’t get mad?”

  “I’ll try not to.”

  “Um, I don’t know any other black people.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t know any other black people either.” I wait until her jaw drops. “I’m just kidding!” Now I really am laughing.

  “You’re horrible, sir. I was afraid I was going to offend you.”

  “I’m kidding. Actually, I’m not, sort of. I don’t know any other black people here in Seattle. There are members of the club who are black, but I don’t know any of them yet, just Brian and his friends.”

  “I see. Well, you shouldn’t get to know them unless they’re people you want to get to know. I mean, you shouldn’t get to know them just because they’re black. Does that makes sense, sir?” I can tell she’s trying to say something but she’s having a hard time getting it out.

  “Yes. It does. I think what you’re trying to say is that you shouldn’t choose your friends because of the color of their skin.”

  “Yes! That’s it exactly, sir! That’s what I was trying to say. Exactly.” She seems extremely happy with herself over that statement. She should be. That’s about the most honest thing anybody’s said to me in a long time.

  “By the way, there’s some ethnicity in your background. What is it?”

  “My eyes look funny, right?” she says with a grin.

  “Not funny. Beautiful. But their shape is unusual.”

  “Most people don’t notice. My grandpa was American Indian. My great-grandma was Japanese, my mom’s mom’s mother. Her husband died and she ran this little grocery store. And she and my grandma and my mom’s uncle got sent to an internment camp during the war. They lost everything. My grandma always said I had her eyes.”

  “What they did with the internment camps, I know why, but it was wrong.”

  “Yeah, well, kinda like slaves.” She stares out the window and says under her breath, “Kinda like slaves.”

  We get back to the apartment and get ready for bed. I can hear her in the bath adjacent to mine, brushing her teeth and I’m guessing brushing her hair. When she comes out of the bathroom, she’s not wearing a stitch. “Should I shower, sir?”

  I just shrug. “If you’d like.”

  “Are we having sex?”

  I shrug again. “I dunno. Do you want to have sex?”

  She nods. “Yes. I want you to like me and keep me.”

  “That’s not dependent on sex, Rayanna.”

  “It’s not?”

  I shake my head against the pillow. “No. Not at all.”

  “So … I could just sleep beside you?” I nod. “And maybe against you?” I nod again. “And maybe you could kiss me, sir?”

  “I can do that.”

  “Nobody kisses me, sir.”

  “I’ll kiss you.”

  “Okay, sir. I’ll be right back.” I can hear her in my bathroom, turning on the water, and in minutes she’s back. Her hair’s only slightly damp, but the rest of her is wet and she’s got one of my bath sheets wrapped around her. I watch her slight form as she dries off and then slips under the top sheet. “I don’t know how to do this, sir.”

  “Do what?”

  “Sleep beside somebody.”

  Now I’m confused. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know how to sleep beside somebody. I always slept on the floor or in a cage. I didn’t have a bed until I went to the shelter. I haven’t had a bed in a long time, and that was when I was a teenager.”

  Dear god. “Okay, you just roll over here and let me, no, wait, yeah. Like that. That’s good.” She’s cuddled up against me, lying wrapped in my left arm, her face pressed to my left pec.

  “Am I doing it right?”

  “You’re doing fine. Look up here at me.” When she tips her head back to look into my face, I lift my head and press my lips to hers.

  A groan escapes her throat and her hand comes up, her palm warm against my cheek as she strokes my face. As I deepen the kiss, she wraps a hand into the top of my hair and clutches it. She tastes like peppermint toothpaste and smells like my spring fresh scented soap, and her skin is warm and soft. There’s not an ounce of fat on the woman. Matter of fact, she’s skinny and a little bony, but her breasts are good sized, and I can feel her hard nipples pressed against my ribs. There’s something in the air around us, something that feels sort of magical. It occurs to me that what I’m feeling is almost like a blanket, like we’re in a cocoon, wrapped up tight and snug, safe from everything outside our embrace. Protecting her is something that I want to do, need to do, almost ache to do. I haven’t been that close to another person in a long, long time. When I drop my head back to end the kiss, she smiles at me. “So Brian is your brother?”

  “Yeah. He owns a club.” I point to the dresser where the wedding pictures sit. “They got married not long ago.”

  “He’s not black,” she says, almost as though I hadn’t noticed.

  “Yeah. We have the same mother but not the same father. And my dad is black.”

  “Your dad is still alive?” I nod. “Where is he?”

  “He lives in France. That’s where I grew up.”

  “You’re French?”

  “I am. I came to the states to go to college and never left.”

  “I don’t know any other French people.”

  A laugh leaps from my mouth before I can stop it. “Well, then it stands to reason that you don’t know any other black French people.”

  She looks up and off to the left, then grins. “Yeah. I guess that’s true!”

  “You have such pretty eyes.” The instant I say it, she drops her gaze and blushes. “They’re like blue crystal.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Snuggled up against me again, she asks, “May I stroke your chest?”

  Poor thing. All the little gestures we make all day long, the little things we pick up and put down, the things we see, we take all that for granted. This woman doesn’t. “Babe, you can touch me however you want.”

  I figured she’d take a finger and run it around on my skin, but instead, she presses the palm of her hand to the center of my chest. “I can feel your heart beating and I like it.”

  My hand drops on top of hers as it stills against my skin. “Can I ask you something?” I feel her nod against my chest. “What was your role as a submissive before?”

  I feel her raise her head. “A what?”

  “A submissive. What kind of submissive were you?”

  She’s quiet for a few seconds before she says, “Submissive? I’m sorry, sir. I don’t―”

  “You know. Submissive. As in I’m your Dominant and you’re my submissive?”

  “I don’t know what that means, sir.”

  Okay, I’m really confused. “You’re a submissive. You had a master before,
right?”

  “Yes. But I wasn’t a submissive.”

  “What were you then?”

  Her voice is almost too quiet to hear when she whispers back, “I told you before, sir. I’m a slave.”

  “Not anymore, Rayanna. You’re not anymore.”

  I don’t know Connor Bacchus, but I do know this. If he tries to come back and hurt her, I will kill him. And if she tries to go back to him, I’ll stop her. I absolutely, positively will. This woman will not be abused again.

  Not as long as I have breath.

  * * *

  “I called in some favors so we’ll be gone all day. We’ll go to the mall and do our shopping before we go to the salon. That’ll take all afternoon. Is that okay, sir?” Cirilla asks when she comes to pick up Rayanna.

  “Sure. That’s fine.” Something shoots through my mind. “Is Brian going?”

  I can see something in Cirilla’s eyes, some hint of fearfulness. “Um, no, sir. I didn’t plan for him to. Should I have?”

  “No, no, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” I’ll do enough worrying for all of us. Right now, Bacchus is in jail, but he won’t be there forever. Will he find her? How will I know if they release him? I need to talk to Ted about all of this, and during one of her sessions isn’t the time. I hate to call him at home, but I will as soon as the girls are gone.

  Cirilla’s voice pulls me back from my ruminations. “So it’s okay if we go ahead? If I have to wait to take her to the salon, there’s no telling when I’ll be able to get her in.”

  “Oh! Yeah, absolutely. Certainly. Here.” I draw a credit card from my wallet and hand it to Cirilla. “Get whatever she needs.”

  “Budget?” Cirilla asks.

  “You don’t have one. Just don’t go completely crazy, okay? Clothes, shoes, jewelry, makeup, whatever she needs.” I turn and stare directly into Rayanna’s eyes. “Whatever you need. I mean it.”

  “Yes, sir.” That gaze drops again and I feel bad for her. I bet it’s been years since she went into a store and bought something for herself, something she wanted, not what somebody wanted her to have.

  “Hey.” When she finally looks up at me, I press a finger under her chin and lift her face up to mine. “Above all, have fun. Stop and get some ice cream. Eat a good lunch. Buy something that seems a little silly. Oh, and by the way,” I add, “get yourself some of those coloring books and more pencils or pastels or pens or whatever you want. There’s an art supply store by the mall, so pick out some things and get them.”