Текст книги "Return to Grace Street"

Автор книги: Ella Dominguez

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

10: Ms. White

A song on the radio came on, reminding Elsa of Nate. His blue eyes, his dimpled grin, his boring, nostalgic stories… And the smile he gave that woman just before leaving with her. According to Mr. Black, there had been two others. How many were there in total in such a short period of time? It made no difference. She knew he had his own reasons for doing what he did. And who the hell was she to point fingers at him about infidelity?

The heavy feeling in her chest gave way to guilt. He would never forgive her when he learned of her betrayal. And he would learn. Eventually. They were part of a large social circle in Richmond that would make it impossible to hide. When he did, she would have to face the ramifications of her choices and answer to him. Truthfully. Even if the truth was ugly. Would he even care what her reasoning was? Probably not after what she did to him.

A week passed since Elsa had last seen Victor in person. During that time, he had made appearances on television numerous times during press conferences. He stood in the back, looking tired as if he hadn’t had any sleep, dark circles ringing his eyes. No matter how hard she tried to stay unfeeling toward him, his uncharacteristic wrinkled and unkempt appearance filled her with worry.

Minus the part where he nearly exposed their relationship to Nate, her last memory of him holding her was a pleasant one and she allowed herself to pretend it was sincere, even if it wasn’t.

Her week without him had been peaceful. Tranquil, even. No worries or concerns about what he had planned next or what traumas from his past would unfold before her.

The only hiccup in her week had been a letter she received from him in the mail, listing out her new and improved list of rules; the least hated of which was to PicChat her private parts to him daily. Although an outlandish stipulation, it was completely doable.

The other rules, he could firmly shove up his ass. Most especially the one that required her to show up at his house, every work day, to face the north wall of his bedroom, nude, kneeling with her legs slightly apart, her hands folded behind her neck and elbows spread wide. Fifteen minutes of – a third of her damned lunch break – was spent on that ridiculousness. She had no idea what the point of that little exercise was except to ensure her compliance with his rules, but it seemed asinine and, frankly, sadistic. Twice, she had flipped the camera off after her time was up. She would probably regret that later, but she could care less.

Even with the ugly lie wedged between her and Nate, each day that passed made it easier to accept her role in Victor’s life. He was sharing his secrets and that seemed to make everything he was doing, acceptable. Fucked up, for sure, but tolerable somehow. She might not feel that way in a day or a week, but today, she felt as good about her situation as feasibly possible.

Anyway, with Victor, and Mr. Black, it was best just to take things one day at a time. To think ahead or try to predict his actions would only drive her insane. Well… more insane.

Friday evening, she received a text message. The work week without him had been just enough time for her to mentally recuperate from everything that had transpired the weekend before, and she was ready to learn more of Victor’s secrets.

When she arrived at 2500 East Grace Street, she found him sitting in his office, reviewing video footage. She stood patiently at the door, watching him analyze her movements and actions. She didn’t realize he had seen her in the frame of the door, but without looking at her, he motioned for her to join him.

Hesitantly, she did, but kept her eyes away from the monitor. Rather than sitting in his lap, she knelt at his feet and rested her chin on his knee so that she could study his reactions to what he was seeing. He glanced down, his eyes scanning her face. The fingers of one hand laced through her hair, while the other hand punched buttons on the computer.

His touch was soft, warm, familiar; his smell enticing; his expression passive. It was quite a look for him.

Suddenly, his eyebrows shot up as he watched the monitor, the corners of his lips curled upward and a laugh rumbled in his throat.

His irises zoomed in on her again and he gave her a tsk tsk.

He patted his knee, gesturing for her to sit in his lap.

“Do I really have to?”

“Yes,” his eyes remained on the screen.

She sighed, but complied. No words were spoken as he continued to scrutinize every angle and movement of her on the video. On the occasion where she would sneak a peek at the screen, the only thing she witnessed was herself roaming around his house at 1.5x speed.

“Shouldn’t you be concentrating on work instead of this?”

“Yes.”

His voice remained monotone and he refused to look at her.

Her fingers threaded through his soft hair, pushing it away from his eyes. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re handsome?”

A boyish grin spread across his face. “Yes.”

She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and gave him an irritated sigh. “Do you plan on speaking to me in more than one syllable this evening?”

“Yes,” his laughter bubbled over.

Bored and frustrated, she glanced at the screen again. What was gained by this sort of obsessive behavior to know absolutely everything? Yes, she enjoyed watching people too, but not on some computer monitor. She liked to see the action as it unfolded, not some rehashed version that could be analyzed. And she sure as hell didn’t want to watch herself in action. He was experiencing these things with her firsthand, so what was the point of scrutinizing the minute details? His curiosity made her wonder, though... had he watched their interaction from that last fateful day?

“Do you still have the videos of our time before?”

His eyes darted sideways, his smile fading. “Yes.”

“Have you watched them?”

His chewed the corner of his lip before answering. “Yes.”

“All of them?” she pressed.

No words this time. Merely a nod as he tensely adjusted a knob.

“Can I see the video of our last day together?” Her voice came out whispered and full of uncertainty.

He winced, ran a hand through his hair and looked at her with confusion sparkling in his eyes. “Why would you want to see that?”

“So you can speak in more than one word sentences.”

He didn’t find her statement amusing and simply stared at her with unflinching directness as he waited for her answer.

But she had no answer for him. She didn’t know why she wanted to see it, she just did. Maybe to convince herself that she hadn’t made the whole thing up in her mind. That perhaps he hadn’t been as harsh as she remembered or that she hadn’t been as weak as she recalled.

“Can I?” she continued without answering his question.

“No.”

He was back to his one-word responses. His cold denial made her stiffen in automatic defense. “Why not?”

She felt him take an emotional step back as their gazes battled for a long moment.

“Because I erased it.”

Crushed and at a loss for words, she merely shook her head. “Like it never happened,” her voice trembled and cracked.

Had he erased it from his memory, too?

Feeling the sudden urge to retreat inward, she rose from his lap in one smooth, angry motion. As she moved away from him, his hand on her forearm stopped her and spun her around.

“You’re really never going to forgive me for what I did to you, are you?”

The raw passion on Victor’s face threw her into a tailspin. As usual, she couldn’t tell if this was part of his game or if he was being sincere. She hoped for the latter, but she knew better.

“What I’ll never forgive is myself for allowing you to do the things you did to me.” And was still allowing him to do. Uncomfortable with the heated look in his eyes, she pulled out of his grip.

“I know what I did to you was wrong...”

Her voice was sharp and low when she cut him off. “You say you know it was wrong, but you’ve shown no remorse for your actions and you’ve never once apologized. And at this point, I don’t even want your fucking apology. You have no idea what you did to me or how you made me feel.”

“I do know…” he stared at her with smoldering intensity.

“No you don’t. Not really. It was more than just physical. It was so much more than just that leather across my back. You made me feel less than human, Victor. Less than worthy of basic respect. Less than loveable,” her vision wavered behind unshed tears as she finally lashed out at him. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be made to feel that way by someone you care about? To be callously dismissed after giving them a piece of your soul?”

“Yes.”

***

Victor sat motionless in the chair, hating the despair he saw reflected in Elsa’s eyes.

“You knew and yet, you still did it to me?”

Her voice was nothing more than a broken whisper and it hurt him to see the strongest woman he knew so ravaged by emotion.

He was sorry for his actions. His mother had made him feel the same way time and time again. He hated her and everything she did to him, but she was still his mother and deep down, all he had ever wanted was her approval and love.

As for that Goddamn video, he could only stomach watching it once. It made no difference because he had replayed the brutal scene over and over in his head, trying to think of ways he could’ve done things differently. But there was no going back. What was done was done and erasing the video was the only way he could mentally cope with what he had done to another human being. To his Peach.

Just as Elsa turned to walk out his voice halted her.

“You once asked me if I had ever been so consumed with someone that I would’ve done absolutely anything for them. The answer is yes. Once and only once. I know you think I’m a cruel son-of-a-bitch and I won’t even try to deny it, but I am sorry for what happened. And I am remorseful. But the fact is, you learned a valuable lesson: love is a colossal waste of time and energy. I let my heart and emotions guide my decisions just like you, and all I ended up with was heartbreak. Just like you. I won’t ever, and I mean ever, allow that to happen again and I suggest you do the same.”

He couldn’t face her anymore and turned his chair away, wanting nothing more than to pull himself into a miserable ball of shame at the wounded expression on her face. Before he could escape her gaze, she cut the distance between them with quick, purposeful strides and plopped down into his lap causing a grunt of surprise to choke him. His chair nearly toppled over backwards when she flung her arms around his shoulders and pressed her face against his neck.

She pulled back to whisper against his mouth, “Let it go.”

Her feminine scent and the hurt in her eyes was a devastating combination, and he suddenly felt trapped.

“Get off of me,” he growled and tried to buck her off, but she held on for dear life as if riding a wild bull.

“Let it go, Victor,” she repeated more resolutely than before.

“Goddamn it, let go of me!” he hissed, pushing her body away from his.

With a mixture of tenderness and lethal determination, she latched on tighter and got in his face. “I won’t, you stubborn asshole!” she shook him by the shoulders. “Love isn’t a waste of time, it just hurts like a motherfucker! We’ve all been hurt, but that doesn’t give us the right to crush people’s hearts in return!” When he persisted in pushing her away, she jumped off his lap and darted toward the door, but not before turning to face him one last time. “And you can tell Mr. Black to go straight to hell!”

With his breathing ragged and his heart pounding against his ribcage, he stewed on her statement. She had a set of balls bigger than his own. And the nerve to call him stubborn?

He lost track of time as he stared out the window at the stark white landscape, thinking about what Elsa had just said to him. It had been a miserable week; long, tedious and, ultimately, fruitless and now the weekend was starting off just as shitty.

Sinking back into his chair, he pulled out his work file to get his mind off of her. It was ironic considering he was usually doing the opposite.

An hour later, he pushed the file aside. Whatever the connection the killer had to Anthony, they had covered their tracks well. But the devil was in the details and he just needed to look more closely.

Tired of looking at the same bullshit he had been going over all week, he grabbed his personal journal.

Elsa. The name that will ultimately be my doom. I’ve become beyond obsessed with trying to break her down and figure her out. Why does she insist that I abandon the pretenses that have protected me for so long and show my true self? Why do I cave and give in to her wants?

His eyes flicked back to the monitor and at Elsa’s dutiful pose, then back to his writing.

My infuriating lover truly has no idea how beautiful she is or what she does to me. The devil is in the details and her feminine and submissive façade hides her killer instincts well. How the hell can the woman who follows my rules so flawlessly be the same one who has the audaciousness to tell Mr. Black to go to hell? Perhaps an alter ego name for her would be in order. Ms. White seems appropriate considering her light is so Goddamn bright it’s blinding.

Bright or not, my darkness always seems to outweigh her light, while in contrast, her compassion and obstinacy never fails to prevail over my austerity and detachment. It’s an odd balancing act between the two of us; one that threatens to seesaw out of control at any moment.

Will she never just do as she’s told? Abso-fucking-lutely not. It isn’t in her nature and it’s about damn time I accept that Elsa is never going to be anything but true to herself, no matter what rules I stipulate and threaten her with.

And so long as Mr. Black is in the picture, we will never be at peace with one another.

As much as I need that part of my personality, I often want to tell him to go to hell, too. Christ, I wish it was that easy.

A soft knock on the door brought him out of his misery.

“Enter,” he said loudly as he straightened up and put his journal into his bag.

Peeking around the door, Elsa had a look of repentance mingled with resentment in her eyes. “I’m sorry about what I said and for forcing myself on you, Mr. Black. Am I free to leave?”

“You just got here.”

“I know, but I have things to do.”

Her sudden coldness surprised and irked him. “Things to do or someone to do?”

When she glanced over her shoulder nervously, he stood and gave her a pointed look. "Tell me something: when you leave here, do you go home and make love to him?"

She stared wide-eyed and confused at him for two full seconds. "You mean you really don't know?"

"What’s there to know? I have better things to do than watch you fuck your fiancé."

An undecipherable look flashed across her face. "I should go."

In the blink of an eye, he was on her, pulling her into the room and pushing the door closed behind her. This was his time. Nathan had her all fucking week and now it was his turn to enjoy the pleasure of her company.

***

Taken aback by Victor’s sudden aggression, Elsa pressed her hands against his chest, but his body was immovable.

Squeezing her breast, he dipped his head down and whispered into her ear, "You didn't answer my question."

What the hell was she supposed to tell him? Her mouth parted and she almost confessed, but she held her ground. She wasn’t about to show her cards when she was holding a royal flush. "Because it's another impossible question to answer."

His hand slid underneath her skirt and he palmed her pussy. "Does he satisfy you, Elsa? Can he make you come the way I do?"

Another rhetorical question. No, Nate didn’t satisfy her the way he did. He never could, but it wasn’t Nate’s fault she was so fucked up and needed this thing that Victor gave her. Again, she tried to push him away, but he was inexorable.

"I don't like being the other man,” his expression turned deadly.

"You knew I was engaged. What did you expect?" she shoved with all her power, finally putting distance between them. “For me to drop everything and everyone in my life for you when all you’re going to do is disappear when you’re done with this sick game?”

His mouth twitched. “I’m not the one who walked out.”

When he took a step toward her, panic surged through her and she backed herself up against the door, putting her hands up. "Take it easy, Mr. Black."

The tensed muscles around his face relaxed, but a vein at the base of his throat, pulsed. "You have it all wrong. Mr. Black isn't here. This is all me, Peach. Possessive, obsessive and jealous.” He placed the flat of his hand on the door next to her head with casual ease. “The man who doesn’t like to share and will fiercely protect what’s his.” He leaned down into her space, so close that she could see the fury burning hot and wild inside of him. “The real me."

She faced him with a defiant lift of her chin and reached a hand up to touch the smoothness of his lips, but he stepped out of her reach.

"You want to leave? Go ahead. But not before we do our little dance. You were the one who changed the rules of this game and, by God, you’re going to play by them. After we’ve had our little Q&A session you can go home to your fiancé with my scent all over you and my come still dripping out of your pussy. Let's see if he's man enough to do anything about it. If he's feeling brave, tell him where to find me. I’ll be more than happy to show him who you truly belong to."

11: Pieces

Back in Mr. Black’s preferred confessional bondage gear, Elsa sat silently, blindly and unflinchingly waiting for Victor to share his secrets. He had been kind enough to allow her wrists to be bound in front of her and to let her sit on the chaise as opposed to the floor. He had even wrapped a flannel throw around her shoulders to keep the chill off of her. It was an unusually thoughtful act and one that confused her considering she was still being thrust into complete submission.

Seated next to her, she felt his mouth trace the line of her jaw. Soft, gentle, warm… lips feathered the corner of her mouth. Victor. A harsh tug of her hair at the nape of her neck drawing her head back and a sharp bite just below her chin. Mr. Black. Fingertips stroked her upper ribs to the edge of her tattoo. Victor. A hot, greedy mouth latching onto a breast and teeth pulling her nipple to a point. Mr. Black. Scratchy stubble near her navel, a tongue darted between her labia. Victor. Back and forth, on and on their torture continued. Digits inside of her pussy, then her mouth… Strong, confident hands roaming her body… She lost track of who was doing what.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder…” his muffled voice against her mound. “Whoever came up with that phrase didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about.” A tongue slicked into her folds. “Fond. Fondly?” he rolled the word around in his mouth as if it was foreign to him.

She was close. So close… She could feel her release building as he pumped two fingers in and out of her slowly in the awkward, fettered position she was lying in. Just as her pussy began to shoot off in waves, he removed his fingers and stood, leaving her to whine out around the gag and drench the front of her wrap.

“Such a strange word – fond. I know its definition; how to use it in a sentence; but I have no idea what that sentiment feels like. I’m an educated man. I know what it should feel like.”

Padded footsteps across the carpet near her. His voice was calm. Soothing. Victor. Hands centered around her waist. Languid swirling strokes outlining the roundness of her breasts. A tweak of her nipples. Footsteps again.

“My fondest memory…”

Question number four.

“I have none. I mean, sure, there are fleeting moments of mild happiness that I can recall. But every single one of those memories is tainted by the before and after; the what came next. Also…” he paused, gripping her chin in his big hand and tilting her face upward to readjust the blindfold that had slipped slightly. “My life is broken up into three phases,” he continued. “So that question can only be answered in three parts.”

His voice shifted. Not overtly noticeably, but just enough that Elsa knew Victor was fighting against Mr. Black.

Another irritated sigh. “Phase one,” he began as if reading a work memo. “Childhood and young adulthood. I’ll group those two together because really, it all melds together in my mind like one, gigantic, miserable clusterfuck. I thought long and hard about this question, trying to find just one moment of fondness. The only thing that stands out is when I was around nine. Or was it eight?”

The scratch of stubble drew her attention to movement toward the fireplace.

“Whatever. It doesn’t fucking matter. My mom was sober. She had made me dinner and…” silence. No movement. No sound. “Christ this is pathetic, but I was fucking happy that she had cooked for me. Actually fucking, made me a Goddamn meal. And was sober!” his voice boomed. “The things people take for granted, I swear. Like normalcy. Simple, motherfucking, normalcy. A cooked, Goddamn meal and sobriety. Jesus Christ. It wasn’t even a real meal. It was macaroni and cheese and cut up pieces of hotdog in it, but I ate that shit like it was a seven-course meal,” he huffed in disgust. “That fond moment was fleeting. Her sobriety lasted all of a few hours and I found her passed out drunk in the bathroom, lying in a puddle of her own piss and shit.”

She tried to imagine the look on his face as she screamed silently at the injustice that he had grown up with. She hung onto every second of silence as she waited for more, even while knowing that it was tearing him apart to speak of such sadness.

“No child should have to clean their parent the way I cleaned my mother. It’s wrong. Wiping her ass… that fucking dirty cunt of hers… It’s a wonder I still love pussy.”

A wave of nausea crashed over her and she felt as if she would vomit at the mental imagery of a nine year old boy having to care for his mother in such an inappropriate way.

His words faded to a whisper. “What else was I supposed to do? Just leave her there like that? Like some kind of animal with no owner to care for it?”

The weight of his words and compassion crushed her. Victor. It had always been in his nature to help people – even when they didn’t deserve it.

Paced, heavy steps side-to-side across the living room. The sound of something small being unwrapped followed by chewing.

“Phase two,” his evened out. “Adulthood.” He plopped down next to her, manipulated her body around, and dabbed the saliva from her chin with something soft. “The sad truth of my life up to this point is that there’s been more grief than joy. The first time I ever felt anything that could be described as happy was with Chapter One. She made me feel…” he cleared his throat. He quickly stood and his voice deepened with agitation. Mr. Black. “I was so fucking stupid and naïve,” he slammed something down onto the mantle next to her. “Fond memory…” he repeated as if reminding himself of the topic. “It was the end of summer; just before the truth came out about her. It was warm and the colors on the horizon were so amazing that evening. I took her to my favorite place, a scenic spot overlooking Richmond. The way she was looking at me… I felt…”

The romantic tone in his voice slipped over her like crushed velvet. Victor. He had loved. He had light. She remembered reading about it and how it made her feel to know that he wasn’t the cruel man he thought he was.

“Loved, desired and accepted.” His tone had turned begrudging and she dreaded what came next. “Another fleeting moment.” He muttered something unintelligible under his breath. “She whispered bullshit in my ear, said my name like it was the only name meant to be spoken from her mouth, and all the while she was out there murdering.”

A long moment passed before he spoke again, but the savagery of his voice had lessened. “I digress. Phase three,” he cleared his throat again with uncharacteristic nervousness. “Chapter Eight.”

His voice and words vibrated through her in an erotic wave. She had affected him. Then again, maybe this was part of the game, although she doubted it. The unusual edge in his voice revealed sincerity, even if she couldn’t see his face.

“Not everything we went through before, was negative. Maybe you feel differently about that and your feelings are valid, but for me, there were good moments. Moments when I really thought…” A lump clogged her throat and she wished she could speak so she could reassure him that she felt the same way. “I don’t know. I really don’t know what I was thinking.”

Desperation in his voice. The warmth of his body next to her. His hands caressing her cheekbones.

“I was trying to prove something. Like I am now. Like I always am. That I’m stronger than you. That I can win at this damned game and I don’t need to feel loved or desired or accepted to exist in this world.”

His words came too easily and the edge to his tone had gone, leaving Elsa to wonder if what he was speaking was truth or lies.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder. I suppose they did know what they were talking about.” Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. He had missed her. “Fond memory,” he repeated yet again. “The first time your tears came willingly. That night in the alley. When I took you. I’ve often wondered what you were thinking about when you shed those tears. If I slipped the gag out of your mouth… would you tell me? Truthfully?”

Yes. She would.

“Don’t respond to that,” he cut her nod short. “It’s best I don’t know the reason. It keeps my fantasy of that memory intact. Those tears can remain a mystery to me. They can be for any reason I want,” a gloomy sigh. “Like all good things in my life: another fleeting moment.”

He moved away from her again, to the kitchen where she heard the clink of glass and liquid being poured. He was taking too long. He had left her dangling off a cliff as she waited to hear more about how he really felt about her.

When he returned, he loosed the gag at the back of her head and cleaned the drool from her chin and chest.

“Drink,” he ordered as he pressed a glass against her lips.

Slowly he tipped a glass of wine until it poured onto her tongue. Sweet. Bitter. Fruity. She loved that he had to gauge how far the glass needed to be angled. Carefully. Methodically. His full attention on her mouth.

When she was done, she leaned her head onto the back of the chaise, basking in her surrender and his domination. He lifted her head for one more drink.

“Two questions for the price of one, Peach,” he murmured against her mouth as he licked off the drops of Dom Perignon that had fallen onto her chin. “Now you’ll learn why I love your tears so much…” He strapped the gag behind her head. “And then you’ll give them to me. Again. And again. And…”

She moaned and writhed against the velvet. Yes, anything, she would do it, just as long as he kept doing this thing to her and giving her what he had never given any other woman – pieces of his soul.

*

Victor casually walked to the bar to order him and Elsa a drink as she rubbed her tender wrists. His words from an hour earlier still lingered in her thoughts; his warm caresses and deep thrusts still felt between her legs as he pinned her shackled hands high above her head. She plucked a hand mirror from her purse and eyed the dark circles under her eyes. She had given him the tears that he so desperately wanted and kept her reasons for them to herself.

His words swirled around and around in her head as she watched him lean over the bar and order their drinks.

Tears got him nowhere. Crying was for the weak. The first woman he had made cry made him feel powerful. So many women. So many tears. He craved them because he lacked the ability to shed them. Her tears were different. She had given them willingly and not out of hatred or fear. Her tears were full of passion and emotion. The things he lacked. Her tears had affected him the deepest…

He swung his head around, met her gaze and winked at her. Victor.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Mr. Black. He was still there; just underneath the surface of those tortured, beautiful eyes. She was romanticizing again. Forgetting what this was all about. Ignoring how deep his cruelty ran. Goddamn her.

She watched him closely as he briefly chatted to the man standing next to him at the bar. He was attractive. Very attractive. Older. Brown hair styled much like Victor’s. Built much like Victor. Wide-shouldered. Solid. Business casual.

"Do you find him attractive?" she asked when Victor sat down next to her.

One side of his mouth lifted into a wry smirk. "What's your obsession with me being with a man?"

"It's not an obsession; it's a fascination.”

The edge of his glass touched his lips. “You never cease to surprise the fuck out of me.”

She couldn’t help but feel proud. Though she may not win the game in the end, at least she had earned the title of Most Shocking Chapter in his book.

“I seriously don’t get you,” his eyes roamed the length of her body as he set his goblet back down. “Any other woman would be horrified at the things I’ve done and with whom I’ve done them. Not to mention offended and threatened by my extracurricular activities with the same sex. But not you. You’ve read my journals and the shit I’ve done, and instead of running the other way, you ask questions. You demand information and answers in all their gory details. And still, you want to know more.”

A slow shake of his head revealed his confusion with her as his analytical stare bore into her. She stood motionless with no response as she sipped on her virgin sangria. What else was she going to do? It’s not like running the other way was an option. How easily Victor had forgotten about his threats and the fact that he was essentially forcing her to play his game.

“Jesus, you’re even aroused by it,” he scoffed.

He was right; sort of. “I’m not aroused by all of it; just certain aspects,” she clarified.

He stared at her with the unblinking gaze of a hawk focused on its prey. “Like the fact that I fucked a man?”