Текст книги "Grace Street"

Автор книги: Ella Dominguez

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8: Unpredictable

Monday at work was every bit as frustrating as her weekend had been. After everything she had learned about Mr. Black, she was having a difficult time motivating herself and her lack of sleep was only making matters worse. She wanted to know more. The internet search had only produced basic facts about the inexplicable and handsome man, not the kind of details she could really sink her teeth into. Like was he married? Despite exhaustive efforts and staying at Viv’s until the wee hours of the morning, she could find nothing at all about his personal life. The only thing of real interest was an obituary for his mother who had died the previous year and revealed that he was her only survivor. Unsurprisingly, there were no details of her death and Elsa was left to her imagination as to what had happened. Mr. Black had been thorough in keeping his personal life private and it was maddening. What made a man like Victor Laurenzo tick? What kinds of atrocities had he seen with his job? She could only imagine.

She was eating an early lunch alone in her office while obsessing over Mr. Black when her phone notified her of a text message.

MrBlack: 1:00 pm, Albans Gynecology, 926 Center St.

With everything that had happened and all that was on her mind, she had forgotten about her appointment. At least this time a phone number was associated with the text message and she promptly stored it in her list of contacts. Frowning at the impersonal message, she considered whether or not to go. Of course she would go. Contract or not, she was too curious and intrigued by Mr. Black not to. She began typing a response, but decided to just let sleeping dogs lie. Anyway, what would she say?

After her appointment, she found her way back to her office and closed up early. There was just too much on her mind to try and get anymore work done.

Back at her apartment, she rummaged through some of her still packed boxes and found several items that she wasn’t planning on using and loaded them up and took them to 2500 East Grace Street. The stark white walls and sterility of the home were unwelcoming and if she was going to spend any time there, then it would have to be made to feel like a real home.

The small hand woven rug that she had bought at a flea market looked nice in the tiled entrance and gave the residence a homier feel. Two pictures, one of the seaside and the other of a beautiful sunset, she hung over the mantle and in the dining area. She placed an old, small music box that was hers as a child on the night stand in the bedroom in hopes that it would bring some kind of peacefulness to the cold, empty house. The last item, a brightly colored comforter, she lay out on the large bed. It immediately gave the barren white room life and she smiled as she looked around, pleased with herself, though the troubling thought crossed her mind that Mr. Black might not appreciate her presumptuousness and efforts.

Two more days had come and gone without so much as a phone call or text message from Mr. Black. She had driven past the brownstone several times to see if there was any life within it, but only darkened windows glared back at her.

Wednesday was proving to be just as uneventful. The only good thing was that in the time away from Mr. Black, her mind had somewhat stopped fixating on him. The unfortunate side effect of that was that her thoughts were now drifting back to Patrick.

On her way home from work, she bought a bottle of chardonnay to ease her boredom.

Showered and with her bottle of wine freshly cracked open and Laura Palmer by Bastille thumping noisily on her MP3 player, a knock on her door took her by surprise. In only a terrycloth robe, she chained the door and peeked out. On the other side stood Mr. Black, wearing the same form-fitting leather jacket he had worn the first night she met him and dark, worn jeans. His expression was relaxed as he watched her through the open door with his hands by his side and keys dangling casually as he twirled them. When he shifted his stance, the smell of nicotine and his unique cologne erased any rational thoughts from her brain.

“You told me to come to the door like a normal person and now you’re just going to leave me out here?” he lifted an eyebrow at her.

Elsa sputtered and gave him a feeble smile as she unchained the door and opened it wide for him to enter. He moved past her, brushing up against her purposefully. Tightening her robe around her body, she watched him with new found interest as he moved about the room, touching her personal belongings and looking over the family photos that she had scattered throughout the room.

She moved close to him and when she did, he peeked over his shoulder, his eyes darkening with desire.

“You look and smell suitable for eating” he purred, turning to face her and pulling her close to him by her waist. “What are you wearing underneath?” he sneaked a hand under the fabric.

Hell yes, she wanted to be devoured by him. With cheeks flushed, she answered. “Nothing. I just showered.”

One side of his mouth lifted, his crooked, wicked grin speaking directly to her pussy as he touched the flesh of her labia. “I know.”

“You’ve been watching again?” She felt her knees weaken as his mouth descended on hers and he thrust two digits into her.

His tongue only probed her mouth briefly when he answered in a whispered tone against her mouth. “Again?” he pumped his fingers. “I’m always watching you, Elsa. I see and hear everything – where you go; what you do; who you’re doing it with.”

Her tongue traced the soft fullness of his bottom lip. With her eyes closed, she responded, “I’m not doing anything with anyone except you.”

When she finally pried her eyes open, his green irises reflected glimmers of light and he nodded. “I know that, too.” Fisting her hair at the nape of her neck, his look suddenly turned ferocious. “Let’s keep it that way.”

“Then don’t deny me again.”

His response was quick and harsh. He clutched her vagina, digging his fingers into her and making her squeal out. “I make the fucking rules in this game and if I want to deny you, then I’ll deny you and you’ll accept it.”

Elsa’s eyes rounded and her bottom lip trembled, the pain between her legs throbbing.

“I’m breaking protocol by being here. Interacting with you outside our designated meeting place is so far out of my routine it’s not even funny, so don’t make me regret coming here and don’t fucking threaten me.”

“I wasn’t…” she whimpered, scarcely aware of her own voice as she twisted in his arms, seeking to get free all the while his strong hands holding her tight as his fingers continued to explore her depths.

The song ended and Oblivion by Bastille came on. The mellow tune seemed to speak to Mr. Black and the tense lines around his eyes softened.

“When I didn’t hear back from you on Monday…” he paused as he gazed at her speculatively. “I thought maybe you were having second thoughts about our agreement.”

“I was,” she answered honestly. Though he didn’t respond, his face spoke for him. When his eyes narrowed and his mouth parted, she cut him off before his temper flared again. “But I signed a contract and I’m a woman of my word. I’ll accept whatever you have planned for me, Victor.”

His jaw tensed but his eyes became glassy. “Don’t call me that,” he whispered hoarsely.

“I know you didn’t come here to talk all night, Mr. Black,” Elsa accentuated his preferred title as she pulled her robe open and pressed into his body.

“No, I didn’t. I came here to…”

She put a finger to his mouth. “Don’t tell me. Show me.”

Sweeping her up into his arms, his mouth captured hers as he carried her to the bedroom as if he already knew the way. It wasn’t lost on Elsa that he probably did know the way. She also wondered why he hadn’t asked if she had masturbated in their time apart. Maybe he knew that, too. It wouldn’t have surprised her if he had already been in her apartment unbeknownst to her. She might have cared about that little fact more if his tongue wasn’t planted firmly in her mouth and his arms wrapped so tightly around her body.

Expecting the same kind of roughness from the previous weekend, she was comforted when he gently eased her down onto the bed. His hands roamed over her body in search of her erogenous zones and found them quickly. He planted small kisses the entire length of her torso, concentrating on each petal of her cherry blossom. He sucked only briefly on each of her nipples before lapping his way up to her neck and mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he kissed her slowly and thoughtfully, his tongue exploring the recesses of her mouth. Rising up, he undressed entirely and stood before her, exposed. He was a sight to behold in all his dark ruggedness and austerity. His hair was a fantastic mess with his long bangs hanging over his eyes, hooding his expression as he crawled between her legs.

Just then soft notes of Overjoyed by Bastille floated into the bedroom. Tugging on her robe, he freed her of it and hovered over her, his hands caressing the sleek lines of her waist. She pushed the hair off his forehead to see his eyes and smiled up at him. When he nervously returned her smile, she was staggered by the sheer honesty of the fear glittering in his eyes. This man had been hurt. It was clear to see, but his outward calm did little to disguise the hunger in his eyes and Elsa tried to deny the hopeful feeling that was swirling in the pit of her stomach. As he guided his shaft to her entrance, she reminded herself that everything he was doing was all part of his game and that she was probably another player in a long list of participants.

She closed her eyes and gave herself to him as his pulsing manliness eased in and out of her unhurriedly, his soft panting and primal grunts making the fire in her belly burn out of control.

“Open your eyes, My Sweet Peach. I want you to see me; really see me. I want you to see the man who owns you,” she heard from above in a voice that was hushed, deep, lusty and ethereal.

Her lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes and focused on the beautiful man above her; the man whom she had signed her freedom away to all too willingly. She looked as deeply as she could into his soul, past the cruel game maker and creator of rules, trying to see the real man behind his vindictive eyes – the man who was begging to be seen for who he really was. She could almost see him, hiding just out of sight and behind the fringe of his long, black lashes. She closed her eyes once more, overcome with raw passion. Why couldn’t he be this man? The one now kissing each of her eyelids like his lips were meant to be there?

Yes, he owned her, alright. Right here, in this moment… he truly owned her.

***

Seated in his car outside of Eight’s apartment, Victor lit a cigarette and took a long, slow, deep drag off of it. He felt satisfied and his hunger satiated, even if only momentarily. The white smoke billowed out of his mouth and swirled around the interior of his vehicle, but he didn’t dare open his window. Her fragrance was permeating every piece of his clothing and the sweet scent of her pussy was all around him mingling with the smoke, and he didn’t want any of it to go to waste.

On his phone he accessed iTunes to purchase the Bastille Bad Blood album. It had played in full while he was with her and the alternating mellow and thumping notes had only enhanced their erotic experience. Wanting to relive the moment, he synced the Bluetooth to his stereo, allowing the music to filter through his speakers. He turned up the volume and glanced up at her darkened window to see her nude silhouette behind the curtain, watching him from above. None of the other Chapters had known about his stalking and surveillance. Even if they did, none of them would’ve dared to blatantly call him out on it. Maybe he was getting lax in his old age and losing his discreet touch. Or possibly he just didn’t give a fuck if she knew he was watching her. He laughed. No. He liked that she knew.

Taking another drag, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He hadn’t intended to go inside, but when he heard her humming in the shower and envisioned her svelte wet body, he was unable to resist the temptation.

She had fallen off his radar for most of Sunday night until the early morning hours, making him wonder if she was with someone else; a male coworker perhaps. After he hadn’t gotten any response from her after reminding her of her GYN appointment, he began to think he had scared her off. He was pleased to discover she had kept the appointment and that she was now on an appropriate form of birth control. He waited the allotted time for it to take effect before seeing her, but barely and it was a long, excruciating forty-eight hours he had forced himself to wait.

He had kept his mind off of her by submerging himself in the Cambridge case files and it was proving a daunting task to go over all the gory details yet again. His sleep was tortured with the images of the young women who had been mutilated in atrocious ways and the families’ heartrending pleas. A horrible thought had started to creep into his psyche that he would never catch the killer and it was making his days and nights almost unbearable. Elsa would never know how grateful he was for the distraction she was providing by playing his game. He was hoping to have heard back from Anthony by now, but the son-of-a-bitch hadn’t contacted him yet with any help. Undoubtedly he was too busy enjoying the chronicles of Seven to give a shit about the lives still in danger from the Cambridge Killer.

Victor drove away, giving one last look in the rear-view mirror at Elsa’s darkened street while her moans of pleasure still echoed in his thoughts. Too mentally exhausted from his work, the gentle fuck he had given her was a welcome reprieve from his usual debauchery. He reminded himself to write down how her body responded to his tender touches.

When he arrived at his out of the way and secluded home on the outskirts of Richmond, he knew the silence would be deafening and he dreaded where his thoughts would wander to. No doubt, the Cambridge case.

Standing in the middle of the immense, stark white living room, he twirled his keys until the hypnotic sound of the jangling nearly put him into a deep meditative state. Pulling himself out of his entrancement, he reached for his briefcase and dug out Elsa’s file and his journal. Both had grown larger over the past two days.

During the times when he couldn’t sleep or had been woken by nightmares, he had taken the opportunity to delve further into her past. He had lucked out in finding a delicious bit of Girls Are Wild video footage of her that was quite entertaining if not revealing about her personality when intoxicated. It was no wonder she had stuck to drinking virgin sangrias the first night he met her. At least she had the common sense as an adult to know her limits and drink only in the privacy of her own home.

After perusing her folder for the umpteenth time, he finally went into his bedroom to write his thoughts.

I was forced out of my routine tonight by you, C8. It was as if you knew I was listening and you purposefully taunted me, challenged me even to try and resist you. I know it’s my own iniquitous imagination conjuring those thoughts and so you’re forgiven as I know you would never do such a thing. Still, I was unable to refuse your unspoken challenge. I am, after all, only a man with not only emotional but physical needs. You satiated both tonight so you have fulfilled your purpose.

The gears were turning in those stunning, inquisitive eyes of yours as you tried to make sense of my dichotomy. I can’t figure it out myself and I gave up trying to make sense of it long ago. You strangely seemed to enjoy the gentle fucking I gave you just as much as the forceful one from Saturday. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Your personality split is just as evident as mine, though you don’t see it. Docile and submissive at times to rebellious and impetuous. If I weren’t so captivated with your reactions, I might try a little harder to bring you to heel.

I’m reminded of C3 when you act out and the way she was finally forced into submission. I won’t go that route with you, though, as I suspect caging and physical restraint might have the opposite effect on you and you might attempt to resign from our little game. Not that I would allow it. But alas, you’re much stronger than she was. You make me work hard for every inch of surrender you give me and I’m exhilarated by it.

I shall sleep with thoughts of you lingering in my subconscious and hopefully keeping my demons at bay. They are begging to be set loose and I know I can’t deny them for long, but until then I’m content to make new rules for you to abide by and new ways to challenge your way of thinking. Goodnight, My Sweet Peach.

On his nightstand and next to the receiver that was connected to Elsa’s apartment, he propped up a Polaroid picture of her that he had snapped while she was sleeping. Tuning the device into her bedroom, he could hear the sound of her deep breathing as she slept. He could still smell her on his skin as he stared at the photo. What was she dreaming about? Him? Patrick? One of the many others who had broken her all too willing heart? There were some things even he couldn’t find out and it drove him fucking mad that he would never know the things contained in her sleepy bliss.

As his eyes closed, he knew he couldn’t wait until Saturday to taste her again or to feel her hands on him. As he had exited her apartment, he left her with three simple words: to be continued. And that’s exactly what he intended on doing the following day – continuing where he left off.

9: Exacting

Elsa woke invigorated. She had dreamt of Victor and his dark and demanding eyes, his inescapable hands all over her, and his insistent mouth. God, that mouth and the things it did to her body…

To be continued… his words flitted into her subconscious off and on all morning as she floated around her office on an invisible cloud of lust and desire. Even the aggravation and humiliation he had caused the previous weekend was a now distant memory.

Just as she was finishing a project, she smelled Mr. Black’s presence and heard the door behind her lock. Her body stiffened as his strong hands found her waist and he pressed himself against her, his mouth instantly finding her neck.

“Shall we continue where we left off?” he breathed against her sensitive flesh while grinding his rigid cock into the small of her back.

“Yes... please,” she threw her head back and turned to meet his mouth.

His fingers skimmed her thighs as he slipped his hand under her skirt. Just as his tongue slicked across her teeth, he jerked away from her and spun her around, knocking the wind out of her sails and causing her to gasp out. With a heated look passing over his face, he heaved her skirt up and snapped the band of her silk panties.

“Would you care to explain this?” he asked, his throaty voice and expression revealing irritation.

Elsa shook her head, confused by his sudden annoyance.

He gritted his teeth but kept his anger in check. “I wrote down my rules for you and still you can’t remember them?”

Her mind began racing with the few rules he had emphasized. He had said no undergarments, but she didn’t think he meant at work.

As if decoding her jumbled thoughts, he responded, “It was rule number one. Never wear underwear. Not in my presence or anywhere else,” he backed away. “I hate repeating myself,” he grumbled and glanced over her shoulder.

“I’m at work, Vict…” she promptly shut her mouth when his already narrowed eyes shot back to her and squinted further, the muscle in his jaw quivering. “Mr. Black…” she quickly corrected herself. “You can’t expect me to not wear underwear at work.”

He turned his body and waved to the empty room. “You work alone. What would it matter?” Facing her, he glowered. “Even if you didn’t, I made it clear what my expectations are.”

“But I’m at work,” she whispered.

His mouth went tight and grim. “I heard you the first time.”

Turning away, he walked toward the door and reached for the door knob. He stopped and inhaled a deep breath and then mumbled something unintelligible, but Elsa could swear she heard the word ‘stupid.’ Her nerves prickled and she tugged her skirt down over her thighs.

“I’m not stupid,” she blurted.

He spun on his heel and glared at her. “I would never call you that. Perhaps I should include another rule about speaking out of turn when you don’t have all the facts.”

She cringed at his critical stare and the thought of him adding yet another rule, though she knew with certainty there were more to come.

“What I said was: it was stupid of me to have come here. You’re no different than the other Chapters.” And with that, he turned again and walked out, leaving her to stew on his words.

What did he mean by Chapters? His choice of terminology was more than a little bewildering and she sank into her office chair, reeling from the entire incident. An unwelcome flashback of her wetting herself came to mind. If he dared make her do it again… she pushed the thought from her mind. It was too awful to think about.

The remainder of her work day she sulked and moped, leaving most of her tasks either half completed or unattended to. It had only been a week since meeting Mr. Black and already her work was suffering. It was preposterous. She absolutely had to know more about him and what made him into the man he was. She didn’t know the first thing about how to get that sort of information, but she knew people who did and she would just have to call in a few favors. First on her list: her brother. He was a nosey S.O.B. like Mr. Black, but she was sure he could help.

When she arrived home, she started to dial his number when she remembered that Mr. Black might be listening so instead she decided to use the telephone in the lobby of her apartment building.

When her brother answered, he actually seemed enthusiastic to hear from her and Elsa couldn’t deny that she, too, was happy to hear his familiar, if not grating, voice.

“Yo, El, it’s about damn time. I know you’ve been avoiding me,” he chuckled.

It was true. She had been. “How’s Mom?”

“Worried that you’re out there selling your body to pay your bills. Call her and either confirm or deny it, will you?”

No, she wasn’t selling it; she had freely signed it away. “I need a favor. Can you do a background check on someone for me?”

“One of your ‘clients’?” he snickered.

“Shut the hell up, Nick. Can you or not?”

“Of course I can. All I need is a name.”

“I need more than just a basic check though, if you get my drift.”

Nick’s voice oozed condescension. “You’re such a fuck up, Elsa. What did you do? Piss someone off and now you need blackmail material?”

“You’re an ass. Never mind,” she pouted.

Nick had always been the perfect one in her mother’s eyes – perfect grades; flawless wife; an aerospace degree from MIT, blah, blah, barfity blah. She rolled her eyes and fake gagged. She would never live down her rebellious years in her family’s eyes. Seriously? Selling her body? Just because she illegally got a tattoo at the age of seventeen and did time in juvie didn’t mean she was out hooking for a living. Didn’t her mother have any faith in her? She had an engineering degree, too, and just because it wasn’t from a prestigious and over-priced college like Nick’s, didn’t make it any less valid.

“I’ll talk to you later,” she snapped as she was about to hang up the phone.

“Oh, stop pouting. I’ll do it,” he sighed.

“Thank you. His name is Victor Black…” she caught herself. “I mean Victor Laurenzo.”

“Interesting.”

Elsa’s senses heightened. “What do you mean?”

“A Laurenzo Black called me about two weeks ago about a job reference for you. He asked all sorts of questions and I just wrote it off. Do you think it was the same person?”

Fear and anger knotted inside her. “Of course it was. Like what kinds of questions?”

“I don’t remember. The usual shit. He asked about your character strengths and weaknesses and I couldn't think of any weaknesses so I made a joke about your tickling phobia.” he laughed.

“Oh, my, God, Nick, you have no idea what you’ve done. What else did you tell him?” she nearly sobbed.

“I don’t remember,” he quieted down when he heard the distress in her voice.

Like hell he didn’t remember.

“Shit, El. I didn’t know it was a big deal. Who is this guy?”

“Just do a check on him. But be careful, he works for the FBI.”

“Fuck. What did you get yourself into?”

*

After her phone call, Elsa lay in her bed with her thoughts racing. She could only imagine what other personal information Nick had divulged to Victor. Mr. Black. Whatever. The man who was most likely going to punish her for breaking the outlandish rule of not wearing panties to work. What sort of outrageous chastisement did he have planned next? She reminded herself about his statement of her being physically safe in his home and that eased her distress somewhat, though not much. And he was a representative of the government so obviously he wouldn’t harm her. He had a reputation to uphold. Then again, it would also make it easier for him to cover up her death.

Appalled with where her thoughts were going, she closed her eyes and forced herself to take a nap. She woke sometime after midnight, irritated with herself for having unintentionally slept so long. She changed and broke out the nearly-full bottle of wine she had bought several nights before.

Three glasses of wine later, she picked up her phone and as if she were standing next to her body without any control over her own actions, she helplessly watched her fingers find Patrick's name in her contracts and hit send. When she heard his sleepy voice on the other end, she snapped back to semi-sobriety and hung up, cursing herself for dialing him and then acting so immature as to hang up.

Not even twenty seconds later, her phone rang out, Patrick's name flashing across the screen. Of course he would call her back. Mortified, she sat staring at it while it continued to ring. Finally the phone went silent and she sighed with relief, but her relief was short-lived when her phone rang out again.

Deciding to man-up, she answered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call and wake you.”

“Is everything okay?” he asked with concern in his voice.

“Yes, of course.”

“Are you sure? It's late and I was surprised to see that you were calling.”

“Really, I’m fine. I just dialed your number by mistake.”

“Well since you've called, how are you? How's the new job?”

His voice… she had missed his soft, smooth voice and calm disposition. “Good. I’m lead supervisor,” she smiled, proud of her new position.

“I heard. Congratulations on your career advancement. We all miss you here.”

We? Elsa knew that wasn’t true and that he was just being polite. “Tell everyone I said hi, will you?”

“Will do. Elsa…” he broke off and she could hear a muffled female’s voice in the background. She swallowed hard and cringed at the thought of him with another woman. “I never meant…” he continued.

Here it comes – the dreaded ‘it was me, not you’ speech. She couldn’t bear to hear it. Not again. “I know,” she cut in, speaking in a weak and tremulous whisper. “I’m okay with how things ended. Really,” she lied. “Take care of yourself.”

The conversation ended and the same sinking feeling she had when he had first broken her heart, punched her in the diaphragm and stole the breath from her. She never wanted to make the mistake of calling Patrick again and without delay she did what she should’ve done six months ago and erased his number from her phone.

Friday ticked by slowly and the only good thing that came from it was she was able to get everything done that she had put off all week. As each minute passed by, her denial of what was going to take place on Saturday was becoming reality.

On her drive home, her body began to shake as fearful images built in her mind causing her to pull over on the side of the road. What the hell was wrong with her? She didn’t have to go through with it. She could just end things and be over it. But Mr. Black… Victor… he would never allow it. She knew that much to be true and she had already promised him that she would take whatever he had planned. Him and his damned game.

That’s right – it was all just a game, she repeated to herself. Just a game. Only a game. It would all be over when he had his fill of her and found his next contestant. Then what? She would be alone again and without the distraction that he was providing her with. But did she really want that kind of a distraction? What other choice did she have? Solitude. That was the cold, stark alternative she had and one she would rather suffer Mr. Black’s wrath than face.

*

Amazingly she slept well that night considering how upset she was with herself for having called Patrick and getting herself into the whole mess with Mr. Black. The wine helped in that regard, but when she woke, the headache, nausea and cotton mouth made her regret her decision to polish off three-quarters of a bottle of chardonnay and make her wish she was still a pot smoker. At least she never woke up with a hangover after a night of hitting the bong.

She forced herself to eat a small breakfast and primped, plucked, shaved and oiled her body down to within an inch of her life. Next she dressed in something that she thought would be pleasing to Mr. Black, a body-hugging black tube dress. With no undergarments, of course. She picked out a pair of platforms that she only wore on special occasions – buckled booties that screamed sex. After putting a light curl in her red locks, she plastered on the reddest lipstick she could find and heavily shadowed her eyes in a smoky charcoal. When she glanced in the mirror, she looked as if she were ready for a night out clubbing and not like she was getting ready to face the firing squad. She figured if she was going down, she might as well go down looking her best.