Barney's POV
CRAP!
Welch's POV
HOLY SHIT!
Taylor's POV
Miss Steele comes back to Grey, after what he's done to her, and the fucker chains her to the bed and she ends up with her ankle lacerated. Then he attacks her in the foyer.
Fuck it. I'm cutting out the audio portion of video on her meet with Mrs. Lincoln. Whatever that little girl is up to, more power to her.
What do you mean we need disguises so you can go meet her? She's giving you another chance? You are one lucky mother, Grey. Maybe your brother beat some sense into you and you'll treat her like the Princess she obviously is. Unless Miss Steele is planning to have you killed at this bar Sawyer says she's going to be at … I'll call in a few more men. I don't need this job, I've got other offers. But it always looks bad on the resume when your employer gets bludgeoned to death by a little brown-haired girl who weighs a hundred pounds.
Sawyer's POV
This is going to be fun. Not. Kavanaugh has no idea how right he is. The paps will be inside and outside this karaoke bar like flies on shit. I've got twelve guys already working the bar. They've prepped the staff and owners, the police are primed, and my guys on-site here have taken aside every pap outside to remind them that if the lay hands on Miss Steele it will result in maiming and possibly horrific disfigurement. But I know someone's going to try. They just don't have any sense.
Since it looks like Grey is going to be keeping tabs on Miss Steele for the foreseeable future, I'm going to work out a training program with Cottie. It goes easier when our subject knows what we need him or her to do. And this little lady is smart as well as quick-witted. Kind. Sweet. And hard-working. I've never seen a person work at their job so hard as she does; especially today. Unless it's Grey.
Elena's POV
I don't know who fucked what up, but my lawyers are going to get this health violations bullshit straightened out. We had eighty percent cancellations average for the entire chain! My PR firm is already working on how to cover the situation, do damage control.
Christian's secretary called me to cancel our lunch. He was with his brother for something, she wouldn't be more specific. That's fine. I'm certain he'll give little Miss Steele her special pee humiliation this weekend. After that she should run screaming. And if not? I don't think it will take much to convince her to sign on with me. Then I can tell her she has to stop seeing him while she's in training. I've got two Subs who look almost exactly like her on handle on the East Coast; Charlize is willing to let me buy their contracts from her, or possibly do a trade. Christian can wear them out in his playroom and hopefully figure out that one brown-haired blue-eyed girl is the same as the next. I'll feel better once he's back under my thumb.
Although it's barely seven o'clock the Rock Box Karaoke is already busy. I'm still limping a bit, so of course I fall through the doors as we enter. Ethan performs an amazing catch with my face a mere six inches from the concrete floor. He's had extensive practice over the past four years we've known each other. Kate tells him the Japanese judge gave him a 4.7 because he didn't point his toes. I give him a 6 because I didn't kiss face with the floor. After we all look expectantly at Ryan he grudgingly says it's a 3.2, since Ethan had to grab one of my tits instead of getting a hold on some other part of my anatomy. Sawyer just glares at us and won't play; he straightens out my clothes with professional impersonal care and all but pats my butt as he shoos us to a table that miraculously opens up.
Kate has been drinking Barbados drinks, as well as Ethan, so they order up a round they say is very island-popular called the Panty Dropper. That of course makes me think of Christian's slow sexy smile. The one smile that makes me wet my panties and want to drop them so he can fuck me. Maybe drinking isn't such a good idea. I haven't had enough sleep in forever, I haven't really eaten much in days, and my emotions and thoughts are so mixed between lust and loathing that I don't think clearly now – how would I be drunk? My Conscious holds up a sign for AA:
admitted we were powerless over alcohol - that our lives had become unmanageable.
to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
to take personal inventory, and when we were wrong, promptly admitted it.
through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.
had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.
You know, these sound a lot like how to deal with Christian … hmmmm.
My Inner Goddess counters with a sign for Intimacy:
•Eye to Body
This happens every day and is pretty insignificant. You simply look at the other person.
•Eye to Eye
You make eye contact- maybe you are flirting. It's the first real step toward intimacy.
•Voice to Voice
You talk to the other person. This can be very important in getting to know someone.
•Hand to Hand
You start holding hands- the relationship has now become more than just friendship.
•Arm to Shoulder
Allowing yourself to be this close physically is the beginning of closer intimacy.
•Arm to Waist
Your comfort level is beginning to grow.
•Mouth to Mouth
You now feel comfortable with kissing the other person.
•Hand to Head
This is a sign of trust; your head is very vulnerable and we do not like just anyone touching our heads or faces.
•Hand to Body
"Roaming hands"... this is the beginning of foreplay and "making out".
•Mouth to Breast
You're comfortable with using your mouth to explore the other person's body, and vice versa.
• Hand to Genitals
Not quite sex- many young couples that aren't ready for sex find this a suitable substitute.
•Sexual Intercourse
The final stage- it doesn't get more intimate.
I'm interrupted from my internal battles by the arrival of half a dozen colorful glasses. I order a pitcher of water. Smirking, the waiter hurries off. I look around casually as more people start to crush in. It hits me that I seem to be the focus of attention for quite a bit of the room. Alarmed, I look for Sawyer. He is nearby, leaning against a thick squared post, eyes calmly on me. I blow out a breath, then offer him a smile. Out of all this mess, he is a rock. Reassured by his very presence, I let go of my paranoia and nerves, and focus on having a good time. And why shouldn't I? My first battle has been waged and won. And my opponent doesn't even know she's under attack.
Morgan arrives first and I feel a little relieved when Ethan pops up and lays a long sweltering kiss on him. One less problem in this world. Charlie is able to make it in next and she sizes up Kate as I take turns anxiously sipping a Panty Dropper and ice water, managing a half glass of both before they get the pecking order in. Kate, of course, is on top. She graciously allows my new friend to stay at the table. Allison arrives and the same occurs. That means I've got a full island drink down and another of water. Cottie is here now and she goes with me to the bathroom.
That was a good idea, because I'm attacked by three, count 'em three paps in the ladies' room, babbling questions about me and Christian. Cottie is amazing. She says all three tripped and rammed their heads into the hand dryers. That's before I'm back out of the stall I ducked into. I get to see a fourth one "trip". This woman is amazing! Like a kung fu master, only female. I'm thinking the First Lady should have her on hand. Or one of the President's kids. Back at our table things are getting rowdy. But to be fair, the whole place is. SIP, GP, hell whatever we're now called, has begun to pack the place even more than it was. The management opens a back area reserved for weddings or something and the crush eases up.
The karaoke is a huge draw and with the back room opened up, there's room to dance. After another Panty Dropper and requisite glass of water, Ethan, Morgan and I make a nice Ana sandwich dancing in the back room as the music blares in from the front. I'll admit that I haven't been a campus or even off campus party girl the last four years; but by God I have watched Kate practice, even practiced some of her party girl moves, so I can swing my hips in a figure eight when necessary. That … and the second drink seems to have helped my coordination. Or the sex. Dancing dirty with two gay guys is a lot like sex. Just less bondage and no humiliation. Unless you count the fact that they are busy feeling each other up around me as being humiliating. I didn't.
It may be illegal to smoke inside bars now, but that doesn't stop everyone and the place is soon lit eerily by the overhead lights and smoke. That or my third Panty Dropper is clouding my vision. When I feel a Zip Zap up my spine I am in a four girl smash with Kate, Charlie and Allison. We're all rubbing against each other like minks in heat, which all the guys around us are greatly enjoying. I feel like an idiot, but a safe one. My friends aren't making me beg for an orgasm or telling me I have to lie still while balancing ice cubes on my body. And they sure as hell aren't beating my ass with a belt or making me pee myself. It is sad how my thoughts on what is safe and secure have changed.
Anyway, I get the Zip and I turn my head to look toward the feeling. And I get the Zap when I see this tall guy with long black hair in a ponytail, sculpted goatee and mustache like Brad Pitt in his younger days. We're inside and it's a fairly dark and very smoky bar and he's wearing aviator glasses. I sweep him with my eyes. I have no idea what's on his feet, but he's got on black cord pants that melt around his long legs and showcase a package – I blush and look away. But there's a draw there and when Kate turns me so my back is to her front and she runs her hands over my breasts while grinding her hoochie into my butt, I check the rest of him out. He's wearing what looks like a cowboy shirt, and he's got – OMG – a gold chain around his neck. But damn if I don't get a Zing.
When he reaches out and just plucks me out of Kate's surrounding arms … it's hot. I'm hot. He has his arms around me in a New York minute and I slide my hands up his chest which I can feel is rock hard and muscled, stroke my fingers over his neck bared by the cowboy shirt left unbuttoned and link my fingers at the back of his neck. He thrusts a thigh between my legs and I get to try out my pole dancing. I dance around his leg, my thighs over his, rubbing my suddenly aching and wet body on that rounded rock. His hands clamp on my hips and I notice how large they are. In fact, I am abruptly noticing a lot of things. How he is just the right height. How his body is warm, hot, but he's not sweating like Morgan and Ethan. How the front of his black hair, at the top of his forehead, has a soft tan roll of material, not even noticeable if you hadn't had a Mom who wore a lot of wigs.
I close my eyes and lean in, still dancing on his thigh. Breathe in deep. Something spicy and soothing. Yep. Christian.
So my question is, does he think I won't know? Is this some new weirdness? My Conscious falls out of her tree house – it's where she likes to go when the rest of us mere mortals are on a dance floor – she's got the lookout. She repeats my question: is this some new weirdness of Christian's? Well … DUH … the man is weird from the get-go. He probably does this weekdays, picking up women at bars, clubs, dressing up so he won't be known. Are there special hotels or motels where you can take a woman you pick up so she can get bound and beat? The ones where no one complains about the screaming? No, really. My question should be where the drive thru is for NDAs and contracts for one night encounters. Is there a speedy version? Everything goes, check here. Otherwise place a check in all boxes that apply. Sign here. That's seventy-five bucks. You two, or three, or four … have a good night. Here are some free condoms. Come again and tell your friends.
Shaking my head I spring back, which since I'm riding Christian's thigh is like trying to dismount from a log, and even as he grabs both my elbows and pulls me back against him, grinding his erection straining against his black cords against my ass, I look at Kate. The guy she's dancing with looks like mine: black hair in a ponytail, aviator glasses, beard and mustache. He's also tall and built. And he's got Kate in his arms and is slow dancing, ignoring the harsh fast beat and other gyrating bodies. Their mouths are mating and he's obviously doing a good job at seducing Kate. Her fingers are wrapped around the edges of his shirt and her head with its long curled and waved blonde hair, is resting fluidly against his shoulder, tipped up for the ravishment of his mouth.
Yep. Elliot.
So, Christian did respond to my text. This was unexpected. I lead him back to my table, accept a fresh glass of ice water from Sawyer who is making sure none of my drinks are drugged. I foolishly try to sit and drink at the same time, missing the chair with my large ass and spraying water heavenward. Cottie catches me with her foot and pretty much lifts me before I hit the dirty floor and nudges me over to the chair once more. Christian in black pony tail disguise, grins and carefully plants me on the seat before dragging another one next to mine. Boldly he takes my wrist and brings the almost empty glass to his mouth, drinks. Oh, Lord! I want his mouth. I want his tongue. I want to feel his teeth grazing over my naked flesh. How much have I had to drink?
My Inner Goddess takes over. It happens. That's why I keep her locked up. But she escapes sometimes. In a drunken haze I take Christian's hand and put it boldly over my breast while I lean in and put my lips to his ear. "I want you to give me orgasms. Lots and lots of orgasms," I shout there in his ear. And before he can respond, my body revolts. Whether it's because I'm propositioning the man who is my torturer or because of the alcohol, I need to throw up.
I bolt for the door that says EXIT near the bar. When I say bolt, I don't know how it looked. But when desperation calls, not wanting to throw up on innocent karaoke patrons, I can be quick and slippery. When the cool air hits my face I get my eyes focused on a big black dumpster. Good enough. The rush of vomit coming up from my stomach, burning my throat and out through my mouth is tremendous! I think an entire Chinese buffet is coming out of me. My body would have pitched forward and into the dumpster, but strong arms held me tight, half leaning over the stench of the ground and garbage piled on the concrete. Another round erupts and I hang helplessly until I'm empty. Then a clothe wipes my face.
I wonder if I have a soul left, or has it been stolen from me? Not so long ago I was a simple college girl with dreams of a decent job and a new engine for my car named Wanda, someday a home and family.
Now I'm almost a sexual submissive for a perverted Dom, if I let him have his way. He has my heart, the no good bastard. I gave it to him somewhere between falling into his office and the second time he kissed me. Not that he can appreciate it, nor does he deserve it. He's ruined, damaged; not from his childhood, but by training and indoctrination into a life of sadism and personality dysfunction.
And I'm a woman on a mission to destroy the one who made him this way.
On that note, I pass out.