Chapter 24
Sundays have always had a special place in my heart. They're a day of rejuvenation and a time to recollect. All the good, the bad, the ugly. Most of my former Sundays' were filled of the bad and even more so the ugly. But this Sunday… it's more than good. It's perfect.
Sitting crossed-legged, I slouch deeper into the chair in Christian's bedroom that out looks the divine view of Seattle. Out of his floor-to-ceiling windows, the gray skies mercilessly unleashes rain, assaulting the glass panes.
Lifting the warm cup of tea in my hands to my lips, I blow at the steam and take a tentative sip. I've been here for a little more than twenty four hours, yet it feels like less. I yearn for time to stand still; to have more of it because for once I feel nothing but complete happiness.
I'm in a fortress. A tower with unbreachable walls. Nothing on the outside can penetrate what has in this short amount of time, has become my safe heaven. However what was on the outside wasn't my only threat, I soon realized. But my own thoughts.
There's this one I can't shake. All morning I've been trying to fight it off. It's resiliency had my stomach churning.
"Morning."
Startled, I jackhammer out of the chair and hot tea splashes over Christian's oversized shirt he so graciously let me borrow and slightly scolds my chest.
"Shit!" My free hand flies to release the soaked material off my chest and wipe at the stain, unintentionally making it worse. Son of a bitch!
"Don't worry about it. It's just a shirt."
Blowing fallen tendrils of hair out of my face, I give up and straighten my body upright. "I'm sorry, it's just you scared the living daylights out of me."
Christian stands in the doorway of the bathroom, rubbing a small towel over his hair and a larger towel wraps around his lean waist. Water beads over his chiseled, honed muscles. I immediately start salivating. "How long have you been up?"
"Not long. Ten minutes maybe." I raise my now half empty cup. "I went through your kitchen. I hope you don't mind."
Christian goes to toss the smaller towel into the hamper then finger combs his damp hair. "Of course not."
I smile and lift the mug to drink the remaining contents.
"What were you thinking?"
I glance at him over the rim of my mug. "What?"
"Before I scared you. You were in deep thought. Something is troubling you."
"How did you-"
He points to his center of his forehead, then says, "You get a line right here when you're thinking too hard. So what was it?"
"It's nothing. Really." I mumble, my tone less than convincing. He crosses his arms and stares at me in silence. He waits. Because he knows. He fucking knows I'll answer. Part of me wonders if I'll ever know him as much as he knows me. "Just something I probably shouldn't."
"And why is that?" Breaking his stance, he strolls over to his closet, disappearing. I get just a glimpse of his back. Ugly, red lines rake all the way down his back. God, did I really do that!?
I hear hangers clank around and drawers open and close. Then nothing. Silence.
"Because I don't want to ruin a perfect weekend," I call out.
I walk over to his nightstand and rest the empty mug down.
"How do you know that it will?" Oh just wait. "Tell me."
Looking down at the tangled sheets of his bed, I'm suddenly lost in a legion of thoughts, yet my mind lazer focuses on one. The one that's been shadowing over me. A shiver claims my body.
Ugh. Why was this bothering me so much? Why did I have to be that girl?
I catch glimpse of a form reflected in the window's glass. Narrowing my eyes, my gaze instantly makes out Christian, and I'm momentarily staggered. Dark-washed, loose-fitting jeans rid low on his hips and a belt, and a black fitted shirt clings to his toned chest. Never seen him so casual. He comes back out and stands in the closet doorway. The distance rattles my nerves.
"Well?"
"I was thinking about the other night…" he frowns, "No, no. Not that. The sex was great… beyond great. Spectacular even." And it was. He had been gentler with me, well as gentle as he could be. In comparison to our first night, it was if we had made love rather than fucking each other's brains out. Don't get me wrong, I loved it, but I also missed the rougher sex. But that was a conversation for another day.
I rub the back of my neck, then clarify, "I meant Friday night."
His eyes narrow, not following.
I sigh. "The woman… at the club. Who was she?" I finally ask, dreading the answer.
His reaction was instantaneous. His jaw scissors and clenches hard. Swiveling on his heel, he faces the closest wall as if the sight of me was repulsive. Silence wells up into a tormenting, living thing. I stand, rocking on my heels, for what feels like hours, but it's only two minutes. I rationalize on the third minute that he wasn't going to answer.
Exhaling an exasperated sigh, he musses up his damp hair as he sifts a restless hand through his wayward hair. I chew on my lip. I knew this was a bad idea. It was already backfiring. I knew better, yet I also knew that the present is conditioned by the past. So if she was important to him, was responsible into shaping who he is today, then had to find out.
Christian rests his head on his forearm that's press up against the wall. Back muscles roll and tense before he breaks the silence, expelling the awaited words, "She was one of my contracted submissives, but it was years ago. She got too attached, and wanted more. I couldn't give that to her so I terminated our contract. It was only ever physical between her and I. Nothing else."
I flinch. She was one of his contracted submissives. I harbor in a deep breath and count to ten in my head, the words a blow to my confidence.
The last thing I should do is care or be angry because this was his past. And just like mine, I hated for anyone to judge me for it. However, I've come to realize I have this overwhelming possessiveness when it comes to Christian. So when I recall him mentioning being 'physical' with this woman, insidious thoughts sail my mind into its dark corners and horrible vivid images of him naked with her sear into my synapse. Needing a moment to compose myself, I sit on the edge of the bed, fighting off the nausea I feel rising in the throat.
"So there are more. These subs you had under contract?" I rebuke, licking my lips nervously.
He pushes off the wall and faces me. His jaw flexes. My answer more than readable on his face.
I feel my sickness peaking. "How many?"
"Careful, Ana. Don't ask questions you know you aren't ready to hear," he berates.
Fuck that! "How many, Christian?"
More silence. More eternal, grueling silence.
"Answer me." I hiss.
"No." His tone is clipped, icy, causing the word to come out firm, absolute.
I stride over to him. "Why the fuck not?"
"Watch your tone."
I snort. Oh so now he's my father?
"My apologies, Sir." I spit, emphasizing the honorific, knowing very well it'll piss him off using it in this manner.
"Call me that again, that way, and I won't hesitate to punish you."
"I'd like to see you try."
My challenge notches his intimidation and his jaw ticks. I think he's going to play on it but instead he averts his gaze and grunts. "You were right. This is ruining our perfect weekend."
"Fuck you!"
His eyebrows quirk up. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. You wanted to know what was bothering me. Well this it is. I told you. I don't see why you won't just tell me."
"Because it doesn't matter."
God, this was maddening! Why did I care so much about his past exploits? How is it that my sanity unravels and I get dangerously covetous over him at the near mention of another woman? It isn't fair. "And you kissing her, a 'sub' you claim you no longer have relations with, does that not matter either?"
He curses. "I didn't kiss her. She kissed me."
"Don't try to sell me that bullshit line. It happened. You put yourself in that situation and I want to know why."
My stomach folds on itself when he takes one step forward. My feet shuffle back. His eyes flared on brink of malevolence from my involuntary action. His next steps were more fluid, his lithe body glides across the room as if on water. Chest heaving, heart pounding, Christian closes the distance between us with one last deliberate step. His face inches, mere inches from mine, our noses brushing. "All you need to know is that it won't happen again." His tone is tight with agitation and screams that he will not tolerate dissension. He sends me one last look before striding away. To him, the subject apparently is closed. But I wasn't done. I was far from being done.
"Is that what you want to do with me?" He pauses inches from his bedroom door, his back facing me. "Is that's what you meant by being your submissive?" I ask him, my voice louder than I expected.
"Ana," he warns, but I keep going.
"Is that why you gave me the contract?"
"Anastasia -"
"So you could fuck me until you got bored. And when you saw no more use of me, you'd toss - ?"
I didn't get to finish the sentence. In an instant, Christian is on me, his hands flying to the base of my throat. Adding pressure, he forces me back until the back of my calves hit the end of the bed, making me collapse backwards. He follows me and hovers over my body. Looming. I stare right up at him, our gazes battling. The temperature in the air feels like it is soaring through the roof. I heave in heavy, disjointed breaths; my heart palpitating, reaching its limits.
Gently, he brackets his fingers around my neck and then squeezes, not enough to suffocate just enough that I can feel the pressure. "Don't ever talk about yourself like that again." He says forcefully, growling through clenched teeth. "I know it doesn't look pretty. Because it wasn't. That life wasn't. Yes, I've had subs under contract. Back then…it was necessary. But that's not the case anymore."
Without another word, Christian lifts his hand off my throat. I inhale sharply, the rush of adrenaline and the cut of my airflow has my head spinning. Ignoring my dizzying state, he trails a finger deliberately slow, tracing from under my chin to the hollow of my throat. Flecks of gray in his eyes make a reappearance. This time, however, there are speckles of gold, almost like embers of a fire. It was flicker. Like a strike of a wooden match against the striker but it doesn't spark. He was caging in what he really wanted to do; he was caging in the beast, his inner devil.
I could sense the desire bubbling beneath my skin, the heat of his body inflaming mine and has me panting and my sex clenching.
Jesus, what's wrong with me?
Christian's hand seizes my jaw, tilting my face and pulls my gaze to him. His words soak in with silence. And all I can do is gape at him. "The contract I gave you was different from the others. Because of what we talked about. You're mine. This is different. We are different."
He watches me like a hawk. His eyes large, and a fascinating amalgamated shade of blue and gray. A perfect storm brewing in them.
I swallow thickly. "Okay."
I nudge my weight forward but his grip tightens."Nah-uh. My turn to ask questions."
"What possibly about?" I bite out.
"That guy. At your house. Kalum was it? I saw the way he looked at you. He wants to fuck you."
Talk about reversing roles.
"You can't be serious." I scoff. My eyes begin to roll but I catch myself. I wasn't in the mood for being reprimanded.
"As a heart attack."
"This is ridiculous," I grimace, pulling at his arms as they encircle my waist. "He is just a guy I work with that doesn't seem to understand the meaning of the word 'no'. Sound familiar?"
His narrowed eyes turn into a glower. "That's really impressive."
"What is?"
"How you were able to get all those words out around the bullshit in your mouth."
"Okay. We're done here." I shimmy under him but it only results in his hold tightening.
"Am I wrong?"
My head whips up, my eyes searching his face and like the majority of the time it's implacable.
"I'm not doing this with you. Let me up," I breathe, wriggling like a worm beneath him.
"My my," he snickers. "Not so fun when you're the one being interrogated, is it?" I lift my hands to grip onto his wrists so my nails can dig into his skin. It doesn't phase him but rather works him up, evident by his hard-on digging into my lower stomach.
Exclaiming my aversion, I futility knock his arm loose as my arms start to fly around, trying to push him back but he keeps batting me away. In seconds, his weight is holding me down and I'm wound up stretched across the bed, both my wrist pinned above my head in one of his while his free hand lines my clavicle.
Through panted breaths, I let out a frustrated cry and turn my head to the side. Definfince arrows through me. I don't move. I don't speak. Out from the corner of my eye, I see Christian give me the most diabolical grin I've ever seen. "I can get you to tell me, Ana. Though I do prefer you tell me willingly."
Christian's hold on me intensifies, the pressure from his hands blocking off the circulation from the wrists. His eyes linger on my chest before they climb up to meet my eyes. There's a darkness lurking behind his eyes. My mind jumps to what he might do. My heart pounds dangerously, the game Christian's initiated strums pleasure inside me as he hovers his hands over my skin, teasing his touch.
"Tell me."
I shake my head, my pride getting the best of me. Slowly, he snakes up my thigh, inching the material of my shirt to the top of my bare thighs. He rests his hand on my hip bone, his fingers digging into my flesh. My intended wince comes out as a moan.
"Hmm. I think I like you like this."
Like what? My question dies in my throat when I feel Christian dip under the elastic of my underwear. My hands fly to his. Our eyes lock.
"Tell me and I'll stop. It's that easy baby."
I can't find it in myself as to why I can't just tell him. I've told him so much already. Maybe it was less because it dealt with Kalum and more because unlike yesterday, I secretly wanted to push Christian, see what he would do if I disobeyed.
I lift my hands from his and let them fall to my sides, giving my answer. Christian makes a clicking sound with his tongue. "Not the answer I was looking for but no worries. I do love a challenge."
I take a deep breath. Though it didn't help the lightheadedness I felt. As though I hadn't stopped him, he pulls my panties down until I am rid of them. I suck my lower lip between my teeth as two of his fingers dipped inside me, finding me wet, surprising us both.
I bite my tongue and grip the sheets. Anything to keep me quiet and defiant. Slow and agilely, he leans his lips to my ear, his scruff grazes against the shell, the friction making me wetter, and he whispers, his voice of whiskey and sin, "I don't have to read your mind to know you want this. I'll give it to you," he offers, working his fingers a little faster. "Just say the word."
His digits venture deeper into my soaked sex and stays there. The concrete, unmoving penetration knocking my defenses, chipping away at my weak points. I press my lips together and swallow down a moan.
His warm breath begs for my defeat, to melt into him, but I don't move. I remain mute. I keep my hands beside me gripping the sheets, and my lips shut so tight that the edges turn white; my determination to not break or give in withering.
He lets out a frustrated growl. "The silent treatment won't work on me, Ana."
I roll my eyes.
"Did you just -"
My head whips toward him, my breathing heavy. "And if did?" I ask, taking too much pleasure from his riled up expression. "What are you going to do about it? You don't scare me Christian."
My quick witted rebuttal earns me a wicked grin. His eyes are so dark, they almost look black.
It's official. I had a death wish.
How much would be enough for me? When should I stop him? Did I even want to?
"Maybe not. But the things I could do to you might," he drawls, brushing the pad of his thumb over the dip in my throat.
"So we're making empty threats now?"
"You don't believe me?" He slants his head to the side. And stays like that, staring at me with a singular focus, his breath fanning over my face in hot pants. My heart nearly bursts when he slowly bring his free hand to grip my jaw, his fingers splays on my cheek. He angles my head back until my neck is arched and my heart is now sporadic in beats.
"Nope." I feel my chest rise and fall almost simultaneously. "I call your bluff."
"You shouldn't have said that."
Movements brisk, his fingers leave my sex, and I bemoan from the emptiness. Slowly, he starts to unfasten my sodden dress shirt. He plucks a button and my heart skips a beat. Each one that follows is like he's strumming the chords in my heart. Four buttons down he stops, just enough skin revealed to trace his fingers along my breast bone. The walls of my throat feel inflamed. "Christian," I breathe, but never lift my gaze. My eyes are drawn to the one finger trekking down my cleavage.
"Red."
My brows furrow and I finally look at him, his eyes entranced on my lips. "If you need me to stop, use it. I won't stop unless you use that word and that word only."
The air in my lungs are replaced with rocks. Nonetheless, I lick my lips and nod. "Okay."
"No. You have to understand it is more than just a word," he stresses, his voice sharp. "Don't use it unless you absolutely mean it."
"Christian, I get it." I retort, but the incredulous expression on his face tells me I was less than convincing.
"If you need me to slow down, back off, just take it easier, say yellow. I'm not saying you'll ever need them, but they are your way out. If I ever take things too far."
Woah, he's not kidding.
When I started this, I hadn't meant for this to be the result. Yes, I wanted answers which I knew would mean I'd have to push him. Christian isn't the type to willingly give up personal information about himself. What I hadn't intended was for us to taunt one another, tease each other to this point. But if I'm honest, I don't mind it one bit. Yes, I was still angry and still had questions, but I think I need this more. Him more. Specifically, this side of Christian with his dark mystique. Because something inside me calms when he is like this.
"You won't. I trust you." I declare, slipping into the darkness with him.
An array of goosebumps prickle across my skin when everything starts to move in slow motion, however, Christian seems to be unaffected. One second he's off me, sitting back on his knees, and is fumbling with his belt. Next he's grabbing me roughly, forcing me toward the headboard. I tense. My body constricts from the anxiety brewing inside me. Christian grins. It reminds me of the one two nights ago - sinister and cold. Despite my small shutters, he doesn't bother consoling me. I know he doesn't feel obligated to. He's already warned me and given me a way out. I'd be stupid to take it. Cause wasn't this what I wanted?
I meet his eyes and I know my answer. His expression is terrifying. It has me tingling with vim and lust.
He is going to make to eat my words.
Where my mind drifted to, I have no clue, but suddenly soft leather binds my wrists, and Christian is buckling the material and secures his work with a painful tug. Taken aback, completely at his mercy, he clutches my chin, the pressure of his two fingers holding my jaw far from tender. His tongue then fills my mouth and his teeth nip my lips until I taste copper, tears well in my eyes, I can't help the elation the caress over me. The feeling is spectacular; the pain pleasure and the pleasure pain. A rush of arousal hits my sex as my eyes revel at Christian's naked body. I whimper at his muscular thighs and long cock - a deep, mouthwatering shade of purple and red - bobbing against his navel. Chuckling, he climbs on top of me.
My breath hitches when he poises the wide head of his cock at my entrance then rubs his length over the seam of my cleft, coating himself in my arousal. He does this more than I can take. Each time he does, I beg, plead for him to be inside me. I'm a trembling, convulsing mess when he hikes my legs to the crooks of his arms and rams into me. I shriek and my hands flex, itching to touch Christian's flesh. finding the headboard for my nails claw. I throw my head back to the keening sound of our flesh slapping together. Thinking he had finally found his rhythm, he withdraws, shifting my legs to his shoulders before leaning his whole weight forward, and thrusting back into me with ease.
"Fuck!" I cry out. His tongue skims my trembling lips. Kisses me. My mind locks on the pleasure. Then he savagely bites the flesh where my neck meets my shoulder, right on the tendon. Fleshing out pain.
It hurts. It hurts so good; it's heaven. The undertow of his effect knocks me into an oblivional paradise. Christian's hands find their way to my breasts and squeezes hard. Palming them roughly, before moving up to my neck and applies pressure. His hold is nostalgic. The sting, the slight burn from the friction of our skin. It renders me. Subdues me. Makes me a glutton for him.
My orgasm builds conspicuously as I take each one of his vicious, drives. The divine rush shoot down my spine, forces my back to arch and my heart to ignite into a ball of sweltering flames. Then electricity shocks throughout my body, matching the bolts of lightening that split the hazy morning horizon.
My convulsions turn Christian's thrusts shallow wild before pushing to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he groans into the curve of my neck. We stay like that - our bodies glistening with sweat, our skin flushed, our chests heaving for air in tandem. And as I gaze up at the ceiling, all thoughts became superfluous but one.
Never have I imagined this happening to me. That I could ever have something like this in a life like mine. I used to see myself as nothing. Someone not worthy of happiness. And in these past few weeks, I've battled with that mindset. But something, well rather someone cleaved away the doubt, and has made me see the truth. That these moments, this cosmic connection - although far from perfect - is something I'm worthy of and something that is real.
