Author's Note: As stated in chapter one, there are heavy dealings with abuse in this fic. Those sensitive to these matters please proceed with caution.

The Smith House

Chapter 02

When Mike Zakarius had offered his arm to the lady who had bought him, he took note of her hesitation. He had seen the flash of fear in her eyes when presented with his comrade, Farlan Church, and though Mike knew that Farlan himself was no threat to a lady, he also understood how intimidating the smooth charmer could be to a female inexperienced with buying affection.

He laid his fingers atop her own, clutching the crook of his arm, but his touch was neither commanding nor secure. Instead, he allowed only a whisper of contact, enough to appreciate her choosing him, but detached enough to show he had no intentions of taking charge unless she requested he do so.

"A dance, my lady?" It wasn't one of his stronger attributes, but there was romance to be had in the closeness of a dance that was paramount to this business.

"No," came Nanaba's offhanded rejection, her eyes sweeping this way and that as they strolled through the establishment, "I think I would prefer something more private."

He nodded in acquiescence, steering them in the direction of his room. There would be much to do behind closed doors. Certainly she would not be bored.

She didn't speak much, but each time he glanced down at her, he could see thoughts churning inside of her head. She was a pretty little thing and it wasn't beyond his own curiosity as to why she was in a place such as this. Was she widowed? She couldn't have been any older than twenty-five, and even that was a bit of a stretch to his estimate, so it was understandable that such a young person would be looking for comfort.

He had recognized her friend, Lady Ral, and had been wondering when she would have found her way to The Smith House, but this face was new to him.

"Do you wish for anonymity as well as privacy?" he wondered, bowing as he opened his door to her. Her fingers slipped from his arm as she glided inside, taking in the appearance of his chambers, designed exactly as all the others.

"My name is Nanaba," she replied absently, "that is all I claim."

"A pleasure," he told her, flicking the lock on he door that no one would disturb them, and offered his hand to her, though she didn't take it.

"And you?" she countered, "who are you?"

Mike smiled at this, pouring a flute of champagne and holding it out to her. "I am whatever my lady wishes me to be."

Nanaba stared at the crystal for a moment, watching the bubbles float up to the surface before refuting this as well.

"No."

Mike quirked a brow. He'd had hard to please ladies before, but never one who turned down a glass of champagne.

"I don't want lies," she clarified.

"You do recognize the establishment and its purpose, do you not, my lady?"

Nanaba turned away, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to one side, staring into the unlit fireplace.

"I don't expect you to open yourself to me, sir," she told him, her voice gentle and honest, but with a firm overtone that alerted him of the power she was trying desperately to hold over him, "but I am through with men claiming to be what they aren't, and I will not stand for it here."

He relaxed at this, setting down both drinks. "My name is Mike Zakarius," he said quietly, "I am of humble origins."

Nanaba snuck a glance back at him, standing so strong and sure by the decorative table the champagne had sat, dwarfed by his form.

He smiled at her, offering his hand once again, "and I will not lie to you."

"Perhaps we should get on with it then," she sighed, returning to face him and gracing him with her fingertips, "would you like to undress me or would you prefer to watch me do so?"

Her question surprised him. While it was no secret that emotional connection was lacking in his daily encounters with women, and he was more than willing to admit that he more often than not simply went through the motions on his end when it came to sex, preferring to find genuine pleasure by himself, it had never before seemed so cut and dry as what this woman was offering him now. Surely she wanted. . .something from him. A kiss, perhaps? Adoring words and a bit of naughty teasing to, ah, set the mood?

But no. She waited patiently for his response, expecting him to direct the game. She didn't seem like an overly submissive sort of woman so he chalked her attitude up to inexperience and played his part.

"Allow me, my lady."

She nodded at this, taking a small breath and turning, giving him the buttons that ran up her back, keeping her shoulders squared and her head high. When he ran a knuckle across the nape of her neck, he felt her quiver, and he paused.

It wasn't nerves; he knew more about nervousness than he cared to. This was fear. It was well disguised and any other man may have overlooked it, but Mike was not any other man.

What was she afraid of, he wondered. He wouldn't be rough with her. Despite his size, he was an easygoing sort of man, gentle and kind, putting the needs and desires of his lady clients before any of his own thoughts or wants. She had noticed this, as when she had paid for him, had claimed she wanted him because he had kind eyes.

He could feel her careful breathing with each button that he slipped from its loop, her conscious yet concealed attempts at keeping herself calm. When he pushed the gown down her arms and the silk pooled at her feet, he saw her squeeze her eyes shut for just a moment.

"Are you alright, My Lady?"

"Quite fine," she replied, her voice just as placid as it had been all night. If she wasn't going to admit to being afraid, he wasn't going to be so indecent as to out her.

He unlaced her corset and panniers with ease, folding them with the gown and placing them on a winged armchair, and when she stood before him in nothing but her chemise, it had become more difficult for her to hide the way her breathing was becoming more sporadic and the way the tips of her fingers were trembling. She let out a small hum that he was almost positive she hadn't meant to, and when he took hold of the lacing that closed the back of the linen undergarment, she bowed her head.

"I can stop," he told her, "there are many other things we can do here. If you are uncomfortable—"

"I am fine," she pressed, before her voice dropped to a volume that he was sure he wasn't supposed to hear, "I'll be fine."

He wasn't in a position to deny her requests, so he closed his mouth and set to work removing the chemise. As he opened the lacing and her skin became visible to him, he slowed his movements. From beneath the fabric, where he had expected smooth porcelain to match her face and hands, he was met with purple, clouds of yellows, greens, and browns.

Swallowing, he pushed the garment from her shoulders. He'd seen bruised women before. The Smith House was an escape for females, after all, but these were not just bruises.

The cloth fell away from her body and he couldn't help the gasp that escaped his lips. The colours that clumped on her shoulder blades were a mere prelude to what she had been subject to. Lash marks whipped across her back in an ugly crosshatch, some of them old and healed into thin pink scars, where others were still red and raw, freshly administered.

Down her spine, placed in a perfect, precise, methodical design, were round welts, new ones layered with care over the old, the signs of burning. It wasn't wax or oil play gone wrong; it was purposeful, a punishment.

There was more bruising at her lower back, where her kidneys were, and he trailed his own now shaking fingers over the wounds. The blows to her shoulders were superficial, but this was distinctly deliberate, someone who knew exactly what they were doing, and what types of pain to bring upon her.

Her backside had not been spared, but the damage to her buttocks was minimal. There was, however, a very specific, no, two specific marks, one on each side of her hips, deep, darkened bruises in the shape of hands, wrapping around to the front of her pelvis, the brand of her assailant keeping her in place.

Nanaba lifted her chin again, inhaling deeply and swallowing down the urge to cry. She had never bared herself to anyone this way and not even her greatest friend knew the extent of her injuries.

"I understand that I am unsightly," she said quietly, choosing her words carefully and doing what she could not to break, "if you find me repulsive, we needn't continue."

"Who did this to you." For all of his strength and the power that he had commanded his entire life, his words came out weak and broken, the suave lover he had been trained to be falling away at the horror that stood before him.

She turned her head a bit, offering him a small upturn of her lips. "I know that I'm ugly, sir, you don't need—"

"Who did this to you."

This time his voice was stronger, concerned and alarmed. Nanaba crossed her arms over her bare chest, inhaling sharply.

"My husband," she whispered.

Frown set hard on his face, he walked around her, eyes sweeping over the front of her body when he came to a stop directly in front of her. The front was't nearly as bad as her back: bite marks scattered around and bruising at her breasts.

"And he still lives?"

Nanaba's tongue poked out to wet her bottom lip and she nodded.

Mike took a moment to digest this information. Abusive husbands were by no means rare in their society, but many of their victims did not have the courage to escape them, to seek out the arms of another, yet she had.

"Why have you come to me?" He needed to know. If nothing else, he needed to hear her bravery, to know that whoever the monster that waited for her at home was, he had not broken this woman completely.

For a moment she didn't reply, trying to put into words the motive behind her presence here. It wasn't that she craved affection; she didn't even enjoy sex, and was unaware that there was the possibility of it ever being enjoyable. She had had her freedom torn from her four years prior and for those four years she had resigned herself to her fate, resisting within the household, but never truly making an attempt to claim a life of her own.

"I have been forced to make love for years," she admitted, the first time she had ever voiced a word against the man since she'd confessed to her mother who had then slapped her face, scolding her for speaking ill of her husband.

"That's not making love," Mike quipped, "it's rape."

Nanaba let out a small huff in response, giving him a pointed look. "I was trying to be delicate," she replied. "but this time, I wanted it to be my choice, my decision. I wanted to chose who, and when, and how, and for how long. I just—"

She closed her eyes, clearing her mind. "I just wanted something good to hold onto."

He relaxed then, rapping his fingers against his own arm. "You are very brave, My Lady."

"I'm terrified," she told him, "even if I pretend otherwise."

"Bravery emerges in times of terror, does it not? There's no need for bravery when there is no danger."

"Are you a danger to me?"

Mike's eyes snapped to hers and he unfolded his arms, kneeling and taking her hand, the only part of her he could justify touching without her direct consent, laying a soft kiss against her knuckles.

"I promised not to lie to you, and now I swear I will not hurt you. You are safe here, Nanaba."

Her name, so familiar on his tongue sent a small fluttering through her stomach and he smiled up at her.

"Do you trust me?"

Those kind eyes of his, green or gold she couldn't tell, stared up at her, waiting patiently for her go ahead, for her to tell him she was willing, and that she would let him do what he did best.

"I can't."

He wasn't disappointed, but he saw in her eyes, that striking icy blue, that the idea of trust was a burden, and she wasn't able to hold anything else on her shoulders.

"The last man I trusted married me. Look where that got me."

Mike moved to stand, to retrieve her clothing and tell her she didn't have to do what she thought she did, but her hand on his shoulder stopped him. He felt her fingers tighten on his clothing and she steeled herself for confidence.

"But I didn't come here for trust."

Even through his tailcoat and shirt, the feel of her hand on him was electric, a feeling he'd never experienced within these walls and he gave her arm a small tug, coaxing her to step forward while he laid another kiss her hand.

"Have you ever been kissed properly, My Lady?"

"I don't know," she admitted, raising her head to follow his movement as he stood, towering over her.

He gave her a soft grin before he bent forward, his two large and calloused hands cupping her face, thumb running over her cheekbones, spared of any abuse. When his lips met hers they were soft and genuine, no doubt from years of practice, but when he didn't shove his fingers into her hair, pulling at her, and he didn't force his tongue between her teeth, Nanaba's knees began to resist her vertical position.

He pulled away for a sliver of a moment before he kissed her again, tender and sure, his mustache tickling her face. It was chaste, and she knew he was only doing it because she had paid for it, but it was kiss from a storybook, and she never wanted it to end.

It did end, but she wasn't saddened by it. He rested his forehead against her own, a smile soft and satisfied on his lips, still cradling her face in his hands.

"Was that a proper kiss then?" she wondered, slightly breathless and trying to keep her bearings.

"Aye, milady," he whispered, forgetting his gentlemanly speech, the feel of this woman against him robbing him of his own clarity, "a proper kiss indeed."

Unsure of what she ought to do now, Nanaba reached forward, testing her position and resting her tiny hand on his chest.

"And what follows a proper kiss, Mr. Zakarius?"

With one finger crooked under her chin he lifted her face to look up at him. "I'd like to give you another sort of kiss."

The way her brow crinkled as she thought to herself, wondering what other sorts of kisses there might be made Mike's heart thump in his chest as if he were a lad of sixteen. How long had she been married, he wondered. Brutality had left her cracked and jaded, yet she was, as it seemed, in many ways still an innocent and innocence was one thing he hadn't owned for longer than he cared to think about.

"I'll show you," he said, taking hold of her hands once again, leading her to the bed and helping her onto it. He watched her run her fingers over the reindeer pelt he had laid atop it, marveling at its plush softness. He removed his topcoat, and undid the buttons of his sleeves, rolling them up quarter of the way, flashing the muscles in his forearms.

Naked on another man's bed, Nanaba was beginning to doubt herself. She should leave before she went too far. She shouldn't have come in the first place. She'd sworn a sacred vow four years ago and here she was, throwing that vow in the gutter.

But then she looked up at Mike Zakarius, the man of humble origins who would not lie to her, and she stayed.

"You're doing a lot of preparing for a kiss," she noted, finding her courage and laying back against the many pillows, letting out a small yelp when she sunk into them.

He hummed in response, kneeling the floor at the edge of the bed and motioning for her to scoot forward. "It is a very special kiss."

She did as he requested, curiosity etched on her features, but when he laid his hands on her knees, she froze, stiff in her uncertainty. Understanding, he kissed each of them, resting his chin on the blockade she had formed with her legs.

"It won't hurt," he promised, "and if you wish for me to stop, say the word."

"This is adultery," she said, propping herself up with her elbows, "and if he finds out. . ."

Mike removed himself from her then. He wouldn't coerce or otherwise talk her into doing something she was only half confident in doing. His job was to cater to the desires of women, not convince them to do things they would regret in the morning.

"Would you prefer tea then?" he asked. There were plenty of things they could fill their time with that didn't involve physical intimacies, activities that perhaps she would be more comfortable with in her escape.

"No."

No?

"I want you to kiss me," she told him, her words firm even if her voice trembled, "even though I'm scared, I want you to show me your special kiss."

His hand hovered over her clenched legs. "Are you sure?"

"No," she confessed, willing herself to relax, "but if I don't try, I'll never have anything to hold on to."

He nudged her legs apart and she let him, focusing on her breathing once again. He lifted himself up, elbows settling down on either side of her ribs while he stretched his neck to lay a few gentle kisses on the underside of her jaw.

"I'll walk you through it," he whispered, sliding back down her body, peppering affection all down her body, keeping clear of any injured areas.

Nanaba watched, marveling at how large he was in comparison to her. Walk her through it? What on Earth would he need to walk her through?

She saw him graze over her hips and she cringed when he purposefully avoided her bruises. Was he afraid to hurt her? Or did he not want to intrude upon the mark of another man?

He found her thighs and the muscles in her legs locked. He didn't flinch at what he saw: the perfect shapes in her skin burned away and regrown anew, like patches on a peasant's doll. He didn't touch them either. Instead, he whispered apologies onto the scars, his breath tickling the sensitive flesh and sending a ripple of something strange coursing through her body. It wasn't sorrow, but why did it feel that way? It choked her, forcing tears into her eyes but she sat strong in what she had promised herself. She would not cry. Not here, not for him.

His head dipped down, distracting her, and she pushed herself up, trying to get a better look at what he was about to do when the feeling of his mouth, hot and wet on her womanhood wiped all thoughts from her mind. She cried out, an unfathomable word, likely made up by her surprise while she struggled to keep herself propped up with her steadily weakening arms.

She thought she might have felt him chuckle, but truth be told she didn't know what she was feeling. No one had ever put their mouth in such a vulgar place before and though—oh God was that his tongue?!—she was more than willing to admit this was a pleasant surprise, it was—

Mike lifted his face from between her legs, biting back the laughter when he saw she had given up her watch, laying flat on her back, eyes closed and face flushed.

"Well don't stop!" she scolded, hand flying to cover her mouth at her lewd order. When had she become such a woman?

"Are you alright?" he asked, stroking her cheek with his knuckles. He knew the answer, but he extended the courtesy regardless.

"I—I think so," she replied, "no. Yes." She threw an arm over her eyes, "oh what a strange kiss."

"I'm not done kissing you," he murmured against her thigh before returning to his task, inhaling the scent of her, purely unique and undoubtedly unappreciated by her husband. She sighed when he ran his tongue up her slit, and when he took the sensitive bud at her core between his teeth, he felt her hands reaching for his hair, timid but driven by lust, driven by instinct.

It wasn't long before her fingers pushed against his head, pressing his face into her and bucking her hips, her soft mewls of please don't stop! echoing in his ears. She'd never in her life experienced such a thing, so much pleasure shooting through her at once, in all directions.

By the time she had reached her peak, it was his name on her lips, a long moan of a cry that resonated through the room while she arched her back and allowed her body its release before collapsing limp on the pelt of the reindeer on the bed of Mike Zakarius, the man of humble origins who had not lied to her and had not hurt her.

xxxx

Author's Note: Okay so I'm not very proficient at writing smut but as it seems I'm even less proficient at writing lower key acceptable-for-this-website smut. I apologize.