This is a work of creativity. As such, you may see words, concepts, scenes, actions, behaviors, pictures, implements, and people that may or may not be socially acceptable and/or offensive. If you are sensitive to adverse and alternative subject matter of any kind, please do not proceed, because I guarantee you’ll find it here. You have been warned. Read at your own risk.
I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy, or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY story in MY interpretation as a fan. If something that I say displeases you, please, just leave. If you don’t like this story or me, please don’t spoil this experience for everyone. Just go away. For the rest of you, the saga continues…
Chapter 67—At the End of Her Rope
Christian was right, the Pedo-Bitch made bail. We don’t know how, and we don’t know where she’s staying since that lovely house in Kirkland is currently roped off with that awful yellow police tape and under constant guard as someone anonymously tipped off the police that there may be secret rooms that need to be checked. What else are they hoping to find… more smut pictures of that sick bitch with children? Don’t they have enough? A long-lost relative locked away somewhere in an attic like the doomed Bertha Mason in Bronte’s novel? Evidence of ritual sacrifices? Good grief.
I haven’t heard anything yet on a date set for David’s trial or even if he’s sticking to that ridiculous claim of temporary insanity. I’ve got Al putting all the things in place for my lawsuit against him, though. He has already filed the motion in court and the moment David tries to liquidate anything, he’s going to discover that his assets are frozen. He won’t even know what hit him. Even his access to his company has been blocked.
Thursday, I went to Helping Hands and talked to Marcia and Marlow. He seems okay for the most part, but Marcia seems to think that his problem is lack of focus—that he sits around too much and thus finds himself with too much idle time to think about his circumstances. We’re going to have to find something to occupy his mind. He has so much potential that I would hate to see him fall into the wrong thing simply because he’s bored.
It’s Friday now and I spend the entire day preparing for my long-awaited Food and Libations. I really miss my friends. We’ve hung out every weekend for many, many years and now I’ve missed two weekends with them. I don’t count the first one since we had an impromptu F&L when I got home from the hospital, but still, I miss my little Scooby gang. Gail has gone out to get more supplies while I get started on the food. Christian decided that he would come home and join me for lunch since I was already in the process of preparing for F&L. Twenty minutes before he was to arrive home, Marc calls from the front desk in quite the state.
“Ms. Steele, Mrs. Lincoln is here demanding access to the apartment. She claims that she knows that Mr. Grey is here and she’s making a terrible scene. I could call the police, but I don’t want to make that immediate decision for obvious reasons.”
I’m assuming that he’s saying this because the press would probably be here in no time if he called the police. If Christian comes back and sees her in the lobby, there’s going to be a public altercation—again, newsworthy or at least captured on someone’s cell phone.
“I don’t need her permission to enter that apartment!” I hear her barking. “I’ve never needed her permission! I’ll come and go as I damn well please!” Marc has clearly had enough of this woman and…
“Not without the codes you won’t!” he snaps at her. “And on the contrary, you do need her permission to get up to the penthouse. Now stop screaming at me like one of your lapdogs or I will forcibly remove you myself!” You tell her, Marc.
As with many situations, she doesn’t seem to hear that last part and proceeds to berate him about how he’s the hired help and can’t speak to her that way.
“I’m not going to tell you again,” I hear Marc say coldly and that must have gotten her attention because I don’t hear her voice on the other end anymore. “Ms. Steele, what would you like for me to do?”
“Make her stand right there. Don’t tell her anything, just make her stand right there.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I hang up the phone and call for Chuck.
“What’s up?” he says coming out of the security office.
“Elena Lincoln is in the lobby,” I say, chopping vegetables for my dinner tonight.
“Do you want me to go and remove her?” He straightens his back.
“No, I want you to go and get her,” I respond. He does a double-take.
“Ana, please, after yesterday, I don’t want to lose my job…” he protests.
“That’s why you’re going to stay in the room with me the entire time that she’s here, but Chuck, I’m not taking this anymore. Marc told her that she had to get permission from me to get into this apartment, and she flipped the hell out. I’m going to make sure that this bitch knows that I mean business once and for all. When she gets here, make sure that she goes nowhere but from that door to this bar and back. If she puts her hands on me, you don’t move unless I call you for help.” He glares at me.
“Ana, you can’t be serious!”
“I’m dead serious. Text Christian on your way downstairs and let him know what I said. Tell him that if he doesn’t want to be bailing me out of jail, he had better get here fast. Now, go, quickly. I want her to know what’s going to happen to her the next time she shows up anywhere uninvited.”
I continue chopping the vegetables. Chuck hesitantly leaves the apartment and I open the drawers, making a mental note of where the knives are located.
About three minutes later, She-Thing comes marching into the great room like she owns the place and sits on one of the white sofas. Chuck happily snatches her off the sofa and drags her towards the breakfast bar while she protests loudly. I now get a good look at what she’s wearing… animal print Juicy Couture velour romper with basic black stilettos—pretty cute for me but definitely not her style.
“Can’t get to your wardrobe, Mrs. Lincoln?” I ask with mirth, still chopping my vegetables.
“I’m here to speak to Christian. I have absolutely nothing to say to you!” she spit.
“Good, because I’m going to be doing all of the talking. Now sit your ass down!” I hiss. Almost on cue Chuck grabs her by the arms and forces her onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar.
“You won’t be subjected to me for long,” I say as I scrape my vegetables into a pot and dry my hands. “Christian was already on his way home for lunch, but since he’s been notified that you’re here, he and Jason are probably breaking traffic laws to get here before I hurt you.” She scoffs at me.
“You, hurt me? You’re dreaming, little girl.”
“Oh? Did you forget our last meeting in this very spot? They have it on CCTV—should I play it back for you and refresh your memory? Did you forget that I had your haggard, raggedy ass bleeding on the marble and didn’t even put my hands on you? Do you need full-on melee for me to show you what I can really do to you, because I’ll be happy to oblige,” I warn.
“Do you have absolutely no class whatsoever?” she says, a feeble attempt at an insult.
“Seriously?” I say calmly. “You’re seriously going to come at me talking about class—you who are looking at 10 to 25 for fucking children? Are we really going to have that conversation?” She falls completely silent with those words. “I don’t even need to talk about you anymore, Elena, because you’ve been splattered all over the news. While you’ve been justifying your actions all these years, I was standing at the television watching your perp-walk last night. You’ve spent years molesting and victimizing little boys and have the nerve to tell me that I don’t understand what you and Christian had. Well, now, my understanding is the least of your worries. Try justifying that shit to a jury of your peers!”
“You’re such a self-righteous little bitch!” she sneers.
“Oh, no, you said that you have nothing to say to me, and you’re right, you don’t!” I seethe. “So, you listen to me closely. The world would be a better place without you. No one would miss you, and I’m too happy to provide that service!” She gasps.
“What are you saying to me?” She’s horrified because she knows exactly what I’m saying. I use my knife as a pointer to drive my threat home.
“I’m saying that if you show up at mine and Christian’s home again, or at our jobs, or at his parents’ home, or at Helping Hands, or anywhere else that you suspect that we’ll be, I’ll take you down. The last person that heard me say that, I let him live, and he kidnapped me. I won’t make that mistake twice.”
My voice is low and menacing and I see red. I could kill this woman right now with my bare hands and not give it a second thought.
I’m inches away from her face, but that knife is closer. I notice that our eyes are the same color blue—I never paid attention before now, but I was never close enough to look into her eyes as I am now. There’s a mixture of various emotions, but behind the fear and the anger and the hatred, I see desperation. She needs Christian in her life and she’s not going to just walk away. If anything, she’ll have to be carried away—either kicking and screaming or unconscious.
“You’re not serious,” she says in that confident voice that I know she has used on many young boys. “You’re angry and emotional and you want me to believe that you’re ruthless. I’d sooner believe Security Boy here was a submissive before I believe that you have a ruthless bone in your body,” she says calmly.
“You’re right, I’m not ruthless.” She smirks a bit. “I’m pissed, and that’s worse. I’ve had enough of you infringing on my life—on my boyfriend, our vacation, our jobs, our home, our family, I’ve had enough!”
“Our home? Our family? Who the hell do you think you are—his wife?” she shoots.
“Soon enough,” I say flashing the platinum and diamond Butterfly ring on my left hand. I know that she can tell the quality of the ring and I don’t bother telling her that it’s a promise ring and not an engagement ring.
“Knowing him as long as you have, I’m sure you know that he’s never put a ring on a woman’s finger. Tiffany necklaces, Cartier earrings, and Harry Winston bracelets, yes—but rings, never.” I know of what I speak because Christian told me himself. Elena is wracking her brain to find one woman that wore a ring from him before me and she can’t find one. “So, as you can see, I have a hell of a lot more to lose now. You’ve hurt him and me for the last time, and I’m not going to tell you again to stay away from us.”
“There’s nothing that you can do to make me stay away from Christian, nothing!” she says definitively.
“Oh, but there is, Elena. You don’t seem to understand. I will kill you. I will shoot you dead and watch you bleed, then have a drink and take a nap like nothing happened. When it comes to you, I have no conscience. I will drop you like the wretched, diseased creature that you are, then I’ll dance on your grave.”
My voice is low and controlled as I’m breathing in her face thinking how easy it would be to slit her throat right now. One quick slice and we would never have to worry about her again. I would be doing the city of Seattle and the state of Washington a fucking favor—ridding them of Elena Lincoln, child molester extraordinaire. Why should my tax dollars pay to prosecute her then to house her for the next several years? One quick slice across that pulled and tucked neck and we would be rid of her ass forever, just one quick…
I didn’t even know he had come in. His voice pulls me out of my deadly trance, but I’m still glaring at her thinking of how easily I could just drop her right now. During my warning and in my murderous trance, I hadn’t realized that I had moved within a breath of her face and my chopping knife was right at her neck. I watch as Chuck moves around the breakfast bar and stands next to me.
“He’s here now, Ana,” he says in my ear. “Put the knife down.” He’s moving closer to me.
“Don’t touch me, Chuck, or I’ll slip. I swear I will,” I say coolly, never taking my eyes off of hers. Jason moves into the great room and Christian starts to walk up behind Elena.
“I saved you the last time. Who’s going to save you now?” I say coldly. “Stay. Away. From me. And Christian.” She’s beginning to sweat, and tears are forming in those glassy blue eyes. I stand up straight and slowly move the knife from her neck, placing it on the counter with my hand still on the handle.
She releases the breath that she was holding. She’s visibly shaken and trying to breathe, the tears previously held back now flowing freely down her cheeks. She is horrified. Good! I narrow my eyes at her, begging her to dare to say something to me so that I can launch myself over this breakfast bar and finish the job that I started. She sees the danger, senses her imminent demise in the hatred that’s oozing from my pores, and cautiously takes two steps backward—away from the breakfast bar.
She turns around and looks up at Christian. She’s sobbing now, but he’s impassive. She throws herself into his arms, crying hysterically. He jerks away from her, pushing her at the same time, like a bolt of lightening shot through him at her touch.
“Are you crazy? Don’t fucking touch me!” he barks at her. She’s standing against the breakfast bar with her back to me, still sobbing and trying to control her breathing.
“My… salons…” she breathes through her tears.
“Seized and frozen pending the outcome of your trial,” Christian informs her. She moves from the breakfast bar where she can look at both of us. She glares from Christian to me, totally dumbstruck.
“Why are you looking at me? I didn’t seize your goddamned salons,” I spit.
“You can’t do this to me!” she shrieks at Christian.
“I can… and I did. You have a morality clause in your contract. If you’re convicted, your salons will be liquidated and the proceeds will go to Helping Hands, hopefully to help children like the ones you’ve screwed up along the way. I told you not to show up without legal counsel. You should have read your fucking contract!”
“No!” she shrieks, pulling at her bleached blonde hair. “I don’t have anything left! Just a few hundred thousand dollars! How will I live!?” A few hundred thousand dollars? You call that nothing left? You ungrateful bitch. As if she read my thoughts, her head snaps in my direction.
“You!” she screeches. “This is all your fault!”
Oh, here we go with this same old song and dance. You’re a grown ass woman and you got caught fucking children. It’s time to pay the Piper for God’s sake. Her desperation outweighs her sense of self-preservation and she’s back at the breakfast bar yelling at me. I can’t hear anything that she’s saying. All I know is that the desire to rid the world of her essence creeps up on me and she’s in my space again.
“Step. Away. From the bar. Bitch!” I growl, my hand wrapping around the handle of the chopping knife once more. Her eyes quickly go from my face to my hand and back to my face again. She snarls at me, but wisely backs away from the breakfast bar.
“This isn’t over!” she hisses, glaring at me through narrowed, tear-filled eyes.
“Give me a reason. Please, give me a reason.” I glare right back at her. Elena turns on her heels and as she’s making her exit, she growls at Christian, “Tell your little girlfriend to watch her back!”
That’s it! I flip that blade in my hand and with one precise flick of the wrist, the knife windmills just past Elena’s head and lands point first into the door just as she’s reaching for the handle. Before anyone in the room could turn around to look at me, I’ve got another knife out of the drawer and back on the counter waiting for her to dare to speak again.
That was your warning shot, bitch. Next time, I aim to kill.
I look up first at Christian, then at Elena, then back to Christian. They both have the same stunned expression on their faces.
“I warned her,” I say to Christian before I turn back to Elena to say, “Watch yours!” She quickly scampers out of the apartment without another word. I’ve never seen her scamper before. Christian turns back to me with the same stunned look on his face.
“Goddammit, Anastasia, what the fuck?” he barks. He’s angry, or shocked, or… something. I feel nothing. Pure rage has burned every emotion out of me, and I just watch him. “And you!” He turns to Chuck. I hate to intervene, but I must.
“With all due respect, Christian,” I speak in a tone as cool as the tone that I used with She-Thing, “I put Chuck in an impossible position. That fight was going to happen either in the lobby or in this apartment. I thought it best that it happen away from prying eyes and possible press and paparazzi. I asked Chuck to stay close to her and protect me in case she tried to hurt me, which he did. Please, don’t be angry at him. It was my fault.”
“Hurt you? Hurt you?” Christian is clearly at a loss for words right now and I’m completely impassive. We’ve switched roles—go figure. “You had a knife to her throat! Then you proceed to launch one at her retreating back! I could have been visiting you at the county jail! Thank God you missed!”
“I didn’t miss,” I say calmly. His eyes widen.
“Don’t be cute, Anastasia, I’m not impressed,” he hisses.
“No?” I flip the knife in my hand and launch it towards the door. It lands point first not one centimeter away from the first knife. “How about now?” I say taking another knife from the drawer. “Still not impressed?” I launch the third knife and, of course, perfection. “How about now? How many knives do you have in here?” I reach into the drawer again. Maybe I should have told him that Daddy taught me how to shoot and throw knives. I thought I did…
“Okay, Anastasia, enough!” Christian commands. Jason stands there looking at the three knives in the door. I hear him say “motherfucker” under his breath before he turns to me. I softly say one word that hopefully explains everything.
Recognition fills Jason’s face as he nods once and removes the knives from the door.
“Is there any caulk in the palace?” I ask Jason flatly.
“I’ll… go see if I can find some,” he says and disappears off into the apartment somewhere. Chuck stays behind, nervously trying not to fidget.
“Chuck, you can go,” I say, then quickly add, “unless… Mr. Grey wants you to stay.” Christian looks from me to Chuck then nods for him to leave. Chuck can’t get out of that room fast enough.
“Anastasia, this is insane!” he begins when we are in the room alone.
“How do you mean?” I deadpan.
“How do I mean!? You could have killed that woman!”
“Yes… and I will if she ever tries that shit again.” My voice remains cool and controlled. He examines me like I’m an unknown entity.
“What’s going on, Ana?” he asks. “You’re acting like… well, hell, I don’t know what you’re acting like. What’s going on?” Maintaining my controlled tone, I tell him.
“That woman is a disease. She is evil personified. She has done everything in her power to manipulate and control you and to sabotage our happiness. She is vermin, a snake, the lowest form of deceit-invested amoebic parasite known to man. There is nothing good or redeemable about her and I feel that the only service that she can be worthy to perform to mankind is to die.”
And there’s that stunned look again.
“Even now, when she has lost everything and she’s standing at a precipice, she still can’t say ‘Oh, I did this terrible thing, my bad.’ No, it’s still my fault or your fault or Jason’s fault or Grace’s fault or anybody that she can blame it on besides herself. She is a consumption, hell-bent on sucking the life and the vitality out of everything that she touches, and I’m not going to let her do that to me… or to you.” I turn around and remove my vegetables from the stove which have now scorched beyond usability, so I fill the sink slightly with water and just sit the whole pot in the sink.
“So, you’re going to kill her? You’re going to murder her and ruin your life and mine and everyone who loves you? Is she really worth it…?”
Christian has gone off on a full-fledged “why the hell would you kill the pedophile and ruin your life” speech and for once, I just let him yell. It’s something that he just needs to do right now. I can’t explain to him why it’s impossible for me to constantly turn a blind eye to people who clearly want to cause me harm attempting to dictate my life to me. I know the implications of what I said and what I did this afternoon. I know this was quite frightening to Christian to say the very least. He came into his apartment and found me with a knife to the throat of his ex-Domme. There’s no way to explain that to the police, especially after I sent Chuck downstairs to get her. I’m not saying that I’m right and I’m not even going to try to argue my case. All I’m saying is that I meant every word that I said to her and there’s really no need to discuss it.
“Do you have anything to say?” he asks. “Are you going to defend yourself at all?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. Again, he seems horrified.
“So, you agree with everything that I said?”
Quite frankly, I don’t know what he said after “is she really worth it.” What I do know is that if I disagree with anything that he said, it’s going to be a fight. However, it’s going to be a fight that I’m not going to have, because I refuse to defend myself against anything that I said to that bitch.
“I don’t know that I agree or disagree with anything that you said,” specifically because I don’t know what you said. “I do however know that this fight that you’re trying to have with me right now, it’s not between us. It’s not our fight. So, I choose not to have it. If you want to have it by yourself, you have it by yourself and I will listen, but I’m not having this fight with you. This fight that you need to be having is with her—that accused pedophile that accosted and insulted the doorman in an attempt to force her way into an apartment where I lay my head every night after she told that same doorman that she doesn’t have to ask my permission to come up here.” My voice is still as controlled as it has been all afternoon.
“The only reason why I didn’t finish the job is because this is your penthouse. If this had been my condo, I would have treated her like the intruder that she was, and they would be drawing a chalk line around her ass as we speak.”
Just when I think I can’t surprise him anymore, he’s horrified again and I go off in search of my purse to find my emery board.
What the fuck? Have I stepped off into the damn Twilight Zone? I come into my apartment and find my fragile little Butterfly with a knife at the throat of the Pedophile looking at her like she’s going to carve her up any second. I’m only too certain that if I hadn’t called out to Anastasia that Lincoln would be dead on the floor right now. She threatens the woman several times thereafter and then proceeds to throw knives at her on the way out the door… well, knife anyway. The others were for my benefit… and what the fuck was that? Did she used to work in a fucking circus?
And what in God’s name was Lincoln wearing? I didn’t even recognize her!
What’s worse is that Butterfly is so damn cold. It’s like she can’t be touched. I’m trying to get to the bottom of how this crazy bitch got into my apartment in the first place—and how the hell did she make bail anyway—but Butterfly is frosty and unmoving. I’ve never seen her like this.
“Anastasia, you can’t just go around threatening to kill people! What were you thinking? And you had a knife to that woman’s throat. It’s one thing to beat her ass, which she so richly deserves, and we have all wanted to watch her die slowly, but to actually go through with it? Even her worse victims would think twice about killing her ass. You have to see that you must have had a bout with madness a moment ago! You threw a knife at her for fuck’s sake!”
She’s still just looking at me impassively. I don’t even think she blinked. This stare is actually giving me fucking chills!
“Do you have anything to say? Are you going to defend yourself at all?” I ask trying to elicit some type of response from her.
“No,” she responds without blinking. No? Where’s the explanation for all of this, the justification for why she was pushed so far as to actually threaten to kill this woman and then attempt to do it?
“So, you agree with everything that I said?” I press. She very calmly tells me that she’s not going to fight with me because this isn’t our fight, that the fight is with Lincoln and that if she were at home, Lincoln would be dead right now for intruding on her property. After that, she just turns around and walks out of the room. Her behavior is concerning me right now. No, scratch that—it’s frightening me right now. So, tell me why I’m more affected by the fact that she didn’t kill Lincoln because she doesn’t feel like this is her home. She comes back into the room with, of all things, a nail file. In the midst of all of this, she feels the immense need for a manicure? Now, I’m completely confused.
“Ana, we really need to talk about this some more.”
“So, talk,” she says with a shrug as she proceeds to the front door. I pause for a moment to see what she’s doing. She begins to gently remove and shave small splinters from the door with the nail file. Oh… well, at least she wasn’t doing a damn manicure in the middle of a heated discussion.
“I didn’t say I need to talk. I said that we need to talk.” Her Zen is really starting to piss me off.
“I don’t need to discuss this anymore. Is there anything that I said to her that you didn’t understand?” she asks with no malice. Jason comes out from wherever he was and hands her a large tube of caulk. Where the hell did he find that?
“No, I understood it perfectly,” I reply sharply. That’s the damn problem!
“Then there’s nothing else for me to say.” She turns her attention back to the door.
“Sir, I’m sorry to disturb you, but may I have a moment?” Jason says, interrupting me before I have a chance to say anything else. He walks to my study and I follow him, occasionally looking back at this enigma that has replaced my Butterfly.
“What is it, Jason?” I ask sternly once we get back to my study and he closes the door behind me.
“Boss, you’re wasting your time. I don’t know what transpired or what was said or done before we got back here, but when it comes to Lincoln, that woman out there has snapped. You better believe her when she tells you that if Lincoln crosses the line again, she’s a dead woman.”
I glare at Jason. What the hell made him such an expert on this?
“Would you mind sharing with me how you can be so sure about this?” I ask sarcastically.
“Look at her! Did you see her eyes? She’s beyond frosty—she has graduated to cold and calculating. That asshole that kidnapped her is claiming temporary insanity. No, sir, that…” he’s pointing to the door as a gesture towards Butterfly, “… is temporary insanity. She could kill somebody right now and get away with it. We were lucky… the best thing that blonde bitch could have done was to leave this apartment.” This has to be the 10th time today that I’ve been stunned into silence. “Did you hear her? Did you hear what she said after she threw those knives in rapid succession with surgical precision?”
“Hooray or something, I’ve heard it before,” I respond.
“‘Oorah.’ That’s the Marine battle cry. If you hear that outside of a friendly setting, someone. Is going. To die. That woman, one way or another, has pushed Butterfly over the edge. If I were you, I would make it my first priority to keep that woman away from Anastasia. She has already proven that she’s a few eggs short of a dozen, but I’m here to tell you that if she fucks with Her Highness in her current state of mind, those eggs will be cracked and scrambled all over the floor.”
I literally have to shake my head to absorb everything that he’s saying. This crazy bat has literally pushed my baby to the point of wanting to kill her. There is a knock on the door, and I open it to let Davenport in.
“Sir, I thought you should know, Ana is not driving her car. I’ve driven her around all week,” he says when he enters the room.
“Is there a problem with you driving her around?” Why is he telling me this now?
“No problem at all, sir, except that she loves that car—or at least she did. Now, I would say that she hates it. She drove it once and hasn’t been back in it since.”
“Oh… I see. Is there anything wrong with it that you can tell? Any mechanical problems?”
“Not that I can see, but I would have to drive it to tell you if there were any problems with it,” he responds.
“I’m going to have you take it out this afternoon. We’re staying here, we’re not going back to the office. Jason has a set of keys to her car. I had a set made when we had the car taken from the police station to the auto repair facility.” He nods and turns to leave. “Davenport…”
“Sir?” He turns around to face me.
“What exactly happened when Lincoln showed up downstairs?”
He gave me his version of what happened, but only from when Butterfly told him to go downstairs and get the Pedophile. She knew that she was already over the edge which is why she told Davenport to text me. I’ll have to ask Marc what happened beforehand since the largest altercation—besides the knife, that is—appeared to have been with him.
“Okay, go on down and drive her car. I’ll see if I can get some answers out of her about it.” He nods again and leaves. I turn to Jason. “Call Andrea. Tell her to reschedule any appointments that I have for this afternoon and push all the meetings back one day. It looks like we’re in for the day.” Jason nods and leaves my study. I pull out my blackberry.
“Allen, I’ve rescheduled all the meetings for this afternoon until next week. I need you to get an immediate restraining order against Elena Lincoln.”
“The Dragon Lady? On what grounds, pray tell?”
“Harassment. She keeps showing up—at GEH, my apartment, in Anguilla—even though I have repeatedly asked her to stay away from me. She has spread rumors about my mother and father’s marriage…” I sigh. “Allen, I’m one of the boys she molested.” I hear Allen gasp on the other end.
“Who knows this, Chris?” he asks, his voice now a bit grave.
“Chosen members of my staff, my family, Ana… and now you,” I admit.
“And we obviously don’t want it all over the press,” he observes.
“No, we don’t.” I pause again. “She’s obsessed with me. We were still friends until I found out she tried to molest my brother, which I discovered just before Ana and I got together. The events were so close together that she blames Ana for our parting of the ways. As a result, she constantly antagonizes Ana every chance that she gets. Ana keeps telling her to stay away, to leave us alone—but she won’t listen. She showed up here and made such a noise downstairs that Ana invited her up. Allen, Ana tried to kill her.”
“Fuck! What!?” This man scares me a bit when he gets angry. His voice gets very deep in no time flat.
“I came into the apartment and Ana had a chopping knife at her throat. As Lincoln was leaving, Ana threw the knife at her and it stuck in the door.”
“Oh, shit. She pulled out Ginsu Ana?” How many damn Ana’s are there and how does Al know them all?
“You and I are really going to have to talk about my girlfriend,” I tell him. He scoffs on the other line.
“You have no idea how many dorms and apartments in the metropolitan Seattle area have caulked holes in the walls and doors because somebody pissed that woman off.” Oh hell.
Yeah, my front door has three.” I run my hands through my hair.
“Three? She threw three knives at her?”
“No. She only threw one at Lincoln. The other two were to show me her precision. She would have thrown more if I didn’t stop her,” I tell him.
“Good God, what did this woman do or say to Jewel? She doesn’t know that she’s treading on some very dangerous ground.”
“I don’t know what she said, but knowing Lincoln, it had to be something vicious. My girl is throwing knives and calling out ‘oorah.'”
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Oorah? Did you say ‘oorah?” Now he sounds concerned.
“Yeah, the Ma…”
“How did she sound?” he interrupts me. I pause. What is he getting at?
“Menacing,” I respond honestly. He sighs heavily and I can hear him scrambling around in the background.
“Where is she now, Chris?”
“She’s in the kitchen.”
“Are you sure?” I step out of my study and around the stairs just around into the dining room where I can see Butterfly’s leggings and stilettos in the kitchen. I creep back into the study.
“Yes, I’m sure.” I can hear the ding of the elevator and Allen is on the move.
“Don’t let her leave the apartment.” What? How the hell does he expect me to keep her in the apartment? “Does she know where to find Dragon Lady?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t even know where to find her,” I reply.
“Well, that’s good, at least. Whatever you do, keep that woman away from Jewel at all costs.” Well, that was my plan anyway, but now I’d like to know what this is all about.
“She said ‘oorah,” he confirms again. It was more a statement than a question.
“For fuck’s sake, yes, she said ‘oorah.'” I’m getting irritated.
“You have met Marine’s Daughter Ana. She will kill you and make it look like an accident.” And the way that this woman has been acting, I completely believe him. I hear him get in the car. “Val had this boyfriend back in their senior year of college—good-looking guy, popular with the girls. He took… certain liberties with Val. He didn’t rape her, but he roughed her up a bit. She called me to come sit with Val while she went to get ice cream. Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker.”
After a few moments, “I wondered why she didn’t ask me to pick it up on my way. She was gone for about an hour and a half and came back with blood on her shirt. I asked her what happened, and she wouldn’t tell me. The next day, they found that joker running naked through Green Lake Park. He was bruised and cut up a bit, but he was fucking hysterical! We don’t know what happened to him, and Jewel never told us. That dude dropped out of school and everything.
“When Jewel got back to that dorm, she was cool as a cucumber. She took off her clothes and didn’t even bother trying to hide the evidence. Hell, she kept his clothes in the trunk of her car for two weeks. She didn’t break a sweat and she even had the damn ice cream. She told Val that he wouldn’t bother her again. When we asked her how she knew, all she said was ‘Oorah.’ I’m telling you, Chris, when she is screaming mad at you, you are good to go. When she gets quiet, pack up and run for the hills. I’m going to try to get you an emergency restraining order, but in the meantime, whatever you do, keep that woman away from Jewel. She’s a whole lot more deadly now than she was in college.”
I run my hand through my hair. This is basically the same thing that Jason told me.
“Okay, but see if you can get that RO for me, please. What should I do in the meantime?”
“Besides keeping Dragon Lady out of the way, talk to her. Try to gauge what she’s thinking. It’s going to be hard if not impossible, but do what you can, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Oh, that’s good. I’m sure that I’ll need reinforcements.
“Thanks, Allen. I’ll see you shortly. Keep me posted please.”
I approach the great room cautiously and walk to the front door. There are no signs that there were chopping knives sticking out if it a little while ago. Good grief, I’m dating G.I. Fucking Joe.
“Don’t touch that,” I hear from the kitchen as my hand rises to inspect the patching job. I turn around and Butterfly has chopped her vegetables again—probably with one of the knives that she took out of the damn door—and is back to preparing her dinner.
“Do you have time for lunch, or do you need to get back to the office?” she asks, her voice still flat.
“I’ve got time,” I respond before sitting down at the breakfast bar. She quietly begins to construct a chicken Caesar salad.
“Do you want your chicken hot or cold?” she asks.
“Cold, please,” I respond. Talk to her, Allen said. Here goes.
“Baby?” I say and she looks up at me. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
She looks at me for a long time. It seems like hours, but I know that it’s only moments.
“Nothing,” she says. “I feel absolutely nothing. All I know for certain is that if that woman ever dares to attempt to cross this threshold again, I’m going to kill her. I’m not going to instruct Marc to keep her downstairs or even ban her from the building. In fact, I’ll give her the code to get in myself, but the moment she passes that elevator, she has breached the perimeter and I’m going to light her ass up.”
Again, she says this without blinking, her tone of voice barely fluctuating. I prefer the adrenaline crying girl; this chick is dangerous.
“Butterfly, you’re really scaring me,” I confess. She places the salad in front of me.
“Christian, I’ve given her several warnings. From day one, I told her to stay away from me. She’s been warned several times to stay away from you. You’ve made it painfully clear that you want nothing to do with her and she. Can’t. Hear. You.” She places a cranberry spritzer in from of me.
“She has no sense of self-preservation and that’s not my fault. Every time I’ve come in contact with this woman from the first day I met her, I’ve inflicted some kind of physical pain on her to the degree of drawing blood, and she insists on taunting me. You play with toys; you don’t play with me. I’m not her sub; I’m not her employee; and God help them, I’m not one of those poor little boys that she has molested all these years. She had better understand that I’m not one to be trifled with. She needs to stay away from me because when I say that I’ll kill her, I mean that I will kill her.” That’s the most fluctuation that I’ve heard in her voice all day.
“Butterfly, I don’t want you to be out in the marketplace and see the woman at one of the fruit stands and shoot her!” I respond.
“That’s not my intention either. I’m going to try to stay away from that old bat, too. So, I’m not going to go looking for her… yet, but if she tries to hurt me, or you, or Grace and Carrick, or anybody that I love, I’m going to send her to meet her maker.” What makes her think that Lincoln would want to hurt Grace or Carrick?
“She is obsessed. She’s the worst form of obsessive personality—the form that understands that bad attention is attention, nonetheless. No matter what you do, she doesn’t see it as rejection. At worst, she thinks you’re going through a phase. At best, she thinks you’re playing some coy little game with her. So, she’s just going to keep coming back and the last time that she approaches you or me or us, she’s going to be completely unhinged and there’s no telling what she’ll do. Yes, I did say ‘the last time,’ because that will be the time that one of us or heaven forbid all of us will go down. So anytime she comes around us from now on, I’m going to be ready for her.”
Butterfly is in full-on ‘Oorah’ mode and I can’t seem to reach her. She’s showing no anger, no emotion. She’s cold, calculating, and logical and has every intention of going through with what she’s saying. Her words from earlier this week come back to me in stereophonic sound:
I love you… I’ll never let her hurt you again.
As far as Ana’s concerned, this woman is an immediate threat to Homeland Security and must be neutralized now.
“I swear to you, Butterfly, she won’t come near you again. I will do everything in my power to assure that she never comes near you or us again. I’m seeking a restraining order as we speak,” I try to assure her. She stops her preparation for just a moment to glare at me… the only bit of emotion that I’ve seen from her since I walked into the apartment and she had a knife at the Pedophile’s neck. As quickly as the emotion flashes on her face, it’s gone. That small amount of control chills me more than the most detrimental acquisition or difficult CEO I’ve ever had to face.
“Well, you know how I feel about restraining orders. They’re useless pieces of paper thought up by some bureaucrat that’s supposed to scare an already crazy person into leaving you alone. Nobody considers that this person is already so damn loony that they need a court order to stay away from you. A lot of good it did me while I was chained to a bed on Vashon Island.” She turns around a prepares some meat on the counter, then turns back to face me while drying her hands.
“I believe you, Christian,” she says a little softer than she sounded before and I finally think I’m getting through to her. “I completely believe that you’ll do everything in your power to keep that woman away from me. You’ve already done everything in your power to keep that woman away from me, but she keeps coming back. So, I’m telling you now that it’s time for me to take matters into my own hands. If that woman ever comes near me again, that will be the last time that she ever comes near me.”
“Ana, please, try to be reasonable about this.” I believe more than she does that the Pedophile is a waste of space and oxygen, but if my Butterfly is pushed to the point of killing this bitch, I could lose my baby forever.
“I am being reasonable,” she responds. “You’ve told her that you don’t want to see her. You’ve blocked all of her numbers out of your phone. You’ve banned her from your home and your business. You’ve pulled your support from her two largest loans. You’ve told her not to contact you without legal counsel. You’ve done everything short of hiring a pilot and skywriting that shit. You’ve even orchestrated her arrest, and she still can’t acknowledge an overt declaration that you don’t want to see her again. She needs a more hands-on illustration that she is not wanted, and hopefully I gave it to her today. If not, then it definitely will be final the next time that she shows up.
“She keeps coming back and keeps coming back like a bad rash, and every time she shows up, she taunts me and tests me and infuriates me. After everything that I’ve been through—that you’ve been through—we deserve to live our lives without that woman’s constant harassment. She keeps pushing that button and I’m not going to let her do it anymore. She’s not going to go away on her own, that’s obvious—and a restraining order doesn’t mean shit to her just like it didn’t mean shit to David. She’s not going to look at it and say, ‘Christian has moved on with his life and doesn’t want me around anymore.’ She’s going to look at it and say, ‘That bitch, Anastasia, she’s trying to take my Christian away from me—I’ll show her!’ I’m directly responsible for everything going wrong in her life right now, including the fact that she got caught molesting children.”
Of course, she’s right about that last part—the Pedophile said it herself. She’s a complete narcissist that blames everyone and everything but herself for her condition. The pondering look on my face may have given way for Butterfly to think I don’t believe her.
“You seem to need convincing. Let me explain how things work in her mind.” Oh god, I really don’t want to hear this… but Allen said keep her talking.
“You discover that she approached Elliot and finally accepted that she’s a child molester. Within that same time frame—the same day, in fact—you and I start dating. Of course, she blames Elliot for not being able to keep his ‘mouth shut,’ but you must have come to this conclusion with some influence from me, because there’s absolutely no way possible that you could have figured this out on your own. Never mind that you’re the brilliant head of a multibillion-dollar organization. There’s no way on God’s green earth that you could’ve put two and two together and figured out that a stanktastic, nasty bitch that liked to fuck children 11 – 17 years ago may still be fucking them now!
“Now you hate her, not only because she’s a filthy pedophile, but also because she has controlled you for the last 14 years. Now you’re pushing her away, rejecting her, pulling your support from her companies. In the midst of all of this, she has lost her best friend—not because she molested her best friend’s son, mind you, but because I was there.
“She’s still screwing around with these kids, which by the way has nothing to do with you and therefore—by association—has nothing to do with me, but for some reason unknown to her, she has now been arrested and discovered. I am the bane of her existence—the reason why her life is completely falling apart. How could I not have had something to do with this, too?
“You discovered a mole in your company—my fault, even though she planted the mole three years ago. You’ve pulled your financial backing from her salons—my fault, even though she couldn’t follow directions in terms of contact. You pulled out of the partnerships weeks ago—my fault, even though she stood in your parents great room and announced to everyone that loves you that you live an alternative lifestyle when you weren’t prepared to divulge that information, if ever.
“She’s been molesting children for 17 years and has now been caught—my fault, even though I was nine when she started this sick shit. She’s been arrested and her salons have been seized—my fault, even though it was a clause in her contract that she failed to read. She has made this horrible bed of nails that she now has to lie in, but apparently, I’m the one standing there with the damn hammer.”
She slams a bowl down on the counter. More emotion… yes, this is good!
“She’s never going to stop, Christian. She is going to keep going and going because she has some twisted idea in her brain that you’re always going to want her back. You’re never going to let her go. You’re just going through a phase right now and when the phase is over, no matter where she is or what condition she’s in, you’re always going to want her back. So, she has to stay put and wait for that fateful day. She has to remain a fixture in your life, even if it means making our lives miserable and I’m not putting up with it for another second. I’m not going to sit idly by and let her hold on to this delusion that she has the upper hand in our lives. She has been warned repeatedly, and she doesn’t get it; she never will. I’m only too happy to help her get it!” She spit the last words with venom.
I walk around the breakfast bar and take her in my arms. “No, Christian!” she says, trying to push me away from her, but I pull her closer to me and nuzzle in her hair. “Christian, no!” I’m taking a chance because I know that this tiger can knee me in my balls any moment, but I don’t let her go. I clamp my arms around her and pull her hard against me. She struggles in my arms, trying to resist, but I have her locked in place as I begin to kiss her neck, ear and cheek. “Christian… no…” Her fight is leaving her as she breathes heavily in my arms. I forcibly take her mouth with mine and kiss her deeply—bruising and searing. She whimpers in my mouth as she falls limp in my arms and submits to my will. I pull back from the kiss, still tasting her breath, my lips brushing against hers.
“Butterfly… please,” I say against her lips, “I can’t lose you. I can’t… I’ll die without you. If you hurt that woman, I will lose you. I don’t care about her; I care about you. I love you. With everything I know, I love you. Please, Butterfly… please…”
She has to hear me. I know that she is completely serious about killing this woman and I can’t let that happen. I can’t let the situation occur where she could possibly harm that snake and end up in jail. Even now, that bitch is still controlling my life—still dictating how things are going to go.
“I haven’t done everything that I can do, Butterfly, but I will… please… please, baby. Don’t let her control us anymore. I’ll make sure that, except for accidental public meetings, she can’t get near us.”
She opens her eyes and looks up at me. The chill is gone. Her beautiful sapphire blue eyes are full of love and longing as she gazes at me. There’s my Butterfly. I kiss her again without closing my eyes. Please don’t leave me again, Butterfly. I can’t take it.
“For you,” she says softly. “I’ll keep my wits about me… for you. I won’t just see her in the grocery store and pull out my Boo… but Christian, I mean it,” she continues, her voice cracking, “I won’t let her run our lives anymore. If she comes into this house again, I will end it.” I’m still looking in her eyes and I see the tears threatening behind her determination.
“I understand, Baby,” I relent. I can’t stop her from protecting the place that I soon want her to consider her permanent home. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that horrible woman was ever part of my life. I’m so sorry she’s putting you—putting us through this. Please forgive me. I’ll take care of it, I swear.” Her head drops back as I kiss her neck again.
“Okay,” she pants. “Okay… I trust you…”
Those words ignite something inside of me and I thrust her against the wall. Just like we were by the pool in Anguilla, we are devouring each other’s kiss, touching everywhere our hands can reach. I lift her up and she wraps her legs around me. These damn leggings! I can’t help it. I grind my throbbing erection into her core through our clothes and she gasps in my mouth. I continue to grind, gyrating my hips and praying that she is getting the same delicious friction that I am.
There’s my answer. I don’t stop the rhythm, though I want to thrust harder and deeper, but I’m going to come soon. I pin both of her arms above her head, holding both of her small wrists with one hand while cupping her ass with the other. I add just a little pressure to my grind, and she wails, “Christian, oh g… god…!” and she releases. Thank fuck! That extra pressure sends me over the edge just one grind later and I take her mouth with mine, our cries of passion muffled in our kiss.
I still want to kill her… but that will have to wait. I have a house full of guests and a Chateaubriand to serve. I had to cook my vegetables twice, but everything is ready, and I managed to escape to the bedroom to shower and change before anybody else arrived.
Allen is always early. Of course, he cautioned me to stay away from She-Thing for the weekend since he couldn’t convince the judge to give him an emergency restraining order. Christian would have to show just cause and he had no intention of leaving me in the apartment today. Good call. I was a powder keg ready to blow. Some of the tension was released after we dry-humped like teenagers in the kitchen… but I still want to kill her.
My aggression showed in my choice of wardrobe for the evening, though I didn’t realize it until I was dressed and had already rejoined the party. Christian was in the middle of a sentence and stopped. He had his back to me and just sensed when I walked in the room. I strode quickly to the kitchen without waiting for him to turn around.
I’m wearing a red Jane Norman slinky cross over bust dress. It hugs me everywhere and has a small opening right at my abdomen. My hair is pulled up into an extremely high, severely slick and straight ponytail. My earrings are large black onyx wire-wrapped teardrops. My shoes are Stuart Weitzman black French Cuff Suede high-heeled sandals with grommets in the cuff. I have matched my shoes with a black lace choker with grommets and a black leatherette bracelet decorated with grommets and a miniature lock and key. Although my wardrobe screams “vamp,” I kept my makeup modest as usual.
All of the hors d’oeuvres are served and everyone is munching away when I bring the Chateaubriand to the dining table. Everyone comes into the dining room and raves how wonderful it looks and I take in the compliments. Christian is staring at me, shamelessly and salaciously, as I go to the kitchen to get the rest of the meal. I barely clear the door when I feel him snatch me back and push me hard against that same wall we utilized earlier.
“Are you trying to turn me on?” he says in a low, sexy voice.
“Is it working?” I purr. He nods. “Then, yes,” I taunt as he brings his hand up my body, rubbing my breast then continues up to my choker.
“This looks like a collar,” he says, gently stroking my neck and choker with his thumb.
“Yes,” I say, seductively, trying to maintain the aggressive control I feel.
“You’re not wearing a bra,” he adds, still stroking with his thumb and causing shock waves to shoot to my core.
“No,” I say coyly, dropping my head and looking up at him through my lashes. His hand tightens a bit around my throat, causing my head to jerk back and he moves his face closer to mine. He’s only a breath away from me and my body is on fire.
“Do you want me to fuck you right here?” Yes, fuck yes… but, no. I shake my head. “Then stop doing that,” he hisses. He runs his tongue from my ear to my chin and I whimper.
“Control, Mr. Grey. We have guests,” I say softly.
“Yes, we do,” he purrs, and covers my mouth with his.
I’m bringing out the asparagus and braised turnips and Christian is right behind me with the potatoes and carrots. We set the dishes down and Al is looking at me in the weirdest way. I look back at him, but he says nothing. I check my clothes to make sure nothing is askew… nope, all covered. What’s the problem?
“Christian, dear, that’s a beautiful shade of lipstick,” Maxie teases and the room bursts into laughter. Was that it? No—he still looks strange.
“Yes, I was necking with my boyfriend in the kitchen. Now eat!”
Dinner goes very well. In addition to the Scooby gang, Mia and Ethan showed up with Elliot and Val. The whole crew is getting on very well. We all have an extremely good time, and everyone seems to be very relaxed, even Al seems to loosen up although I have no idea what the problem was. Anyway, Maxie talks about the wedding without giving anything away and Gary and Marilyn are quite clingy. I can tell they still haven’t sealed the deal yet. As usual, the guys fall into the regular guy banter—this time about fishing and, of all things, boxing—and the girls once again take to the balcony.
“Ana, tell us all about Anguilla,” Val croons. Since this is the first time that we are all together since my trip, I have to fill them in on all the juicy details.
“Well, I can’t say too much since Christian’s baby sister is present,” I protest.
“Sister, yes—baby, no… and no, I would prefer not to hear about my brother’s sexcapades,” Mia confirms and we all laugh.
“Well, one of the highlights of the trip was that Gail and Jason got married,” I say. There were gasps all around as the girls start to fawn all over Gail, offering congratulations and wanting to see the rings.
“Oh, Gail, they are stunning!” Val says. “Jason sure has good taste.”
“Yes, he does. He chose me,” Gail jests, soliciting a laugh from us all yet again. “It was beautiful,” she continues, starry-eyed and now she has the attention of four young women with Cinderella dreams. She tells the story of how Jason proposed and the barefoot wedding with the locals coming to bless the union. Thankfully, she left out the part where Christian put his foot in his mouth and had to grovel for forgiveness, but her description of the ceremony and reception was enough to leave any woman sighing for romance.
“Well, we have to throw you some kind of party now that you’re home,” Mia insists.
“Absolutely not,” Gail protests. “My wedding was small, beautiful, and special as was my reception, and that’s the way that I want to remember it.”
“Well, yeah, but we didn’t get a chance to celebrate with you,” Val chimes in.
“You’re celebrating with me now,” Gail says raising her glass. “You ladies have welcomed me into your friendship every time you come here when someone else would have—and often did—considered me ‘the help.’ I appreciate that very much and every time I’m allowed in your company, it’s a celebration.” My friends start the cooing and the hugging, Mia included, and I walk over to the railing to absorb the night air.
“So, Jewel,” Al’s voice breaks me out of my momentary concentration.
“So, Al… you want to tell me what that look was all about earlier?” I ask him. He scratches his head.
“Yeah, that. Look, I really like working for Christian. If I ignore some of those little bitch-acting bucketheads in his legal department, I have a really great time there and I make money hand over fist… but if he’s hurting you, I’ll quickly beat his rich, gorgeous ass!” He’s quite serious.
Hurting me? What the fuck…?
“Allen, what are you talking about?” I ask in horror. He pulls me a little further away from the girls.
“I saw you in the kitchen! He had his hand around your neck!” he accuses. Oooooh. Well. How do I explain this?
“Hmm, that, yeah,” I put my hand on my forehead and my other hand on my hip. “Al… do you know anything about collars?” He frowns at me.
“Collars? You mean like for dogs?” he asks confused.
“No… I mean like… for people,” I just spit it out. He’s still frowning.
“What are you getting at, Jewel? I’m lost.” He’s not going to make this easy.
“Christian and I partake in an alternative lifestyle,” I respond.
“Partake?” he tests the word. “What alternative lifestyle? What are you talking about?”
“I occasionally… wear collars.” As realization dawns, Al looks at my choker and his eyes grow large. “We occasionally wear collars,” I correct.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he nearly barks, and I shush him.
“Keep it down!” I command. “This is my boyfriend and it’s nobody’s business what we do in our private time, but you’re my best friend and that’s why I’m sharing it with you so keep your pants on!” I spit all in one breath. Al is clearly uncomfortable with my revelation, but opts to remain silent so that he can get some more information. I sigh. “When I was in college, I went to a BDSM bar—strictly for research—but it was hot, and I was turned on. I’ve been curious about it ever since. Then I met Christian and he was already in the lifestyle. He told me what he did and shared his story with me. So, we’re trying different things to see what we like. He doesn’t make me do anything that I don’t want to do, and if anything becomes too much for me, I have safe words.”
“Safe words? Ana, this shit is a bit much.” Okay, we’ve slipped over into SeriousLand because he just called me Ana.
“Sit down, Al,” I sit on the large chaise away from the girls and wait for Al to sit next to me. “There are so many aspects of BDSM. There’s simply no one way to live this lifestyle. Every BDSM relationship is as unique as the couple in it. One of the most common misconceptions is that it’s all about beating up on women, and that’s simply not true. People are always spouting things and they have no idea what they’re talking about. I’ve heard so many different things about the lifestyle from uninformed, ignorant, narrow-minded people on the outside looking in—people who have never experienced the lifestyle or even bothered to look into it. They see something on television or on the internet and they just run with it, with absolutely no education whatsoever.
“This is why the BDSM lifestyle is considered taboo and practiced mostly in secret. Yes, there can be some really creepy, freaky shit in this lifestyle, but everything in a legitimate and ethical BDSM relationship is sane, safe, and consensual. No one is forced to do anything that they don’t want to do. Safe words are in place because limits are tested—both sexual and physical. Christian is very physical, while I’m very sexual. So, we both have safe words.”
“You mean, you get to…” he just waves his hands, “… on him?”
“Oh, yes!” I exclaim. “I’ve taken that man to his sexual wits end… and he has done the same to me. He’s my first BDSM experience. I’m his first BDSM relationship. So, we now must explore new avenues where we would like to go because it’s actually new territory for both of us. Some of the things that he has tried on me he has tried on other women. However, since there was no emotion with these other women, it turned out… differently. A lot of the things that we do are trial and error which is why there are safe words. He has never hurt me except for the time he almost made my head explode trying not to come…”
“Fuck, what a way to go!” Al whispers salaciously, and I giggle at him.
“We have some exploring yet to do, but it’s what we do, and we both enjoy it immensely.”
“Well, what about the choking?” Al accuses.
“Well, to be quite honest with you, a light squeeze can be quite effective at the right moment,” quite effective, “but he wasn’t choking me, Al. He was caressing my choker—it looks like a collar.” I clarify. He stares at me for a moment, then I think the light goes on.
“Oooooohhh, okay. I get it now,” he says a little hesitantly. “Does he hit you, Jewel?” I sigh. Handle this carefully, Steele.
“It’s like I said, Christian is a physical person while I’m a sexual person. I could probably hit Christian with anything. I’ve actually scratched him and drawn blood, and he liked it. In fact, he was proud of it, but me—maybe a spanking or a light flogging, but that’s it.”
“A flogging? You mean like with a cat o’ nine tails?” He’s all in, now.
“Yes, or with a long-tailed flogger or even a slight lashing with a riding crop.” I shrug.
“Shit! That sounds so hot. Oh my God, you slut! I’m so jealous! No wonder you look like a little vamp tonight. You lucky bitch!” he whispers sternly.
“You are my best friend and I trust you with my life. So, when you asked me, I told you the truth because I don’t want to hide anything from you—but as you know, Christian is a very private person. So please don’t mention this to him unless he mentions it to you… I’m begging you!” I beseech him.
“Jewel, Darling, I’m that man’s attorney. My lips are sealed, but…” he looks around conspiratorially, “can you give me some pointers?” I laugh aloud.
“Sure Al,” I say as we rejoin the party.
A/N: Bertha Antoinetta Mason was the wife of Edward Fairfax Rochester in Charlotte Bronte’s novel Jane Eyre (my most favorite story in the world). She was insane and instead of sending her to an asylum, he locked her in the attic and kept a caretaker for her.
Two more chapters, my lovelies. Don’t forget to check out the Pinterest board at http://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/
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