I have to say that I had so much fun with the paintball. When I wrote it, I wasn’t even paying attention to what I was writing. When I went back to read it, I was crying laughing! I’ve never been paintballing and I had to do my research, but when I did my research and put my spin on what I thought a CG paintball experience would be, when I came back a couple of weeks later to edit, I was dying. I read it twice. If real paintballers have that much fun, I’m telling you… I had a great time and I wasn’t even there.
Chapter 62—Stags and Hens
We have managed to hit about three clubs so far without having anyone recognize who I am. It’s been a riot! I refuse to get drunk tonight because I simply don’t want to get hammered the day before my wedding or do anything foolish that might land me in the tabloids. We’ve kept it pretty small—no large nightclubs and no masks. That didn’t work for Maxie’s bachelorette party and I’m certain that it would be even more disastrous for mine. I’m told that many brides-to-be have used that same tactic in an attempt to pass as me on their hen night, but most often the night ends in disaster. It’s great to be a trend setter, but no thanks.
On our way to the next bar, I think back to when Christian said “Goodnight” to me tonight. I don’t know if he was still worried about the incident at the aquarium or if he was concerned that we may not actually get down the aisle or what was going on, but our parting was… cautious, for lack of a better word. He told me that he loved me and to be careful, but he cautioned me against the snares that brides fall into the night before their wedding. I didn’t know what to make of that. His demeanor was so strange and his eyes were piercing when he spoke to me. He held me close to him, but it was strange—not like he was embracing me and saying goodbye, but more like he was restraining me and not letting me go.
“Do you think I’ll do something stupid tonight?” I had asked, glaring into his eyes. He must have come back to himself, because his grip loosened and he took a deep breath.
“No,” he had said. “No, Butterfly, I don’t. Go. Have a good time. I’ll see you tomorrow,” and he released me. Hardly the tender “I can’t wait to see you at the castle” goodbye that I was expecting, but I hardly had time to think about it since Al and the girls were rushing me to get on the party bus.
My thoughts are interrupted when I see that we are pulling up to Christian’s club, the McElvoy. I remember coming here last June and dancing the night away. That was before Christian owned it, though. I hope he doesn’t intend to make a stop here tonight or the whole “Don’t see the bride before the wedding day” thing will be ruined.
It’s well past midnight by the time we get inside and yes, the party is jumping! I am dancing my ass off and having a great time when the slightly inebriated Man of Honor decides to make an announcement.
“Hey everybody!” he slurs. Did I say slightly inebriated? “My best friend… Alice… is getting married tomorrow!” Oh shit! Here it comes. The spotlight shines on me and I hide my eyes slightly, pretending to be coy and laughing behind my hand. Fuck, Al! What the hell?
“Now, she and her fiancé, Tom, saved all of their money to have the wedding of their dreams and now, she needs a little spending money for her honeymoon.” What the fuck is he doing? “So, I thought it might be a good idea for her to make a few coins tonight with the old Scottish tradition of selling kisses!”
The bar erupts in applause and cheers at Al’s ridiculous idea. There’s no way in hell I’m kissing a bunch of strangers!
“Al! Are you crazy?” I protest, but I can’t be heard over the cheering crowd.
“Now,” Al continues with his drunken explanation. “Her beloved Tom would not like it if you lads put your lips all over his lovely Alice. So, for the low, low price of one dollar, you may kiss our lovely Alice on the cheek and have a 20 second dance with her before she walks down the aisle and out of your lives forever!” The cheers erupt again and I must be completely stunned. Val quickly slips a “Lone Ranger” mask over my eyes and ties a flimsy black cape around my neck.
Fuck! They’re all in on it!
“Here’s our Alice!” Val calls out and I’m standing there like a piece of meat ready to be grabbed by the first dollar that floats by. I smile nervously and all I can think about is how I’m going to get each one of them back for doing this to me. Thank God they had enough sense to get me a mask!
“Who’s first?” Maxie sings and a parade of men rush forward waving money in the air. Fucking hell, is this really happening? Maxie starts collecting cash and off I go on a dance marathon, being passed from guy to guy and spun around on the floor until I’m dizzy. I don’t know how long this goes on, but after the first ten guys or so, it’s kind of fun. I get a kiss on the cheek and I get greeted by “Congratulations,” and “Have a happy life,” and “Your fiancé is a lucky man.” Even a few women decided to dance with me, mostly just giving me a kiss on the cheek and wishing me well on my wedding. It was going really well…
Some guy steps up to dance with me after giving Maxie his money. “Congratulations,” he says. “You’re very pretty.” He pulls me a little closer to him and alarm bells go off.
“Thank you,” I say nervously trying to put some distance between us.
“Have you had that last hurrah before you say the vows?” he asks, his lips close to my neck.
“No, and I’m not looking for it,” I say firmly.
“Okay. Well, if you change your mind, my name’s Yancy. I’m staying at the Heathman, room 227. Just drop by.” He kisses me seductively at the bottom of my cheek near my neck and releases me. I feel my skin crawling. He smiles at me and walks away and I run my hands over my arms to warm the chill I feel on my skin. None of my friends can be bothered to see that I’m feeling uncomfortable as they are too busy taking shots and pimping me for money. The next guy just runs up and grabs me. He’s drunk out of his skull.
“Hey Baby! No need for you to collect money for your honeymoon! How about a real man? I can give you what you need.” He’s literally falling all over me and he smells like pure alcohol. I’m having flashbacks of Stephen Morton and I wrench myself from his arms.
“No thank you!” I hiss. “Thanks for the dance.” I attempt to make a getaway as this is not fun anymore and I have had enough. I am snatched back into the arms of yet another vermin who is grinding against me like he knows me so much better than he does. I’m fighting to get away from him when he reaches under my dress and grabs my bare ass with both hands.
Though this is not hard to do since I’m wearing a thong, he has no business under my dress. I bring my knee up hard and make direct contact with his balls. He lets me go and doubles over to clutch his family jewels. I see Chuck just over his shoulder reaching for him in the crowd, but I take off for the bathroom. The cluster of women around the Ladies Room prompts me to opt for the unisex bathroom instead. I’m breathing heavily when I snatch off the mask and cape and fling them to the floor. What the fuck? People are fucking crazy! One minute, I’m dancing and having a good time and the next minute, some guy is trying to stick his finger in my asshole! I cover my forehead and rock for a moment, trying to calm myself after what just happened. I hear the door open and I am ready to tear into whichever of my dear friends have followed me into the restroom. I take a deep breath and turn around ready to unleash hell.
He locks the door behind him and he’s standing there glaring at me, his gray gaze cutting through my very soul. Surely he’s not mad at me! If he’s here, he had to see what happened…
What is he doing here?
He walks slowly over to me and he has shed the tie he was wearing earlier. His blazer and slacks have been replaced by a soft leather jacket and jeans. When he reaches me, he stands as close to me as he can without touching me. I can feel his breath on my lips, the slight smell of alcohol, but only slight. My breath is coming in short as the closeness is arousing. I’m glad that he’s here. No one else will touch me now.
Or will they?
He never says a word. He holds my wrists and his lips slam angrily into mine. Shit! I hope that doesn’t bruise! What is this? What’s going on? I don’t have time to think before he is deftly tying my wrists together with the tie he shed from earlier this evening.
Without a word, he spins me around and bends me over the sink, hooking my bound hands over the faucet. I’m breathing really hard now. What the hell is he doing? He lifts my dress and caresses my ass, slapping it hard and then grabbing the meat.
Mother of fuck! That shit hurt!
My thongs quickly become useless strings of material on the bathroom floor and he thrust his fingers into me.
No! No, not here!
Mr. Grey can’t hear me, mostly because I haven’t spoken. He works my wet pussy into a hot and hungry frenzy before removing his fingers. When I raise my head to look at him in the mirror, he’s undoing his pants and getting ready for battle. He pushes my head down into the sink before thrusting himself into me balls deep. I cry out at the invasion, hot and hard, and he is pounding into me. Good God! He feels like stone—so hard and hitting me everywhere! Fuck, my legs are getting weak already.
I raise my head again and watch him. He is savage, looking down at us as we fuck, no doubt watching his dick slide in and out of me as he collects moisture from our meeting sex and rubs it over my rosette, causing me to rise higher and higher. Now, I’m beginning to wish I had had that drink. He raises his head and catches my eyes in the mirror. He snatches my hair hard so that my head bends back. It fucking hurts. He bends over so that his mouth is right at my ear, never stopping his stroke.
“You wanna watch?” he hisses. “Then watch!” He stands up and pounds into me, pushing his wet thumb into my ass with one hand while viciously pulling my hair with the other. It’s fucking hot and scary at the same time. I’m gasping and crooning at the same time while he slams into me bringing me closer and closer to a violent and painful orgasm when he does something that scares the shit out of me. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his handkerchief, and shoves it into my mouth.
Holy cow, Batman. I guess he wants me to shut up.
I close my eyes and try to withstand the burning pleasure rising up in me. Is he trying to punish me? Teach me a lesson? Thank God the door is locked!
He pivots his hips, grinds into me, and with one final and violent pull on my hair, I am coming so hard that I see stars. I bite down on his handkerchief and breathe through it as he continues to grind into me, drawing out my orgasm. I grab the handles of the sink fixtures, certain that I’m going to pull these fuckers from the plumbing underneath. When my orgasm has waned a bit, he pulls out of my pussy and thrusts himself into my ass. I cry out at the invasion as it is initially painful, but not as painful as it could have been since he was already playing with my ass.
He releases my hair and grabs my hips with both hands, stroking evenly in and out of my ass. My head is down in the sink again as my neck hurts from being held back so roughly. What is he doing? Why is he treating me like this? What did I do to bring this on? This is not my fiancé. This is some angry man hell-bent on making sure that I know who’s boss. Is this what he was trying to relay to me when we left his parents’ house? Didn’t he see me knee that guy in the balls?
All of the inner contemplation does not stop my libido from responding to the delicious slow stroke and self-edging that he’s doing in my ass. Fuck, he is good, but I still don’t understand what brought this on. He’s stroking sensually into my ass and while he’s probing me and yet bringing me higher, he sticks his hands between us, pulling my ass and my legs apart while using his fingertips to caress my clit.
Oh. My. Hell. I’m. Going. To. Blow.
The fire is rising in me as he keeps a steady stroke into my ass, against my clit, into my ass, against my clit, into my ass, against my clit. Just as he has worked me into a fever pitch and I am moments from release, he stops his rhythm and empties into me hard… hard and rough, grunting like the Neanderthal that he is right now.
I fucking want to cry. I was right there…
He rests his hands on the counter on either side of my body and takes time to catch his breath while his dick is still throbbing inside of me. He takes some paper towel from the dispenser and carefully withdraws from me, cleaning himself thoroughly with the towel and putting himself away all nice and neat.
Lowdown, dirty, motherfucker, I want to scream, but I don’t—and not just because his handkerchief is still in my mouth. He looks at me in the mirror. I try to read his expression, but I can’t. It’s not disdain, but it’s certainly not love or remorse. I don’t know what the fuck it is. He removes the handkerchief from my mouth and begins to clean me with it—first my pussy, then my thighs, and then my ass. He’s not caring or gentle, although he is thorough. When he’s done, he discards the handkerchief, then begins to wash his hands in the other basin, all while I’m still tied to the damn sink!
What the hell, man?
After he dries his hands, he looks over at me, my expression no doubt saying what I was just thinking and I see it. I finally see what the expression was on his face a moment ago because it’s blaring from his eyes right now.
And now, I feel small—smaller than I ever remember feeling before. Angry, but small. The anger is not enough to fuel my pride and make me hold my head high. I feel like shit. I drop my head into the sink again because I don’t want to look at him anymore. He unties my wrists and throws the tie in the garbage as well before marching wordlessly out of the bathroom.
I’m lost now. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what that was about. I’m about to marry this man and I just saw a side of him that I don’t know and I don’t like. I lean on the counter without looking at my reflection, afraid that the woman in the mirror is going to call me some terrible name.
I wash my face and hands and resist the urge to cry. I honestly don’t know why I would be crying because I truly don’t know what just happened.
I look over at the garbage. His handkerchief and tie lay useless on top of the mounds of crumpled paper towel. I’m a shrink. I know what this means. Either he wants no possible reminders of this night, or he wants me to know exactly how worthless those items are for him right now.
I’m tending to go with the latter.
I massage my scalp where he pulled my hair. I’m confused. I don’t know what I’m supposed to take from this. He didn’t tell me. He only said one thing…
You wanna watch? Then watch!
I choke on my own gasp. I don’t know what to do. My body is yearning and I feel bereft. I reach between my legs and gently stroke my throbbing clit.
That sounded loud. I bite my lip to keep from crying out and continue to stroke my clit, just like he did before he left me hanging. My leg starts to tremble as I remember him pounding into me, gripping my hips and pulling my ass back onto his unforgiving shaft. I groan as I remember the feeling of him probing me, pushing me, higher and higher until…
That was really loud! I lean against the sink as I attempt to catch my breath. Masturbating in a public restroom the night before my wedding… after my fiancé ravaged me and left me throbbing—can I get any lower? Looking down on the floor, I realize that I can. There waiting for the whole world to see lying next to the mask and cape are my once-sexy thongs, in tatters and useless—discarded like a prostitute who just serviced her John. Thank God I am alone in my humiliation, but still too damn angry to cry. I pick up my thongs, wrap them thoroughly in paper towel and toss them in the trash with the handkerchief and the tie. He did the right thing… I never want to see that tie again.
I try to compose myself the best that I can before leaving the restroom, foolishly forgetting to wash my hands. I soon realize this will not be an issue.
Leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom door with the same carnal look in his eye is Christian. Again, I’m a bit afraid. He was somewhat savage with me and I didn’t know what to expect. In fact, I still don’t.
“Come here, Anastasia,” he says in a hungry voice that I don’t recognize. I’m frozen to the spot. “I won’t say it twice.” I timidly begin to close the distance between us, but not fast enough for him. Once I am within arm’s reach, he snatches me against his hard, unforgiving body, leaving my breath in the space I previously occupied.
“Let me taste them.” Huh? What the hell? Taste who? “Let. Me. Taste. Them,” he repeats, his eyes aflame. Oh shit, he knows what I did. Obediently, I raise my hand to his face. He takes it gently in his and rubs the offending fingers across his lips. Then his tongue comes out to caress them gently, first teasingly between the two, then up and down the length from the place where they connect all the way up to my fingertips. His eyes never leaving mine, he strokes my fingers a few times imitating the licks he often bestows on my pussy before tightening his grip on me and pulling them salaciously into his mouth.
Fuck, I think I’m going to come again.
He applies pressure to my fingers before raking his teeth across them and I swear I almost cream myself, which would not have been a good thing since I am now pantyless. I feel something hard against my back and realize that he has backed me against the opposite wall. Shit, how did I not know that we were moving?
I gasp when he sinks his teeth slightly into my fingers, the pain going straight to my groin… and he’s still glaring at me. He slides my fingers out of his mouth and, releasing me, brings his lips down to mine. Instead of kissing me, his lips are frightfully close to mine without touching them when he says, “I figured as much.”
I feel rather than see his presence leave me. When I open my eyes, he’s gone and I am left wondering if the entire thing was a dream. But for the cool breeze that I feel in my nether regions, I would have thought I imagined the whole thing. I dash back into the bathroom, intent on composing myself once more. I know that I have washed every bit of my makeup off with the number of times that I had to splash water on my face. Is it even possible to feel so wanton and so dirty at the same time? The adrenaline gets the best of me and a few tears fall, but I dash them away quickly, thinking only that I want his dick in my ass again.
No doubt I look a fright when I get back to the table. The girls look at me like I’ve seen a ghost. I think I have, ladies, except for the fact that I think I catch a glimpse of his back walking out the door as I take my seat.
“Ana, are you alright?” Marilyn asks. I shake my head as if the shake off a thought.
“I need a drink.” A few of the girls look at each other.
“What do you want to drink?” My head is spinning and I just want it to stop, or spin in the other direction.
“Something strong with lots of liquor.”
“Ana, you said you didn’t want to get drunk tonight…” Maxie protests.
“I was wrong!” I snap. “Now get me something strong to drink before I make a scene!”
“Before?” I hear someone at the next table say. That’s my cue. I’m making a fool of myself and I can’t have that. I stand up and dash out of the nightclub. Chuck is right behind me when I get to the party bus.
“Ana, what happened in that bathroom?” he asks. He knows that I went to the ladies room right after Gropey Guy got his hands on me on the dance floor, but I suspect that Mr. Stealth managed to get past him.
“Nothing,” I say, nearly banging on the door of the bus for someone inside to let me in. The doors open only too slowly and I dash into the safety of the bus, praying that no one got a video or a picture of my outburst for alcohol the night before my wedding. Dammit, Christian! He’s never dominated me in a public place, but that’s exactly what he did tonight. Now I don’t know how to behave. Off he goes to finish his stag night and the only thing I can think right now is that I want a bath and a drink. “Did anyone bring one of the cars?”
“Leave the bus for the girls. Make sure the driver and the DJ get tipped. Get me back to the castle.” Chuck’s eyes grow large.
“What? This is your bachelorette party… your last night of freedom…” He has no idea how wrong he is with that statement. Whatever freedom I had has been crushed by my Dom. Now, the party’s over.
“Thirty seconds to get me in a car or I’m taking a taxi,” I say calmly. He raises his eyebrows, then begins typing into his phone. A few moments later, a familiar black Audi pulls up next to the bus. I scramble out and quickly back into the Audi. Chuck relieves the guy in the front seat and we take off just in time for me to see the girls coming out of the club.
My phone rings relentlessly while I am in the back seat of the Audi. I ignore it, resisting the urge to roll down the window and chuck it onto the freeway. I erase all thoughts from my mind as I don’t even want to ponder what happened tonight at all. I don’t want to think about the dancing, the groping, the fucking, none of it. I just want to get into a hot tub of water and go to sleep.
An hour later, I leap out of the Audi and walk quickly into the castle. Without smiling at the innkeeper or even making eye-contact, I move as fast as I can up the stairs and into my room, closing a locking the door behind me.
“She’s what?” I say quietly into my cell phone.
“She’s dancing with the patrons at the bar, Sir, several of them, in fact,” Grant says. Grant is one of the additional detail I hired to keep an eye on Butterfly and the girls—and Al—tonight. I trust Jason and Davenport, but I know that by the time I get the information, it’s been reported and watered down. I want to know exactly what’s going on tonight, so unbeknownst to Jason or Davenport, Grant is reporting directly to me tonight. “It’s pretty harmless, maybe half a minute tops and they just seem to be congratulating her on her upcoming nuptials.”
“Upcoming nuptials? Who made that announcement?”
“Mr. Forsythe, Sir. He called her by an alias—Alice, I think—and she’s wearing a cowboy mask and cape. Some kind of Scottish tradition,” he says. “I just thought you might want to know.” Oh, I know this tradition. It’s where you buy a kiss for change, only it appears that Butterfly is selling dances. Whose idea was this? At least she’s wearing a cape over that nearly nothing dress.
“Who knows that you called me?” I ask.
“No one, Sir, of course,” he responds.
“Good man. Still at the McElvoy?”
“Yes Sir,” he confirms.
“Good. Let me know if things get out of hand.”
“Yes Sir,” he says before ending the call. I put my phone away and go back to the bar with the rest of the guys.
“Christian, it’s no fun if you don’t get drunk, too,” Elliot slurs. I laugh at my brother and ask, “Fine. What are we drinking?”
“That’s the spirit!” he slurs. “Give my brother a shot of Patron!”
Three shots later, I’m feeling light-headed and unsure, but not unsure enough to miss my name being whispered among the crowd.
“Party’s over, fellas. I’ve been made,” I say softly to the four of them. As dignified as we can, the five of us slip out of the bar and get into the limousine. We manage to pour ourselves into the limo without stumbling or vomiting and the guys decide where we are going next.
I can’t stop thinking about Ana selling dances at the McElvoy.
I discreetly lean forward and inform the driver to go by the McElvoy and make it seem like an accident. He nods at me and the guys and I share another drink.
A few minutes later, we pull up at the McElvoy and Elliot is the first to protest.
“Oh, come on, Christian. We’re not going to this lame joint again, are we?” he whines.
“No. I just want to check something out with Costa. I’ll be back. Hit the bar again, you won’t even know that I’m gone.” Jason leans in to me.
“You want me to go with you, Boss?” he asks. I shake my head.
“This shouldn’t take long,” I tell him. He scans the area quickly, then asks, “She’s here, isn’t she?”
“I just want to check in on her,” I tell him. He looks at me, then pulls out his phone. “Send that text and you’re fired… seriously.” He knows enough to know that I won’t fire him, but that he better not send the text. He puts his phone away and raises his hands in surrender.
The party is quite lively when I enter the bar. It’s always pretty lively in here. I make my way through the crowd looking for Butterfly. I don’t want her to see me. I just want to see her.
I soon get my wish.
She’s in the middle of a cluster of people and some drunken asshole has his hands all over her.
What the fuck? Where’s Davenport? Where’s Grant?
This drunken fuck falls over and another one takes his place. When I see his hands grab her ass, I see red. I can’t even fucking focus. I have to rub my eyes to make sure I’m seeing straight. When I focus again, she’s gone and Davenport has this asshole writhing on the floor. I catch sight of her cape flying behind her towards the bathroom and I am in hot pursuit. No one sees me—not even Davenport. Good. I have a lesson to teach little Butterfly. I am happy to see that she has opted to go into the unisex bathroom. I follow her inside, locking the door behind me.
As stealthily as I have entered the club, I exit, looking no worse for wear and feeling a thousand times lighter.
I am the Dom.
She is my woman.
She does what I say.
Throwing away the tie and the handkerchief may have been a bit dramatic, but it drove the point home. Behave yourself, Little One, or feel my wrath. She looked so fucking hot bent over that sink… I’m getting visuals all back over again of fucking her relentlessly in the bathroom… and of her face when she looked up at me. That tugs somewhere deep inside and although I know I have clearly made my point, I don’t like the feeling.
I’m back in the limo with the rest of the ruffians, who are now well on their way to drunken disorderliness. I throw back a double-shot of scotch, hoping the burning liquid will sear away the vision of Ana’s alabaster ass bent over that vanity with my dick pounding angrily between her cheeks. Everyone is too absorbed in their own merriment to realize how quiet I have gotten. After several minutes, I catch a glimpse of Jason’s frowning face.
“Jason,” I say quietly enough for only him to hear me. When he raises his eyes to me, he doesn’t look pleased. “What’s up?”
“You tell me,” he says just as quietly. I frown at him.
“What are you talking about?”
“Her Highness just abandoned her bachelorette party—left all of the girls at the party with the party bus and demanded that Chuck take her back to the hotel.” She did what?
“When did this happen?”
“About twenty minutes ago,” right after I left her at the bar. “She demanded a drink and left before she got it. She told Chuck to get her back to the hotel quickly or she would catch a cab.”
“Catch a cab?” What the hell is this? All I did was fuck her. Jason throws a knowing look at me.
“What did you say to her?” he asks. I narrow my eyes at him.
“Really, that’s none of your business, but I certainly didn’t tell her to abandon her party.” Quickly accessing the information and my answer, he nods a curt nod and looks back at his phone.
“Sorry. Forget I asked,” he says impassively, typing away at his phone.
“Something you want to say, Jason?” I hiss.
“Yes,” he answers, his voice still controlled. “I’m your best man and my job is to keep anything from happening that will prevent you from getting married tomorrow. Has anything happened that will prevent you from getting married tomorrow?” His blue eyes are sharp when they look at me.
“No.” That is my only answer.
“Then that’s all I need to know,” he says, typing away at his madly buzzing phone.
“What is going on?” I’m trying not to lose my temper, amazed that no one in the limo has caught on that something is amiss.
“While I’m very happy to hear that there is still a wedding tomorrow, I am asking Chuck to keep me posted on the events—or lack thereof—with Her Highness.” He turns back to his phone, still buzzing madly.
“Jason, I want to know what’s going on!”
“Then with all due respect, Sir, you should really call Ana and find out.” His voice is still impassive except when he says “Sir.” I realize that he is operating in the capacity of my best man tonight and not my bodyguard, though if anything were truly amiss, he would tell me. I sigh heavily. After pouring myself another scotch, I decide to tell him what happened.
“When I got to the club, she was dancing with a bunch of guys. It’s some tradition—dance with the bride for a dollar or something like that. They were all over her, Jason. The dances only lasted for about 10 seconds, but they were everywhere and more were coming. Thank God no paparazzi was there because they would have had a fucking field day.” I throw back the rest of my drink. He doesn’t say anything. He’s waiting for me to finish the story.
“The last one that I saw was groping her like crazy. One more second and they would have been fucking on the dance floor!” I hiss between clenched teeth. Realization comes to Jason’s eyes.
“Did you publicly humiliate her?” he asks, his voice still impassive. No, I just took her to the bathroom, tied her to the sink, fucked her senseless in 20 minutes, then left her without any underwear.
“No,” I say, pouring another shot, “but what I did wasn’t any less humiliating.” He looks at me for a moment, then realization dawns again. He turns back to his phone.
“I don’t want to know,” he says. A few moments later, “the bus is on its way back to the castle as well. The party is officially over.” He puts his phone back in his pocket. I drop my head. She knew she shouldn’t have allowed that to happen, but when I saw that guy with his hand on her ass, going up her dress—fuck, I just lost it. It was everything I could do not to beat his ass on the dance floor and drag her out of the club. I certainly made my point in the bathroom, though.
She is mine! She belongs to me! No one is allowed to touch her that way!
Apparently, outside of the bathroom, I made the point that she couldn’t even touch herself that way.
The night innkeeper was an easy target and for $100, I had the key to Butterfly’s room. I walk into her room. It’s dark, but she’s not here. I go into her parlor, her bathroom… still no Butterfly. Just when I am about to panic, I see the patio door is open. I walk over to the door and I see her looking across the lawn towards the garden. She is wearing lavender silk pajamas. A gentle night breeze caresses her hair and suddenly, I feel like an interloper. Just as I turn to leave, I hear a delicate sniff and I immediately know that she is crying.
Is it because of me? Of course, it’s because of me. I was a barbarian to her tonight and to add insult to injury, I exploited her final private moment with herself just to prove that I could.
She wipes her face as I begin to walk over to her. She places her hands on the stone railing and drops her head. I immediately sense that she knows I’m here. I feel her tense slightly when I put my hands on her shoulders and it sends a shock of pain straight through my chest.
“Hey,” I say softly. She only nods. I put my arms around her waist and pull her close to me.
“I’m a Dominant, Ana,” I say, attempting to explain myself. “I’m an alpha male who has fallen madly and hopelessly in love with the perfect woman and can’t stand to see anyone… anyone… with their hands on her.” She scoffs at my explanation, but says nothing. She only shakes her head while releasing a sarcastic laugh.
“What is it, Baby?” I ask her, willing her to talk to me and not hold it in. She just shakes her head. “Please, talk to me,” I add.
“You made your point,” she says coolly without moving. I can feel the frost in her soul. I don’t want to say that I’m sorry, not only because I am so tired of hearing those words from anybody’s mouth, but also because I’m not completely sorry. I’m not sorry that I made my point—that she knows that no one should be able to touch her that way except me and that there will be consequences of some kind if it happens. However, I am sorry for how I made her feel. I didn’t mean to crush her spirit or disrespect her, even though I did intend to punish her.
I kiss her gently on her neck. Brushing her hair out of the way, I move to her jaw and then her ear. I need to feel her. I want to know everything is okay. I want her to know that everything is okay. I love her more than I love myself and I know that I do stupid things sometimes. She has to know that I love her more than anything…
“No,” she says, pulling away from me, turning to face me and dropping her head. “You’ve had your fuck for the night.” Holy shit! She has never turned me down… never.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Go to bed, Christian.” She never raises her head. I guess she’s tired of hearing those words, too.
“You’ll still marry me?” I’m almost begging.
“Of course, I’ll still marry you!” she shoots. “You can be a brutish, jealous, irrational, selfish asshole sometimes, but I still love you. Now go to bed!” She shoots the insult without looking at me. I walk towards her, and even though she backs away from me, I still close the distance between us. Gently taking her face in my hands, I kiss her reverently on the cheek for a long time, hoping that I can relay to her how sorry I am for being a brutish, jealous, irrational, selfish asshole. Placing my forehead on hers and closing my eyes, I tell her, “I love you, too.” I feel her shoulders relax a bit, but only a bit. After placing another gentle kiss on her forehead, I walk back through her bedroom and out the door, leaving her with her thoughts—and me with mine.
You’re a real asshole, Grey. You’ve got this perfect, beautiful woman and you treat her like shit the night before your wedding—and what’s your solution? Go to her room, find her crying in the middle of the night, and try to fuck her again. Really classy, Grey, really fucking classy. You’ll be lucky if she marries you at all. You better pray to your lucky stars that she doesn’t come to her senses and leave you standing at that altar!
I go back to my room and, once inside, lean on the closed door behind me.
“Shit!” I hiss to myself. Was is worth it, Grey? Was it worth dominating her and making her feel like shit? You’ve made your point, Sir. Now what?
I go to the bar and pour myself a drink. The moment it gets to my mouth, I put it down. Instead, I go to the refrigerator and get a bottle of water. Jason was the only one of us who really remained sober and if my instincts were correct, Butterfly hadn’t been drinking either. That means that she was stone sober when she let that guy touch her. Shit, is that where my mind went? I could only see red when his hand went up her dress and I don’t even remember what happened after that. I know that she went to the bathroom, but I didn’t see her when she left. I saw the asshole on the floor—did Butterfly do that? I assumed that it was Davenport, but it could have been her.
She was completely sober…
More importantly, she was completely sober when you humiliated her.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!”
I thrust my hand into my hair and walk out onto the balcony. I take a healthy swallow of my water. The buzz is starting to wear off and I look up at the clear Seattle sky.
Pray to your lucky stars that she doesn’t come to her senses and leave you at the altar.
I clear my throat.
“I… uh… know we don’t talk much. Well, we don’t talk at all, but… if you’re up there, I did something really stupid tonight. Well, fuck, if you’re up there, you already know. I mean… oh hell… I mean…”
Am I supposed to be all reverent and shit? Because if I am, I’m failing miserably!
“Look, I know we don’t have much of a relationship. You probably think I’m about as worthless as everybody else, just a piece of stone with a pocket full of money and no heart.” I’m starting to feel a little depressed here. Is this how praying is supposed to make you feel? So much for reverence.
“Anyway, if you can see fit not to let here leave me like the asshole that I really am, I would truly appreciate it. She makes me a better person. She always has. I just forget sometimes. That’s why I asked her to marry me. She makes me a better me, if that’s possible. Right now, I don’t like me very much.”
I hate when I make her hurt or unhappy in any way. I look back on what I did tonight and I just want to beat the piss out of that fucker that ravaged her in the bathroom. Knowing that it was me, that I was the one that did that to her, makes me so furious with myself that I can hardly breathe. Really… I can hardly breathe. No matter how many deep breaths I take, I can seem to fill my lungs. It’s painful. My chest is hurting and I’m starting to panic. What’s going on? Am I having a heart attack? Will this horrible night be the last memory Butterfly has of me?
I remember hearing somewhere that if you’re having a heart attack, you should cough really hard. I’m coughing so hard that I expect to see a lung fly out at any moment. I need help.
I pull out my phone and text him that I need help. Is he still awake? I feel like I’m dying. The room is spinning and I think I’m going down. A few moments later, he has used his key and is by my side.
“What is it, Boss? What’s wrong?” He is clearly concerned.
“I can’t breathe,” I wheeze.
“What were you doing?” he asks, guiding me to a seat.
“Praying.” He pauses, then stands up straight.
“Praying?” he asks incredulously. I think I nod. “You don’t pray. Gettin‘ cold feet?” I know that I shake my head.
“I think I’m going… to lose her…” I wheeze. I don’t see him, but I sure that he rolls his eyes.
“Put your head between your legs. You’re having an anxiety attack.”
“I need an ambulance…”
“You don’t need an ambulance. You need to breathe before you pass out.”
“You’re talking. You can breathe. Now shut up and put your head between your legs.” I follow his instruction and my breathing comes a bit easier, but still not as easy as I would like. He has disappeared and, like a boy scout, comes back with a paper bag.
“Breathe into this, slowly. Put it around your nose and your mouth.” I do as I’m told and a few moments later, I feel my breathing begin to return to normal. “You’re not going to lose her. She’s still here. You and I both know that she could have been long gone if she didn’t want to be with you… but you are going to lose her if you keep pulling this macho-man-king-of-the-hill-head-man-on-campus-I-own-you-do-what-I-say bullshit. Ana loves you and she plays your game because she does love you, but she doesn’t have to. She never had to. She chose it because she wants to be with you and it’s a part of you, but how many times do I have to tell you that she’s not one of those non-feeling, mechanical, human whipping posts that you used to spend your weekends with? You can’t do that to her. She’s different.” I drop the bag without raising my head.
“I treated her like shit,” I lament, almost to the point of tears.
“I know, and I don’t want to hear the gory details,” Jason says. “This woman is about to be your wife.. you know, have your children, share your name, care for you when you’re sick—real life shit. How women allow you to beat them and do that crazy shit that I know you do in that room, I’ll never know and I don’t want to. It’s none of my business, but you’ve found one that will love you forever and do that shit with you and you’re so busy trying to exercise your ‘dominance’ over her that you don’t even think clearly half the time. You’re probably the only man that I know that when you fuck up, you fuck up all the way. There’s no middle ground for you. You need to bring it down a gear, Christian, or one of these days, you’re going to fuck up so badly that you won’t be able to fix it.”
I know he’s right. That’s why I’m in this damn therapy, to try to get a handle on things. I’m just so intense when it comes to Butterfly, much more intense than I am or ever have been with anything in my life.
“She’s my life, Man,” I murmur.
“Yeah, yeah, I know…”
“No, you don’t understand,” I interrupt him raising my head. “She’s my heartbeat. She’s my whole life. I’m nothing without her.” He pauses and looks at me.
“Should I be worried about this, Boss?” he says, seriously. Should he be? I don’t know. I’ve never felt this way before. My hesitation must have been too long. “She’s not a possession, Christian. You. Can’t. Own her. She is a living, breathing thing with a will of her own and a very strong one at that. If you can’t remember that, you need to step back and think about what you’re doing because if you’re trying to tame her, that’s never going to happen.”
“Are you suggesting that I leave my fiancée at the altar?” I almost growl.
“What I’m suggesting is that you remember that your fiancée is a person, not an object; that you can’t treat her like a toy that is there simply for your pleasure, nor can you expect her to be at your beck and call; that this relationship is unlike any that you have ever had and this woman is unlike any that you have ever met; that her love is hard and fearless, but so is her disdain and if you find yourself on the wrong side of that coin, you’ll never be the same again.”
I fall back in my seat. I could really use that drink, now, but I won’t. I’ve had enough tonight and I have a feeling that the alcohol intensified what I did and how I felt when I saw Butterfly earlier.
“I don’t want to lose her… but I’m not trying to treat her like a possession. She is so much more than that,” I say defeated.
“Are you obsessed with her?” he asks me.
“Yes, Jason, I am,” I say without hesitating, “I hope not in an unhealthy way, but yes, I am obsessed with her.” He sits in the chair across from me and folds his arms.
“Well, admitting it usually means that it’s not too unhealthy, but be careful. If you let this get bigger than you, you’ll become Edward David and she will run away from you screaming and hide for her life. Stories like that always end up with somebody dying and I’ve told you, if she aims a gun at you, you’re on your own.” I run my hands through my hair.
“I went to her tonight,” I confess.
“I figured as much.”
“She turned me away.” He cocks his head at me.
“Well, that’s got to be a first,” he says, and his amazement doesn’t go unnoticed. “No wonder you’re sitting here pissing your pants. Were you trying to fuck her?”
“Yes. No. Ye… I was trying to connect with her, to love her. I wasn’t trying to get laid, I was just…” I sigh heavily. Jason waves his hand flippantly at me.
“Yeah, I know. You fuck up, you want to make them feel good, they don’t want shit to do with you. Can you blame her? I don’t know what you did, but she left her bachelorette party. That shit must have been pretty big.” I shake my head.
“It was,” I groan, scratching my head. It’s Jason’s turn to shake his head.
“Get some sleep,” he says. “Quit being such an asshole. I never thought I’d live to see the day you would take the vows, much less be your best man. Now you’re ruining the experience for me. Carry your ass to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning for the run—and good luck getting those drunkards out of bed.”
“Fuck that shit! I’m the groom this time—that’s your job!” I snap.
“There he is,” he says, standing with a smirk. “Goodnight, Boss.” I roll my eyes.
I am bent over a tall, padded table. My wrists are shackled to the other side and my feet are bound to a spreader bar, my legs so far apart that I can barely stand. I’m blindfolded and completely exposed.
“You look delicious,” his voice says from behind me, and he caresses my ass before landing a hard slap there. I cry out at the pain. “You’ve been a bad girl, Anastasia. I have to punish you.”
“But I didn’t do anything wrong,” I protest, but he can’t hear me. He is stroking his massive length between my ass cheeks. What is he going to do? Fuck me up the ass again? Leave me hanging and wanting like he did in the bathroom? Humiliate me? Before I can think of anything else, he grabs my hips and plunges deep into my core—balls deep—grinding into me hard and around like he’s doing some kind of sexy Latin ballroom dance.
Holy mother fuck of all fucks! It’s fucking incredible. I groan loudly at the intense sensation.
“Yes, Baby. That’s right. Feel me. Feel me make you feel what nobody else can. Feel me going where no one else is allowed.” He pulls out of me and thrusts in again, and again, grinding deep and hard each time. I cry out again as his hand lands hard on my ass-once, twice, three times—mixing the pleasure with the pain.
“Yes!” he grunts with each thrust and blow. “You like it! You know you like it!” His words spur my orgasm and I feel the wetness make him more slippery inside me.
“That’s it, Baby,” he growls. “Wet me. Make that dick wet, Baby. Yeah, just like that.” His stroke doesn’t change, deep and hard and intense and rubbing me in every area of my core. His hands are on my hips… and they slide under my ass cheeks and between my legs, holding me open and exposing me to him like he did in the bathroom. How is that possible? Four hands?
He lifts me a bit and holds me open, exposing my pussy to his relentless, merciless, grinding stroke.
“Aaaaahhh!” I cry out. The pleasure is incredible. At the same time, the second set of hands holds my hips against him, preventing my escape as he torments my core pushing me to another orgasm.
“Aah! Aaaaahh!” I whine as my hands grasp the chains that are attached to the shackles on my wrists.
“Yes!” he commands. “Again!” His rhythm never changes as he pushes and pulls and grinds and holds me open. Another hand comes from God only knows where and slaps my ass again, HARD! A second orgasm pours from me and causes him to groan loudly.
“Fuck! So tight! So wet and so tight!” I don’t think I can take anymore. Come already!
“Christian, please…” He can’t hear me. His stroke becomes more intense, more sensual, deeper as if that’s possible. Shit, he’s pushing me again. One set of hands on my hips pulling me onto him, a second set of hands under my ass and between my legs holding me open—a third set reaches around me and cups my breast, using them for leverage as he continues to dig into me.
Oh, fuck, this is insane!
“Christian! No!” He doesn’t stop. His dick is diving and rubbing and grinding and pulling me into yet another sensual rise. No! I can’t! Not again. I can’t do it.
His hands dig into my breast, squeezing roughly as he growls, “you have perfect tits. I wish I could suck them right now. Do you feel me sucking them?” Once he says it, I actually feel him sucking them! Am I high? This is impossible!
“Christian, please,” I mewl as his lips torture me like only he can.
“Mmm,” I feel him groan against my nipple as his hands hold me roughly and his lips and tongue bring it to a painful, pleasurably pebble… and he’s fucking me from behind… and holding my hips… and holding my pussy open so he can pound into me! This is completely impossible, but the pleasure is so intense and almost unbearable.
“Christian… please… stop…” I pant, unable to control any part of my body anymore.
“Oh, no, Baby. We’re just getting to the good part.” He moves his fingers down to my clit and strokes me with his fingertips like he did in the bathroom.
“No…!” I mewl, remembering how bereft I felt when he left me wanting. “No…!” I feel my legs stiffen, my pussy is pulsing, and he is thrusting relentlessly—deep, deep, grinding. God, it feels so good.
“Christian, please!” I almost cry. Two more hands wrap in my hair, holding it like reigns as he pulls me against him and rides me with abandon. Christian with eight hands fucking me fantastically from behind, sucking my tits to orgasmic soreness, holding my hips so that I can’t get away, holding me up and open to allow for maximum penetration, stroking my clit like a master, holding my hair like a wild boy trying to tame a stallion, and slapping my ass every now and again like a damn savage!
Fuck, I’m going to die.
I give in to my fate and allow him to direct my body any way he wants. Sensing my surrender, his hips rock and grind into me, pulling me against him and spurring me towards yet another orgasm. I whimper as I feel it rising, my wetness getting thick and slippery once more.
“Yes, Baby, that’s right. You know what to do.” As if his hips could get any more masterful, he does some kind of move that hits right in the hot spot and causes me to shiver, making the climax imminent. He’s groaning loudly with each stroke and I’m certain he will come any second.
“Fuck, Baby… fuck… looks… so good… so good…”
He intensifies that deadly stroke and my entire body stiffens.
“Shit… yes… big one… it’s… big…” You’re telling me. “Fuck! Baby! Fuck! Oh, fuck!”
He’s coming—exploding? Disintegrating? Something! His fingers digging into me, pulling my hair ferociously, he sounds exactly like a panther in the wild, growling loud and marking his territory. He groans loud and long, holding himself inside of me, shaking, rocking, and grinding, but never withdrawing. My feet are off the ground as eight-handed Christian holds me against his massive dick, paralyzed by his orgasm.
I feel his massive, rock hard cock dancing, throbbing, pumping, emptying inside of me…
I detonate fantastically, stars and skyrockets and firecrackers, blinding flashes of light—intense burning, painful explosions, and deep, deep, orgasmic euphoria, throbbing and clenching and vibrating and tearing my body apart…
“Christian…! Oh Gooooooooooooooooooood!”
My voice echoes in my head as I sit up in bed, drenched in sweat, breathing heavily… and still coming! I throw my head back and ride it out, imagining eight-handed Christian still tweaking my tits, grabbing my hips, holding me open, stroking my clit, grabbing my hair, slapping my ass, slamming into me…
“Fuck!” I call out as I squeeze my thighs together and tremble through my orgasm. I fall back on the bed and enjoy the aftermath once the orgasm starts to wane. Fucking hell! Eight hands! Or was it nine? He drives me crazy enough with just two! Good God!
The sun is shining through my balcony window. I don’t know what time it was when I finally got to sleep and I don’t know what time it is now. Judging by the position of the sun, I’d say it’s about 8 or 9 o’clock. I need a shower… like, now!
I let the water run over my hair, rinsing away my conditioner. I can hardly focus. My body is so sensitive. I feel Christian’s hands all over me and I can’t shake it. If I hadn’t come so hard, I’d be masturbating again right now. This man has turned me into a fucking sex fiend! I want to be mad at him for what he did last night, but all I can think about is slamming him against the wall of this shower, climbing him like a fucking tree, and screwing the shit out of him until neither of us can see straight! That’s what I get for turning him away last night. He was determined to get one more fuck, so he invaded my fucking dreams.
Unlike the bathroom scene at the McElvoy, my dream left me feeling sensual and sexy. Maybe that’s what I needed after the way Christian made me feel last night. I don’t even think I minded the act so much as the why of the act. The Dom in him is sexy and controlling and even though I didn’t get the second orgasm, the first one was hot; but if he was there at that moment, then he was there for the drunk gropey guy and the one that put his hand up my dress. He was marking his territory. The only problem was that he was marking it with the wrong person. I gave the guy a nut shot that he won’t soon forget. Yet, instead of beating the hell out of him or getting him fired from his job or whatever filthy rich Neanderthals do to other men who touch their women, he came into the restroom and punished me! No, I didn’t want him to touch me last night after that. I wanted him to go away! I mean, what was the purpose of that?
Oh, and let’s not forget the whole ceremonious degradation of throwing away the tie and the handkerchief. I mean, seriously? The night before my wedding? That’s what you want to send me to bed with, Mr. Grey? He’s lucky I didn’t call the whole thing off! So maybe fate saw fit to give me a better picture to put in my mind besides the one that I took from the McElvoy. He’s lucky… somebody up there is looking out for him.
I think about the sexy lingerie that I will wear under my wedding dress. The dress has built-in support, so I won’t be wearing a bra, but I will be wearing a high-waisted pair of white French lace thongs with a matching suspender and white silk stockings with a thick lace trim. Everything I’m wearing today is special, nothing that I’ve ever worn before. Even the robe I don after my shower is brand new. White silk with a blue sash. I took a bath before bed, but the nocturnal BDSM session required that I take a shower to wash away the evidence.
I take my coffee out onto the balcony and look across at the garden. I’ll be getting married there this afternoon. I really should be waking the girls, but I decide that if they don’t make it to the spa for detox and they look like shit in the pictures, it’s not my responsibility. I’m the bride this time and I don’t plan on babysitting these women today. If my wedding pictures are ruined, I will just crop them out of the shots and rag them about it for life.
He’s haunting me. I hear his voice… well, his cough. Where is he?
I look to my left and see Jason mercilessly pushing him and the other groomsmen in a run. They are too far to see me, but I can see them.
“You bunch of pussies!” Jason barks. “Shut the hell up and run! I’m not having my ass chewed sideways because of you drunken fucks! Lift those knees! Let’s go!” I don’t know who looks worse out there, Elliot or Christian. James is trailing behind a bit, but not as badly as those two. Ethan looks like he can barely stand. And why do they all have big red and pink blotches on their legs and arms? They look like they’ve been bitten by mutant mosquitoes. Ethan looks the worst as some of his are purple. James’ darker skin tone camouflages his better, but you can still see the bruises. The other three are just kind of pink. Did they encounter a swarm of bees on their hike?
“Come on, Kavanaugh! You’re holding us up!” Jason barks before slapping him squarely on the back. Ethan squirms in pain and stops in his tracks.
“MotherFUCKer!” Ethan yells. “Hit me again and I’ll break your jaw!”
“You wish! Pick up your knees and get going, Pretty Boy!” Jason barks unphased. Ethan throws a look of death at Jason, then runs to catch up with the others. I snicker to myself. No cushy spa day detox for you guys, not with best man drill sergeant Taylor around.
A/N: So, Mr. Grey is ever the Neanderthal. The wedding is next. Not to worry, nothing bad happens at the wedding and the story promises to have some smooth sailing for a moment or three. There is a slight dilemma, though…
The wedding is long. When I say long, I mean LONG! It is going to take quite some time to tweak this puppy. This means that I won’t have any time to work on anything else. So I’m taking a poll:
The wedding is too long to post as one chapter. It has to be broken into two. So, we can–
1) Post one chapter on the weekend of the 12th/13th and one chapter on the weekend of the 19th/20th. I will try to split the chapters at a reasonable place so that it doesn’t seem weird or mess with the flow of the story, but I can’t make any promises–OR
2) Post the entire wedding on the weekend of the 12th/13th (still two chapters) but there most likely won’t be another chapter until after Christmas. That gives me time to work on other chapters because the wedding was a BEAST! I think you guys will enjoy it though. At least I hope you will.
I tried to make the wedding one chapter, but the story kept growing and I couldn’t stop it. For people reading the story on their phones, one chapter would be impossible. So–respond in a comment, send me an email, go to the contact page–whichever you like. I’ll tally up the votes and do what you guys choose.
“Mending Dr. Steele” is actually coming to a close. I think we are going to make it to that 70-chapter mark like “Paging,” maybe a little further. I don’t know for sure because I haven’t written the last chapter yet. I really need to get back to editing the first book because I realized after having another few sets of eyes look at it that it’s going to require some major changes. I will take a little break between Book II and Book III just like I did before, but hopefully not as long. We will have to see. In the meantime, make sure to comment (I know that several people will have something to say about how badly Christian acted or how foolish Ana was, so have at it) and make sure to vote or I’ll have to put the options in a hat and choose blindly.