Page 21 of Disgrace

“Your kink?” His voice is strained and hoarse.

“Double penetration with the threesome sex I’m never going to have.” I sigh and mockingly fan myself.

“Oh, fuck, Sam. Can you feel how fucking hard I am now?” He drops me a little lower so I am nudging his hard-on with my own heat.

“I can now.” I giggle.

“You said thatwasa fantasy. You’ve never done DP?” He clears his throat with a deep cough and proceeds to climb the stairs only stopping at the very top. His breath is a little ragged, but I think it’s due to this conversation rather than the exertion of the climb and my extra weight.

“I guess it’s not a kink because it is just a fantasy. And yes, of course, I have done double penetration but only with toys…not how I’d like to in mykinkyfantasy.” I smile sweetly but my innocence is lost when I grind my core over the tip of his rock-hard cock. Not that there is much innocence to loose.

He kicks the door to his bedroom wide open.

The room is dark with the curtains drawn. The only light filters in from the hallway behind. He strides in and unceremoniously dumps me in the middle of his bed. I gasp and no longer feel like laughing. The room isn’t the only darkness in here. I swallow the dry lump and bite down on my bottom lip. He towers and I tremble.

“I consider it my job to fulfil all your fantasies,beautiful.” The words rumble with delicious intent, drifting over my body like liquid lust and purest desire. I drop my head back and moan. “Your desire is my pleasure, your pleasure is my goal. I only want to make you happy…That’s not entirely true, I want to make you scream. I live to make you tremble, and I need to make you fall so fucking hard that Iownevery part of you.” His eyes pierce right through me.

“I’m already trembling, and I think you’re just about to make me scream, so two out of three isn’t bad going for a first date.” I point out.

“Maybe I need to work on that fantasy then, too, if I am to make you fall. If I find another guy I can trust to fuck you with me, Sam, would you like that?” His gravelly voice has my skin tingling. His words are scorching a trail straight to my core.

“Two guys fucking me? Why Jason, you say the sweetest things.” I let out a puff of air and smile, my attempt to lighten the searing intensity of what he is suggesting. His assertion is causing a riot of emotions in my head and combustible heat between my legs. He grabs me behind my knees, roughly pulling me to the edge of the bed. He holds my knees together, his large hands poised to prise them apart. His face is in shadow, but the desire is palpable and radiates between us like a physical entity. Inky black eyes penetrate me.

“Tell me Sam, when I’m buried deep in your arse with someone else in front, fucking you raw…when I fulfil your fantasy, will you fall? Will you be mine? Will I own you then?” He groans.

My head is dizzy. I can’t breathe.Don’t say it, Sam. Don’t you fucking say it!I draw in a desperate breath. I feel the fateful words dance on the very tip of my tongue as my unsettled mind loses its battle with my eager heart and declares that it might be too damn late for that. I think I may have fallen…he already ow—

Oh, thank God! Hard, urgent lips silence me, and I couldn’t be more grateful. This is too damn close. I can’t let myself be this way, vulnerable, naïve, stupid. I may be a lot of things but I don’t repeat my mistakes…I learn from them.

Sam aged eighteen

Despite my mother’s desperate attempt to lure Richard back into my life, her efforts were entirely wasted. Six months afterthatday, his family emigrated to the States, and although my life didn’t really change for the better, I felt happier for his departure. I would no longer fear running into him in the village or…well, I only ever left the house to go to school or the store, but in my mind, there was always that chance. I kept my head down, took my exams and waited for day I turned eighteen. My suitcase was packed and I had placed it just inside the front door. She sat at the table with a small flat present neatly wrapped with a pale blue ribbon. She grimaced when I entered, her attempt at a smile but she still wouldn’t meet my eyes. I don’t care. I hate her with every fibre of my being. Why would I want to look into those soulless, hate filled eyes?

“This is yours now, Grace. You are to date Gordon St John-Smythe. Your first date is this evening, and he will make an excellent husband. I have told him you are sullied, but he was kind enough to overlook all that when I showed him this.” She places her pallid hand on the parcel and pushes it toward me. My blood boils, and my stomach burns with acid. I clench my jaw, swallowing back the venom for a few moments longer. I unwrap the gift, knowing what it is but needing to make sure it is actually mine.

“This is mine now? Really mine?” I whisper running my finger along the string of natural pearls, looped and nestled in the silk folds of the Cartier box. It is a beautiful piece but I doubted it was genuine. My mother was delusional and all too desperate to believe the romantic ramblings of my grandfather. Regardless, it was important to her, more so than I ever was and now it is mine.

“Yes, it is. Your grandfather was explicit in his will. This belongs to you now.” She goes to place her hand over mine, but I snap the lid shut and pull it out of her reach. Her eyes widen with shock then narrow with the all too familiar hatred.

“Good.” I stand so abruptly the kitchen chair topples over, the loud crash makes her jump. I turn. I don’t rush but stride purposefully toward the front door, pausing to grab the suitcase on the way, clutching the necklace with a vise-like grip in my other hand. I drop the case, open the dark oak door for the last time, and step outside, inhaling a deep lungful of air like it’s my first breath. Her bony hand grabs a fistful of my hair and spins me round. I lose my grip on my case, and it drops by my feet. Her face is thunderous, her eyes cruel, lifeless beads, piercing me but not penetrating. I twist out of her grip and straighten my shoulders, returning her glare.

“Where do you think you are going?” she snarls, but her voice is a tempered whisper, mindful of being overheard. I can see from her ticking jaw she wants to howl.

“I’m leaving, but don’t worry; I’m sure with this”—I wave the Cartier box but not too close—“I’ll find someone willing to trade a warm bed. If not, I’ll always have this.” I sweep my hand up and down my body. Her eyes widen so large, and her face is mottled bright red, she looks like she is about to explode.

“You are not some common whore, Grace,” she snaps.

“Really? Because that is exactly what you made me when you forced me to fuck Richard! When you let him rape me!” I bite out the words quietly, but I might as well have used a bullhorn. She reels back and falters. I have never spoken to her like this…never.

“I did no such thing…You…” She points her finger, her hand shaking with rage. “You did this…you chose that path. You became his whore, and he threw you away, and I don’t blame him.” Spits flies with each angry word fired at me, but after two years of hearing the same tune, I am immune.

“You made me mother; aren’t you proud?” I pick up my suitcase. My tone holds no emotion, my expression impassive. ”I’d rather be a whore than your puppet.” Her eyes narrow at me but flit between me and the box I am clutching to my chest. “I’ll give you a choice: Take me back and let me live my life how I want to and I keep the necklace, or never see me again but you keep the necklace. Me or the necklace?”

She didn’t hesitate. “I don’t want a filthy whore living in my house. I’ll take the necklace.”

I turn and walk down the path.

“You said I could choose…you said I could have the necklace,” she screeches after me.

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