Page 23 of Disgrace

“I don’t know that…you’re a stranger,” I state as I start to regain some common sense.

“A stranger you were going to let pay you for a fuck not five minutes ago. Where do you think we would’ve gone to do the deed, hmm?” His tone is mocking but his face is filled with kindness and compassion, and he’s right.

“Maybe I fucked up—” I straighten myself, but he interrupts.

“No maybe about it, sweetheart.” He openly laughs, and as shitty as I feel, the humiliation is now clawing inside and morphing into anger.

“Look, you’re right. I did fuck up, but tell me why going with you now isn’t just another fuck-up. It’s not like math…two fuck-ups don’t make a positive,” I snap, but my indignation is short-lived because a surge of sadness consumes me. I have no one. I have no clue what to do now. I am so lost. I look up, and his features soften with the glaze of my tears, but even I can see the genuine concern etched on his face.

“Here, have my phone. The police are on speed dial, number nine. If at any time you feel unsafe, press it, but trust me, you will be safer with me than alone.” His words are softly spoken. He presses his phone into my hand.

“Why? Why are you doing this?” I’m falling apart and filled with confusion.

“Because I am a really nice guy.” He squeezes my shoulders, pulling me into his solid frame, and he walks us slowly out of the alley.

“Are you going to…um…” I pause my words and stop us both walking.

“No, sweetheart, I’m not. You’re not my type…yet.” I stopped walking, but he chuckles, a deep, friendly laugh, and pulls me back alongside him.

“Please don’t call me sweetheart,” I whisper.

“Okay, Sam. Is that your real name?” He looks down into my eyes. I can still feel the sting of tears behind my lids, but looking into his kind face I don’t feel remotely sad. I’ve got this.

“It is now.” I say with more confidence than I have felt in a really long time.

“Okay, Sam, well, I’m Leon.”

Ihad every intention of taking her to my flat at the club. Even as I started the car I thought about which playroom we could use. But catching her delicate profile and soft smile when she notices me looking her way just made that impossible. I know so little about her, but what I do know is a paradox to the image she portrays. I get the feeling her image is a comfortable costume she is too quick to hide behind, and if I want her to open up to me, to really be mine, I have to take her out of her comfort zone. I smile to myself. The irony is not lost that she finds comfort in a dark place with whips and chains and things that go more than bump in the night. She undulates with the touch of my fingers down her side; she shivers and her skin prickles with gooseflesh. Her skin is so damn soft, and her delicate little sighs make me so damn hard. She is lying with her back to my chest, tucked right in, but I am almost bent double from my hips, trying to keep my erection from digging into her arse. She is obviously tired to have fallen asleep so quickly after we made love earlier. Made love…Jesus, when did I grow a vagina? I don’t make love; I fuck. She sighs again, and I lose my tentative hold on being a gentleman and roll my hips against the ripe, round curve of her butt. I freeze when she starts to mumble, her body is instantly rigid in my arms and she is trembling.

“You killed her!” She sobs. “Grace….no….no …please.” Her skin is instantly clammy and she sits up with a cry, gasping for air. Her head drops to her chest as she draws in deep, calming breaths. I place my hand on her back, and she spins in shock, eyes wide with fear but flash only for a moment then soften with recognition.

“Sam?” I sit up and place my arm around her, pulling her still trembling body against mine. She feels so cold, I lay us back down and pull the covers up to her chin. I make a big deal of tucking her in, and she giggles. It’s what I was hoping for because she feels ten times more relaxed in my arms than just a few seconds ago. Long minutes pass and I begin to wonder if she has fallen back to sleep, but she tilts her head up to me. The sadness she holds in her dark brown eyes makes my chest hurt.

“Bad dream?” I ask softly.

“Bad reality.” Her lips pinch to one side, and she gives a light shrug but I turn her chin as she tries to retreat from me.

“Sam, I want to know. If you want to tell me,” I urge. I wait and don’t realise I’m holding my breath until she starts to speak, and I exhale loudly.

“I miscarried when I was young…and…it still haunts me.Hestill haunts me.” She adds with bitterness.

“He?”

“Richard…my boyfriend. He was angry, and let’s just say I didn’t stand much of a chance. I lost the baby, actually I nearly died but it obviously wasn’t my time.” She gives a tentative smile, which doesn’t reach her eyes.

“What do you mean you didn’t stand a chance? He forced you to have an abortion?” My tone pitched with disbelief.

“No…no he forced me to miscarry. He beat me so badly I lost the baby.” Her voice is barely audible, and her face is wet with silent tears. I use my palm to wipe them dry.

“Jesus, Sam. This is the same guy that—” The words and anger clog my throat, and I have to fight to contain the rage. “Richard…is the one who abused you.” She nods into my chest. I kiss her hair, and for a long time, I am utterly speechless.

“Where is he now?” I am surprised how calm my voice is when I want to tear the bastard limb from limb.

“He lives in the States. He comes to the club sometimes. He claims to be the ultimate Master or some shit. He has a big following, which is utterly terrifying. That people think he is some sort of BDSM guru makes me sick.” She physically shivers and I have to agree.

“My club? He’s been to my club?” I am shocked.

“Yep.”

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