Chapter 6
Chapter Six
I must have fallen asleep myself at some point.
When I come awake it’s because she’s kneeling on the floor at my feet, her hands on my knees.
It’s dark now, the room lit only by the lamplight coming in through the doorway.
Must’ve slept for quite a while, the both of us.
Or I worked her for quite a while and we slept just a short time.
Who knows? Time is always a bit warped in the House if I’m not on the Master’s schedule.
Now my schedule.
The responsibility of that fact has my head right fucked up.
She says softly, a question in her voice, “Gilby?”
“Mm? Yeah. I’m awake.”
I sit up, my muscles stiff and aching a bit. Not as young as I used to be. But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is her beautiful face looking up at me as if I have all the answers in the damn world.
Wish to fuck I did. Knowing I need to go forward doesn’t mean I know what the fuck I’m doing here. I’m flailing, that’s what I’m doing.
I clear my throat. “I’ll have Robert take you back to your room, have your sister give you a proper bath. And I’ll send Dietrich in to give you a massage.”
“No,” she says, her dark brows instantly arching as if she’s as surprised to hear herself arguing with me as I am.
“No?” I demand, although, truth be told, I’m not that vexed.
She lowers her lashes. “Please don’t send me away,” she says so quietly I can barely make out the words.
My gut goes tight, and my pulse races. And inside my chest it’s like some battle being waged. I can feel my heart trying to kick its way out.
So I do the only thing I can. I lean down, push her hair from her face, and kiss her forehead. Yeah, that’s right. I kiss it like she’s a baby, some sweet and fragile thing. And it makes me feel like a fucking fool, but also as if I’ve finally done something right in my bloody life.
I take her hand and stand, pulling her up with me, and I lead her into the bathroom. It’s all sleek black marble, this bathroom. Pure luxury. And she looks all the more naked, her pale skin against all that dark marble and the gold fixtures.
I reach into the huge shower and turn on the water, letting it heat, then flip a switch by the door that heats the marble floor.
Her head is down, her gaze on the floor as it should be.
I leave her to stand there as I undress, test the water temperature, turn it down a bit.
Then I grab her by the hand and step into the shower, and as the spray hits her skin, she lets out the smallest sigh.
I reach for the steel collar on the end of a long chain set into a hook in the wall, open it up, pull her hair aside and slip the collar around her neck.
Her shoulders go slack as I buckle the collar and it makes a quiet click.
Gotta admit, I fucking love these little details about the House.
These things I could never afford myself and might never have even thought of.
She still hasn’t looked at me. I don’t mind.
I like seeing her like this: well-played.
In slavespace, and yet not quite. I don’t know exactly where the fuck her head is at, but it feels alright.
That’s all I have to go off of right now, with her or with myself.
Just going on instinct because I don’t know what else the fuck to do.
I take the hand sprayer and spray her body down, then pump a bit of the soap from the dispenser on the wall into my hands and lather her all over, working my way from her shoulders down to her feet.
She’s perfectly quiet as I do this. Perfectly still, unless I guide her to move so I can wash her. I lather my hands with more of the soap and wash her sweet cunt, then her asshole, making sure to give both a good massage, and she sighs again, making my cock hard.
I rinse her off carefully, using my hand to make sure she’s good and clean.
Then, because I can, I push her thighs apart and press my fingers inside her.
She contracts around me, and my cock grows stiffer.
I begin to thrust inside her, and I keep pumping, working her g-spot until she shivers, then gasps as she comes onto my hand.
And I feel so damn pleased with myself for some stupid reason.
But whatever. I turn her around, bend her over the built-in bench, where she braces herself with her hands, and I spread her pretty thighs and plunge my cock into her.
One slow stroke, then another, as I revel in every fucking moment.
Every sensation. It’s so much better with her collared and chained.
Fuck, it’s a beautiful sight. Her wet hair hangs in dark strands running with water over her shoulders, and it’s all so damn good, I don’t even need to hurt her.
She’s already hurting, anyway, from what I’ve done to her.
Existing has to be pain right now. Makes me so fucking happy as I plow into her, over and over, faster, harder, until I feel it build inside me.
A storm waiting to thunder down on me. My balls pull tight, pleasure like a beast consuming me.
And when I come, my jizz spurting into her sweet cunt, I howl like a goddamn beast.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Fuck!”
I have to brace myself on her back while I catch my breath, and I find myself running my hand over her spine as I recover. Just stroking her wet skin. Then I grab a handful of flesh at her side and twist it just hard enough to be sure she’s paying attention. Or maybe to make sure I am.
Fuck it.
Stop overthinking. Stop thinking.
I grab her by the hair and pull her upright, turn her around to face me. And I just fucking kiss her.
She doesn’t even kiss me back at first. Surprised, probably. But I don’t stop. I can’t fucking stop. I press my lips to hers, and she opens for me, and my tongue slips inside. And Jesus fuck, she tastes so damn good. Like her tears. Like her blood. But sweeter than either. And I can’t stop.
My hands go into her hair, but not to hurt her. Just need to hold her still.
To hold her.
My heart is beating like a motherfucking drum.
But yeah. This is it. This is what I’ve needed all these years.
I keep kissing her, my Giselle. And she’s kissing me back now. And in a few moments—or maybe a few years—she’s sobbing into my mouth. And I drink it in, her sobs. Her tears. It’s music to me. It’s honey to me. It’s this girl who is mine and always has been and can’t be, and…bloody hell!
I pull back, and she’s looking up at me, tears streaming down her face, and all I can do is wipe them away with my fingers as she cries like I’ve never seen anyone cry before. My heart is fucking pumping, burning in my chest.
She slumps against me and I hold her. I’m a bit awkward at it, having never really held anyone like this. At least, not that I can remember. Not even her.
I take her in my arms and sit on the marble bench with her in my lap like a doll.
Like a baby as I cradle her. Her body is shaking so damn hard with her sobs, and I feel it down to my black, depraved soul while the warm water washes over us, while it washes over the heavy steel chain leading from the wall to the thick collar around her slender neck.
Maybe it’ll wash away all those years of yearning that were like a headache that never went away.
Maybe it’ll wash away the bloody dumbass mistakes I’ve made.
Maybe it’ll wash away the guilt that weighs on me like a lead fucking blanket.
Eventually, she stops crying. I feel a sort of exhaustion I’ve never felt before.
But I take the steel collar off, then make myself get up with her in my arms and set her on a stool in the bathroom while I get us both dry, being so fucking careful with her because I still have this doll-like sense of her.
Not that this girl is delicate—not at all, which her years of hard service have proven.
But…there is a fragility about her now. I feel it down to my bones.
Fragile, yeah.
Precious.
I wrap us both in thick robes before I lift her again and carry her into the bedroom, where I lay her on the bed.
I call downstairs and have them send DeLayne with a dinner tray to leave outside the door.
And as Giselle sits against the pillows, I treat all her wounds again, rubbing the antibiotic ointment into every scratch, every dent made by my teeth.
Then I feed her bites of steak and scalloped potatoes as if she were a baby bird.
And with each bite I command her to open her mouth, and she does it, and I swear she’s finding peace in these tiny commands. I fucking swear I am, too.
When I hold up a glass of red wine she purses her lips and shakes her head.
The slaves are rarely given alcohol, and for good reason.
“It’s been years since you’ve had any kind of drink, eh? Yeah, this might not sit well.”
I sip it instead, then go in to kiss her again, slipping my tongue into her mouth. And she takes it and sucks on it. I’m fucking hard again. I pull back and ask, “What was that, Giselle?”
“The wine,” she says, a small smile on her face. “And you.”
I drink more of the rich wine, kiss her again, and again she sucks the wine from my tongue, and my cock goes harder.
This time I pull away to drink more wine, and she raises her chin to be kissed, but I shake my head.
“No. Stick your tongue out and take my spit like the good Girl I know you are.”