Chapter 6 #2
She does exactly as I’ve asked, opening her lips and her pink tongue coming out, then she tips her head back.
I kneel over her and spit into her waiting mouth, and she drinks it down, then licks her lips like a cat.
When I straighten up, though, she’s opened her mouth again, tongue out, waiting.
Begging for me to do it again. And I do.
Sip of wine, spit in her pretty mouth, wait for her to swallow, then again, and again.
And my dick is raging with need. Raging with ownership, all because of this twisted little ritual.
We are a fucked-up lot, yeah. But we get each other, her and I.
Always have, even before we knew how many other completely depraved fucking perverts there are in the world.
But her mouth has seen enough wine and spit.
I take my dick out and, yanking her body down on the bed a bit, shove my hard cock down her throat.
And Jesus fuck, it feels so damn good as she sucks me off.
She swirls her tongue around the head as she deep-throats me, and tears run down her face as she chokes, so of course I ram harder.
And as soon as she sputters, I come, spurting down her throat until she’s coughing and choking, and I am so fucking filled with evil glee, it’s like it creates more jizz, and I can’t stop coming.
She grabs my hand, her fingers curling around mine, and there it is again: that goddamn sensation of powerlessness over my heart, thumping away in my chest like it’s at a fucking parade.
I bend down to kiss her, tasting my jizz on her lips, inside her hot mouth. But I don’t give a shit.
No. That’s a goddamn lie. I do. I fucking love it.
I lick it out of her mouth, and she’s moaning and her fingers are scrabbling at my hand, my wrist, trying to get a good hold.
I leave her mouth, and she sighs, her hand going into my hair.
But I push it away and hold it down at her side as I move down her body, shove her thighs apart, and dive right into her beautiful pussy.
She tastes like clean cunt, like desire and my own jizz in my mouth as I lick her folds, then shove my tongue into her, fucking her hole with it.
She sighs again, then moans, and I move up to her hard little clit, sucking on it as I jam three fingers inside her.
She’s all wet heat in my mouth, grasping at my fingers as I fuck her.
I cannot get enough. I suck hard on her clit, and there’s a fire burning inside me as she writhes under my mouth.
As she bucks her hips. As her breath comes in gasping pants.
And when she comes, I slip a finger inside her ass, making her come harder.
I keep working her as her orgasm fades, because making her feel like this is so profoundly satisfying. I had no idea it could be like this.
I had no fucking idea.
“I had no fucking idea,” I mutter aloud as I straighten up.
She blinks up at me, but I can’t talk about it.
I don’t even know exactly what I mean. I grab a wipe from the table next to the bed to clean my hands, then I lay down next to her, my hand around her throat, just feeling her.
She’s perfectly still other than her heavy breathing, which calms eventually. So do I.
Yeah, there’s a certain calm that comes with a decision. The decision I knew I’d have to make, but until just now, I wasn’t even clear about the options.
I know what I have to do.
“Giselle, I’m taking you out of here.”
“You… Gilby? You’re doing what?”
“Taking you out of the Training House. There’s a place… Well, I need to check with someone first. But we need to figure this out before I lose my goddamn mind. We need to figure out what the fuck to do now. And we can’t do it here.”
She tries to sit up, but I hold her down by the throat. It’s the only way I know how to get my point across. How to do things with her. And I know without doubt that this she’ll understand.
She wants to ask me more—that much is apparent from the question in her hazel eyes, from the way her dark brows are drawn together.
From the way she nearly begins to speak.
But in the end she seems to think better of it.
I don’t have the answers for her yet, anyway.
I need to call Christopher. But first I need to kiss her again.
Her lips open under mine, and I kiss her hard, my hand tightening around her throat. I pull back to whisper, “Go to sleep, my Girl. My Giselle. I’ll have answers when I get back.”
She starts to choke and I let go, making sure she’s breathing normally before I sit up, cover her with a blanket, then leave the room.
I pace the study in the Master’s quarters for a minute or two, then pick up the phone and dial. I never know if he’ll answer, but he picks up right away.
“This is Christopher,” he says in that familiar, husky voice.
For a brief moment a memory flashes through my mind—but no, it flashes through my body—of Christopher on my table as I ream him with one of my better billy clubs.
But he’s left being a slave far behind him.
As far as I know he’s all Master now, unless there’s some arrangement between him and Damon that I don’t know of.
Of course, it’s none of my fucking business. It never is.
I put that thought aside.
“Master Christopher, it’s Gilby.”
“Yeah, I figured, since the call is coming from our suite in the House. What’s up? Is everything okay there? And you’re the Master at the moment, Gilby. No titles with me.”
“Yeah, yeah, everything’s good. The House is good. The slaves are all well.”
“But?” he asks, letting the question hang in the air like a dreaded moment of anticipation I can almost taste in the back of my throat.
I don’t want to have this conversation. But I have to.
I run a hand through my thick hair. “Well, there is a ‘but’—you’re not wrong about that.”
“Giselle, huh?”
Fuck.
I shouldn’t be surprised. No one sees everything—every minute detail—like Christopher does.
“Yeah,” I say on a sigh I didn’t mean to let out.
There’s a low chuckle from the other end of the line. “Why do you think we left you with the House? Well, that, and we trust you completely. But Gilby, if I’ve ever seen a man so desperately fucking in love with someone, it’s you and that Girl.”
“I know it ain’t right…”
“It is what it is. That’s how this shit works.”
“Mm. Yeah, I guess so. No. I mean, you’re right, eh? As much as I don’t fucking want you to be.”
“Understood. So, what are you planning to do about it?”
I have to let out a chuckle. “Always straight to the point, Christopher.”
He laughs. “Is there any other way? Well, not when it comes to the slaves, of course. But you and I? Why bother beating around the bush? Just fucking tell me.”
“I want to ask about The Apartments. If one of yours is available for…a short time.”
“Yeah, sure. The penthouse just opened up yesterday. The others are all occupied, so it’s some fucked-up opulence for you and your Girl. Oh, and you might run into Master Anthony and Mistress Alina from the Primal Ranch there—they’re staying in the unit just below the Penthouse.”
“You’re certain it’s okay? The bloody Penthouse?”
“Jesus fuck, Gilby. You’ve been in these circles long enough.
We don’t do shit by half measures. Stay there as long as you want.
I’ll ask Madame Gemma to step in, or Robert and Cook can manage the slaves.
If you’re going to fuck your whole life in the ass, you gotta do it right.
That is what you’re going to do, isn’t it? ”
Fucking hell.
“Yeah. I s’pose I am.”
“Excellent. I’ll send up a bottle of Dom for the two of you. Nah, let’s make it my reserve of Louis Roederer. You deserve it.” His tone drops. “All bullshitting aside, you actually do, Gilby.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see how badly I muck this up.”
“You’re going to. In one way or another. That’s what happens when you fall for a slave. Nature of the goddamn beast. Enjoy the champagne. I’ll look forward to an update. And to knowing if we need to hire a new driver.”
“I’m not planning on taking things that far.”
But am I? I have no bloody idea.
We hang up and I ring for Robert, fill him in on the plan. He actually offers to pack me a fucking bag. Absurd. I go back to check on Giselle, who’s sleeping in the bed, her face so damn peaceful, considering I’m about to blow up her life.
I step away from the door and head downstairs to do my own packing. I toss a few things into a bag, since we’ll only be across town, and I don’t know that we’ll be gone more than a night or two.
Or the rest of our lives.
Just disappear together, like Christopher did with Aimée. Except they came back, didn’t they? But we have no Master Damon to come after us. There’s no one but the two of us, is there?
Is there?
Jesus. I need to get a handle on myself.
I grab my bag and go to a special closet on the main floor where we keep clothes for the slaves.
I pick out a black knit wrap dress and a pair of black heels in her size, seven and a half.
I remember. I add a warm coat that I know will irritate her after not being dressed for six years, but San Francisco can be cold year round.
I haven’t transported a fully dressed slave since I brought Giselle and her sister here to the US. I don’t even know if she’s worn shoes since we came to this House. I could ask Nola to help, but no. I don’t want anyone else involved. I don’t want anyone to see her. To see me like this.
I make my way back to the Master’s suite and find her still asleep on the bed. Her lashes are so damn long. Makes me want to reach out and brush my fingertip over them just to feel their softness.
I am losing my goddamn mind.
Instead, I slide my hand around her throat, and she opens her eyes and smiles at me. I grin back and give her throat a small squeeze.
“Time to get up,” I tell her. “We’re going. We’re leaving the House.”
“We… What?” She blinks at me, over and over, as if she’s struggling to understand.
I’m sure she is. She’s never left this place. Never even been sent to the Primal Ranch in Carmel, her or her sister. Never been lent to another House. The Training House is everything she’s known since she first stepped foot in this place.
“I’m taking you out of here.”
“But where?” she asks, a tone of demand in her voice.
There’s fear there, too, but I’ve never minded making her afraid. Keeping her off balance. And right now I don’t want to explain myself, and I won’t. Not yet.
“No more questions. Put this on,” I tell her, handing her the dress and setting the shoes on the floor next to the bed.
She stares at the clothing as if I’ve just handed her something completely alien to her, and I suppose I have. She reaches out and her fingers flex in the fabric, then she smooths her fingertips over a seam. She looks up at me, staring for a moment before she nods.
“Use the bathroom first,” I tell her. “You can get dressed in there if you like.”
She nods again, then walks slowly to the bathroom. She looks as if she suddenly doesn’t know how to operate her own body. I feel too much the same. Running on fucking autopilot. Body. Brain. Especially brain.
I pace while I wait for her, then she comes out in the dress, her bare feet looking all the more naked because she’s wearing clothing. Naked and fucking luscious, her bare toes on the thick carpet.
Stop perving.
I almost have to laugh. Like that’ll ever fucking happen.
“Shoes, now,” I say, gesturing to the black stilettos next to the bed.
She blinks hard but goes right to the bed, sits on the edge, and slips her feet into the shoes. When she stands she’s a bit wobbly on her feet in the tall, sleek pumps.
“You alright?” I ask her.
“Yes. It’s just…been a while. A long while.”
She squares her shoulders and takes a careful step, then another, and in moments she’s got it.
“Good Girl. Come with me now.”
I pick up the bag I left by the door and take her hand in mine as we go downstairs.
Robert has done his job, ensuring the halls are empty as we make our way through the House and down to the garage in the basement.
He didn’t ask why I didn’t want us seen, not even by him.
Robert simply understands everything. You have to if you work in a place like this.
But the quiet in the House makes the skin on the back of my neck prickle.
Giselle holds onto the railing as we go down the wooden steps to the garage, walking carefully in her high heels, and I lead her to the black Lexus, opening the door and handing her in before tossing the bag in the trunk. I go around and get into the driver’s seat and start the engine.
I turn to look at her, and she takes in a deep breath.
“Smells of leather in here, yeah?”
She nods. “It does. I like it.”
“’Course you do. We all do.”
I hit the remote and the garage door comes up, and she gasps, the tiniest sharp intake of breath, a whisper of a response from her.
“You ready to be out in the world?” I ask her, wanting to actually know.
She gives a small shake of her head, her eyes wide. “I-I don’t know.”
I reach over to give her hand a squeeze, not even knowing why I’m doing it. Maybe because I need reassurance as much as this scared slave Girl does. How fucking ironic is that?
I let her hand go and pull out into the dark street. And into an unknown I haven’t experienced since I brought the girls here from London.
But no. That’s a damn lie. I had at least some idea of what we were walking into. Literally signed up for it, paper contracts and all. But this shit? This is unexplored territory.
I gun the engine and drive.