Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
What in hell does a guy like me say to that?
The guy who took her to another fucking continent to spend her days on her knees, serving the desires of whoever the Master of the House decides to turn her over to?
I try to remind myself that she chose this life every bit as much as I chose it for her.
No. That’s a fucking lie. Because this life was the consolation prize.
What she wanted was ultimately something I couldn’t give her. Am I any more able to do that now?
Fuck.
But I can’t sit here like some gobby twat with my mouth hanging open.
“Giselle. We have to be realistic here.”
“Loving you is my reality,” she insists.
“Yeah. Yeah,” I say, the wheels churning in my brain.
I reach out and take her hand, closing my fingers around hers.
Her bones are so fine, I don’t know how her body takes what it does, but she’s a damn champion, she is.
No one could ask for a finer slave. How is it that she wants me?
But she does. And I want her—need her in a way that sets my fucking lousy soul on fire.
“Giselle,” I repeat as I wrap a hand behind her neck and pull her closer, until my eyes and hers are a mere inch or two apart. I tell her quietly, “I love you, you know. You’ve always known that, haven’t you?”
As I say the words, she takes in a sharp breath, as if she’s breathing me in, one quick, rushing inhale.
And me? I feel like the fucking weight of the world has lifted off my shoulders.
I have to close my eyes for a moment. When I open them she’s still right there, and I can see the sheen of tears; they bring out the deep gold in her eyes.
Gold like the goddamn sun on my face. I pull back to see her flushed cheeks, her plump mouth, then I lean in to kiss her. Impossible to do anything else.
She’s hungry, taking my mouth as if she’s been starving for it. And I get it; I feel the same. Like a man who’s never kissed a woman before.
Like a man who’s never kissed the woman he loves.
My grip tightens on the back of her neck as emotions rush through me.
I love her so fucking much.
This isn’t right. It can’t be.
I cannot have her.
Impossible.
Then she winds her arms around my neck and I do the same, wrapping my arms around her, holding her. Her body is so soft and warm, and she smells like her. Like sex and warm tea with sugar, and something else that’s entirely Giselle. And I want to love her and own her and hurt her and make her mine.
Mine.
Fucking impossible.
But like I told her, we have today, tonight. Maybe a bit longer. And I will use this time the best I can.
I pull her in and slide my hand around her throat, giving it a squeeze as I pull back to look at her.
She’s smiling even as she gasps for air, and I squeeze a bit harder, until she goes limp all over, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks, which is something I always love to see.
Then I bring her back with kisses on the tender skin of her throat where my hands just were, and she comes to, still smiling.
I pull the sheet back and lay her down on the bed, spreading her thighs wide for me.
Then I slide out of the pajama bottoms and move over her, kissing her, biting into her sweet flesh while she moans and sighs.
I move down between those creamy thighs and eat her pussy; that starving man again, or still.
I lick and suck on her swelling flesh, fuck her with my fingers, working her g-spot until she’s coming and squirting.
I do it over and over, until she’s crying with pleasure even as she begs me to stop.
Finally I raise myself over her and slide my hard dick inside her.
And fucking God, she’s all sleek heat inside, her pussy grabbing at my cock, milking me as I plow into her.
I lean down to suck on her tit, working her nipple with my tongue, and she comes again, shivering under me.
And as she lifts her head to bite into my shoulder, I come into her, my body wracked with wave after wave of pleasure.
For a moment an idea flashes through my addled brain: that coming inside her is like me becoming a part of her body, a part of her.
I roll off her, pulling her with me, and she lays her head on my chest, her long hair everywhere. I rub those silken strands between my fingers. How can I give this up?
No, don’t fucking think now.
I do my best to compartmentalize, knowing it’ll work for a time.
We’re quiet together, and we both doze off. When we’re awake, I fuck her again, and it’s fucking glorious. The whole room reeks of come and sweat, and behind it, that warm scent of good English tea and sugar.
We both fall asleep once more. And when we wake up I feel some weird sort of resolve.
“Giselle. Let’s be that happy couple on holiday.”
“Mmm? What do you mean?”
“Up with you, and into the bath. Then we’re getting dressed and going out to dinner.”
“Dinner? Out? Oh, I…I’m not sure I even know how to behave in a public place.”
“I’ll help.”
She blinks a few times and I can see the concern on her face, but I know she wants this in the same way I do—to pretend for the time being. Finally, she gives a small nod, and I know it’ll be okay.
“Up with you, then,” I tell her, throwing back the covers and giving her a good slap on her lovely, round ass.
“That helps,” she tells me, looking over her shoulder, her long lashes batting against her high cheekbones.
“Does it now?” I get up and follow her into the bathroom, turn on the water, then bend her over the marble counter.
I give her a few good swats with my hand, then shove my fingers inside her and fuck her until she comes again, panting and shivering.
I push off her and swat her ass one more time. “Go get clean, my girl. I have something to take care of.”
The thought came to me while I was fingering her over the bathroom counter. I stalk into the living area and grab the house phone, dialing Christopher.
He picks up on the second ring. Or, I’d assumed it would be him, but it’s their lovely Girl answering his mobile. “Aimée speaking. What can I help with, Master Gilby?”
“Ah, Aimée, is Master Chrsitopher available?”
“I’m sorry, no. But Master Damon is right here. Shall I have you speak to him?”
“Yeah, yeah. Put him on.”
“Gilby, how is it going? Are you comfortable at The Apartments?”
“Yes, of course. The place is absolutely top notch, as always.”
“Excellent. Christopher filled me in about everything. We actually thought you’d have called us before now.”
“Did you? I’ve been…busy. Thinking.”
“I’m sure you have been. Talk to me.”
“If you’ve spoken with Christopher, then I suppose you have some idea, yeah?”
“I’ve had some idea since you brought the sisters to my House. Before that, in fact. And I’m going to assume you’d like to discuss options.”
“I… Yes.”
“I’ll be honest with you, Gilby. You’re a good man, and you’ve served the House very, very well.
But this we need to discuss in person. Christopher and I will be there day after tomorrow.
Stay in the apartment. We’ll meet you there.
We’d come sooner, but Christopher is…indisposed,” he says with a small chuckle, making me wonder if they’ve switched roles again.
Not my business, of course, but interesting nonetheless.
“Of course, Sir.”
“No more ‘Sir’, Gilby. You’ve earned this role, and it’s time to put the formalities aside when it’s just us. We’ll see you sometime on Thursday. I’ll have Robert send a message when we have our flight booked. See you then.”
We hang up, and my damn head is spinning. This seems too easy. Or maybe they’re coming to take her back to her place as a contracted slave in their House. No way to know. So, back to the land of denial for me, because I’m taking my girl out on the town.
I order a car to take us to a place called Quince, off Jackson Square, down by the water.
No point in driving myself, since there’s never any parking in this city.
The restaurant is perfect for what I have in mind, with low lighting and booths in dark corners.
The code we have in these circles of kink gets us into all the best restaurants in all the best cities all over the world.
I’ve used it before to get Damon and Christopher into these places, and being the Master-in-residence at The Training House, the code is mine to use for myself for the first time.
The hostess shows us to a booth in the back, and I take Giselle’s coat from her shoulders, handing it to the hostess to hang up.
My beautiful girl looks fucking spectacular in a brown suede dress a few shades lighter than her hair that floats around her legs, nips in where it’s belted at the waist, and she’s left enough buttons undone to show her gorgeous cleavage.
I fucking love it. I love the thigh-high brown suede boots she’s wearing.
I’ll fuck her in nothing but those boots later.
But for now I snake my hand under the hem of the dress, drawing it upwards until I find the soft folds between her thighs.
She’s not wearing any knickers, of course.
She would have been shocked if I’d asked her to.
As the busboy approaches with glasses of water and a smile, I pinch her inner thigh until she spreads enough for me to play with her already-hard little clit.
“Wine for you?” I ask, as if this is an ordinary date.
Of course, nothing is ordinary with people like us.
To her credit she says calmly, “No thank you. Just some mineral water, please?”
The busboy nods, and I order a gin on the rocks for myself. Just one to start the evening, but no more than that. Not tonight.
The drinks come, along with the menus, and I’m still teasing her clit, stroking it, pinching, flicking my finger at it. Her color in her cheeks rises the more I play with her, and when I give a good, hard tug on her clit, she draws in a sharp breath.
“Ah, there it is, lovely,” I murmur.