Chapter 9 Grace
GRACE
It's dark when I wake up.
I’ve never liked the dark.
My heart races hard against my breastbone. Panic claws at my throat as my head fills with unwelcome thoughts. It gets harder and harder to breathe.
And then I remember.
My mother isn't here. I'm with Dante, the handsome man from the auction. His home isn't exactly a sanctuary, but anything is better than being under my mother's thumb.
I'm in a soft bed with a thin sheet pulled over me. I sit up, straining to see through the dark.
"You're awake," a husky voice murmurs.
My head snaps toward the sound. A silhouette of a man emerges from the dark.
My heart starts racing again, but in a way that feels delicious. It's a rush of adrenaline and something else that's still foreign to me.
The bedside lamp turns on. Dante Mancini is sitting in an armchair next to the bed, watching me with those predator eyes.
"How do you feel, Grace?" he asks.
"Fine," I say, even though my body feels like it's been through the wringer. "Where are we?"
"My home," he replies.
"And...what are you doing here?" I ask.
"Making sure you stay alive." His eyes flick down my body. His stare makes my nipples pebble.
I glance down at what I'm wearing. I'm no longer wearing the copper dress with the sheer skirt. Instead, I'm dressed in a comfortable long-sleeved cotton shirt with matching pink shorts. I don't remember changing into these, which only means that someone else changed my clothes for me.
I glance up at him again.
"Where's Sarah?" I ask.
"Somewhere safe," he says. "You can see her in the morning."
I glance around the spacious bedroom.
"I don't remember getting here," I say, taking in the high ceilings and French windows.
"You really don't remember any of it?" He watches me closely.
I shake my head slowly.
As I look at Dante, the familiar fire I felt before returns. It feels like my core is composed of neon-orange embers, and this man's stare only fans it, making everything inside me luminous.
"I see that the effects of the drug still haven't worn off," he says.
"Sorry?" I squeak.
"Your eyes," he says. "They give you away every time. And right now, they make you look like you need to be fucked hard."
I suck in a breath. Heat rushes to my cheeks. Nobody's ever spoken to me in this manner before.
"It's back, isn't it?" he murmurs, watching me closely.
I want to lie, but I know that he will see right through me.
"I got you something," he says, picking up a clear plastic bag and placing it on the bed.
I stare at it suspiciously.
"It will help with your...condition." He stands and walks toward one of the windows.
The sight of him makes my core clench with need.
He's tall and wickedly handsome. He’s also at least a decade older than me, but I don’t mind that at all.
"Um, what time is it?"
"A little after midnight."
"I've been asleep since noon?"
"You were in and out of consciousness,” he says. "You really don’t remember any of it?”
As I look at him, some of it comes back to me in flashes. It feels like trying to remember a fever dream.
"You were talking in your sleep," he tells me. "You were begging me to put you out of your misery. You kept asking me to kiss you."
I place my fingertips over my lips. They've never been more insensitive.
"Did you?"
"Did I what, Grace?"
"Kiss me."
"If I had kissed you, you would have remembered it,” he says. "If I had kissed you, you'd be on your back right now with your thighs wrapped around my body."
My skin is feverish everywhere.
I went too far. I unleashed the beast inside him. He's not even looking at me, but I feel him everywhere. It's so visceral that I can barely breathe.
"There's only one way you can get relief," he tells me.
"How?" I ask.
"The aphrodisiac in your system is a potent natural medicine. It's supposed to be taken in small doses, but you were most likely given a much higher dose. It has a long half-life, so you'll be feeling the effects of the drug for the rest of the night.”
"That's too long," I say.
"That's why I got you some toys." He gestures to the bag. "Having an orgasm will naturally decrease the effects of the drug."
I peek inside the bag. Sure enough, there's a small vibrator and some lube.
Dante turns to look at me.
I forget how to breathe all over again.
He looks so magnificent in the moonlight. Hundreds of stars twinkle above him, shining like diamonds in the night sky. A light breeze enters the room, a balm against my heated skin.
"I'll give you some privacy now," he says. "Good night, Grace."
He's leaving.
I don't want him to go.
In the muted light, I watch the ripple of his muscles under his shirt as he moves toward the bedroom door.
"Wait," I whisper.
He pauses with his hand over the doorknob.
"I don't know how," I whisper.
"Grace, I should warn you that you're playing with fire," he says, his voice smokier than before.
Everything feels different in the night.
I don't want to lie to myself any longer.
I want this man. I want him to touch me like he does in the visions I keep having.
"Please," I say. "It hurts so bad."
He turns, looking at me with those dark honey eyes. They seem to melt and harden at the same time.
"I'm sorry," he says. "You're going to have to figure it out yourself."
Through the haze of lust, I notice something about my captor. He paid a small fortune for me, but he's refusing to touch me. A little voice in my head tells me it's because he finds me unattractive.
I've been told my entire life that I wasn't pretty.
I didn't have the good looks my sisters were blessed with.
My limbs are short. I'm soft everywhere. I don't have a delicate bone structure.
It's something I've always known. But the thought that this man also feels the same way about me makes my stomach turn.
And before I can get a handle on my emotions, tears roll down my cheeks.
"What's wrong?" he asks immediately.
I shake my head, too mortified to speak.
"Are you in pain?" he asks.
I take a deep breath. I try to pull myself together, but I was made to break.
This doesn't make any sense. Dante is a confident, attractive man. There's no universe in which he'd want someone like me.
That's when it strikes me.
"Did my mother put you up to this?" I ask, seeing him through new eyes.
"What?"
"Is this one of her games?" I ask.
"What are you talking about, Grace?"
I look around the room. "Are there cameras in here? Is she watching this, having a good laugh?"
He rakes his hand through his hair. Even disheveled, it looks so perfect.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tells me.
"You can drop the act now," I say. "I know exactly what's happening here. I know that you're working for her. It explains why you would take home someone like me."
That catches his attention.
"Someone like you?" he repeats.
"You know what I mean," I say, pulling my knees to my chest.
"I really don't," he says, cautiously walking toward me and lowering himself into the chair by the bed.
"I know what I look like, okay?" I say. "I know that if it weren't for my mother's interference, you would never want me."
"What has that woman done to you?" he whispers.
I lift my eyes to his. There's a gentleness in his voice, like he's truly concerned about me. Some people are good at acting, but this doesn't feel like he's putting on a show.
"Is this because I told you I wasn't going to help?" he asks.
I don't say anything. I just watch his smoky eyes. They seem to be burning from the inside out, just like I was a moment ago.
"I didn't want to touch you because even a man like me has some morals," he says. "Believe me when I say that I plan on getting my money's worth."
He lets his gaze wander now, his eyes sweeping over my pebbled nipples and thick thighs.
Fireworks go off inside me.
I can tell that he means it. The desire in his eyes is real. It's such a relief that my mother doesn't have anything to do with this.
But it's still a problem, because every time he speaks, the ache between my thighs worsens.
"Your eyes," he whispers. "They're going to be the death of me."
He runs his hand through his hair again. It makes me want to run my fingers through his hair, too.
"Have you ever had an orgasm, Grace?" he asks.
I bite down on my bottom lip as he watches. When I release it, it fills back with blood so quickly that it throbs.
He mutters a curse under his breath, his voice so low and husky that I can't even make out the words.
"I'll walk you through it then," he says. "Take the vibrator in your hand."
"I don't know what to do with it," I say.
His breathing turns heavier. "Start by taking off your shirt."
I glance down at my pajama top. I'm not wearing a bra underneath.
"How is that going to help?" I ask, glancing back up at him.
"I told myself I wouldn't touch you, but there's nothing wrong with looking," he says.
I see now that I was completely mistaken about this man not being attracted to me. He's looking at me like I'm the only woman in the world.
It's a rush of power unlike anything I ever felt before.
"Were you the one who changed my clothes?" I ask.
"Yes," he replies.
"So you looked already."
"I did," he says.
I'm supposed to feel violated by his admission, but for whatever reason, I'm not.
“Show me those pretty tits, little bird,” he says, his voice darker than the night. My nipples harden into tight points that strain against the thin fabric of my shirt.
I like it when he calls me his “little bird.” It makes me feel so precious.
He looks at my body so shamelessly, like I'm all for him.
I grab the hem of my shirt, hesitating for a moment before peeling it off. I feel like I'm caught in some trance. The heat in his eyes alone is enough to make me combust.
"God, you're beautiful," he says.
I suck in a breath.
It's the first time anyone's ever said that to me.
He's looking into my eyes again, studying me like I'm a comet that appears once in a thousand years. He's looking at me. All of me.
"On second thought, I think it's best if I leave, little bird," he says.
"Why?"
"I can handle your bedroom eyes," he says. "But it does something else to me when you look at me with that kind of innocence."
"What does it do to you?" I whisper.
"It makes me want to keep it all for myself," he says. "It makes me want to be the one to corrupt you."
"You can," I say, biting down on my bottom lip. "I don't mind."
His eyes harden, making him turn into another man entirely.
"Take the vibrator," he orders.
I reach for the sex toy, feeling the heavy weight of it against my palm.
"Now play," he says.
"Play?" I ask. The word feels foreign on my tongue. I don't think I ever played, not even as a little kid.
"Yes, princess,” he says. "Do what comes naturally to you."
I'm still high from the aphrodisiac, but I don't know how comfortable I am “playing” in front of him.
"Would it help if I turned the lights off?" he asks.
I nod, surprised by how he seems to read my mind.
"Yes," I say.
He leans forward to turn off the night lamp. There's just the silver of the moonlight now cutting through the inky darkness of the night.
"Go ahead, baby girl," he says. "Give yourself pleasure."
I look down at the vibrator. The whole concept of giving myself pleasure is so foreign to me. But for some strange reason, I feel safe in this man's presence.
"Take off the rest of your clothes, piccola." His voice is so low that I feel it vibrating through every bone inside me.
I follow his order, lifting my hips and shimmying out of my shorts. Then I do the same with my panties. I'm completely naked in front of him now.
"Now touch yourself," he says. "And tell me how wet you are for a man between your thighs."
I bite down on my bottom lip as my fingers brush against my clit.
"It hurts," I whisper.
"Turn on the vibrator," he says. “Place it over your sex, wherever it feels good. There are no rules, piccola."
"What does that mean?" I ask. "Piccola?"
"Little one," he says. "Little darling."
"Oh," I say, licking my bottom lip. The endearment is unexpected from a man like him.
I place the vibrator between my thighs. It makes my thighs fall open even wider. I trap a moan in my throat.
"Don't hold back," he says. "Whatever you're feeling, let yourself express it."
I shake my head.
I really don't know how.
I've been meek and quiet my whole life, seen but never heard. I always tried to make myself as small as possible, trying so hard to be pleasant and agreeable. Because every time I stepped out of line, there were consequences.
But maybe it doesn't have to be like that anymore.
I don't have to always hold back.
As I play with the vibrator, I don't swallow my moans. I let Dante hear them.
"Cup your breasts and pinch your nipples, piccola," he says.
I do what he tells me to.
The action makes my stomach hollow. Something builds inside me like a violent storm. It gathers and pushes against my skin, demanding to be set free.
There's only one problem—I don't know how to set it free.
I look over at him. I can only see the silhouette of his body, but there's something white on his lap. As I look at it, I realize that he has my panties wrapped around his...
"I can't wait to have you, piccola," he growls.
Something swells inside me before crashing hard.
It's messy, chaotic, all over the place. And it's the best thing I ever felt.
I feel like I've been given a glimpse of heaven.
When I open my eyes again, I'm alone in the room.
There's no sign that he was ever even here.