Elle
Your Grace: Why aren’t you sleeping, dove?
My heart flutters at the message because if I’m being honest with myself, I’ve been waiting for it to come for days now. Not just the cute pictures of Gant performing some lewd act with the Elle doll or goodnight messages, but an actual conversation.
I’d been so lonely at Beaulieu and my tormentor, of all people, had slowly become someone I’d found comfort in, in a different way than I had with Stassi and Aria.
Our pasts are linked, and we share a tragic series of events. We share an understanding of our fathers.
Maybe even an understanding of our mothers, because slowly I’m realising that Gant has a point about Mum, even if I’m not ready to accept it. Even if I’m not ready to give up on her and be all alone.
I know what Gant will say, ‘You have me’, but I don’t. Not for long.
ElleBelle: How do you know I’m still awake?
Your Grace: I can see you pacing the balcony.
I turn around, in the threshold, and step onto the graphic tile barefoot before peering into the darkness. A few yellowy lights are dotting the foyers of the boys’ dorms downhill, but otherwise, they’re draped in midnight blackness.
Then I turn my head towards the forest, suddenly remembering Gant’s second home.
I can just make out the tip of the old greenhouse between the trees’ canopies and I follow the winding pathway I always take to get to it straight to the edge of the forest line. There’s one single light peeking out of the shadows. Gant’s cellphone.
Still, I can barely make out his form.
ElleBelle: Why aren’t you sleeping? Is it nightmares again?
YourGrace: Yes, but nightmares of a different kind.
I pause at that. Huh?
YourGrace: Nightmares of you not being with me. I told you I can’t sleep without my doll.”
ElleBelle: You mean to tell me you haven’t slept in a week?
Despite my sarcastic reply, a smile tugs at my lips, because with all the late rehearsals, I haven’t been going to the old greenhouse. Gant was busy rehearsing his solos and duets with Aria, and the sheer exhaustion of my own less intense but still rigorous choreo in the chorus was enough to put me to sleep like a baby this week.
Until tonight.
Until I remembered that chances were, I had nowhere to go tomorrow once Mum showed up. Still, I’d been trying to convince myself that she’d done the right thing without my goading and paid the balance. I could’ve called the landlord. I could’ve found out far sooner than when I needed to get out of the dorms, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.
There’s a part of me that’s still holding on to hope and another part of me that doesn’t want to think about having to use my net. Because pretending while we’re inside Beaulieu’s bubble is one thing. It’s safe. But at Gant’s penthouse? Not house, penthouse, it’s a whole different ball game I don’t want to get accustomed to because you can’t miss what you don’t have, and if I ever have it, it’ll be on my own merit.
I think back to that photo of the untouchables on the yacht. The one I found in Gant’s phone right before I sent the email that would change both of our lives. The yacht could’ve belonged to the Auclairs or anyone in the photo’s family. It’s not a big deal. Sailing in Monaco isn’t a big deal. Eating a three-course, three-figure meal isn’t a big deal. For them.
It is to me and I don’t want a taste of what would be yanked away come graduation.
Your Grace: Not well. Neither have you.
ElleBelle: How would you know? Have you been stalking me?
Your Grace: Since I’ve met you. Now come here and put us both to sleep.
Butterflies erupt in my stomach at that.
ElleBelle: You know, you’re technically not ‘Your Grace’ anymore.
YourGrace: So change it to My baby and come to the greenhouse.
I shouldn’t feel so giddy at seeing those two words, but warm tingles shoot through me uncontrollably. Still, I’m not going to change it. Yet. It feels too close. Too intimate. Too cruel.
But the minute I re-enter the dorm to don my clown shoes, the warm feeling evaporates into the cool night air streaming through the French doors.
Suitcases.
Piled up in every corner are suitcases. Stassi’s pale, powder pink ones, and Aria’s insanely cute periwinkle set. Then there’s mine. An overstuffed backpack. I’d been worried that I hadn’t packed enough of my rags as Gant lovingly called them, but now I wonder if I’ve packed too much by packing at all.
Mum.
The landlord.
The apartment.
Our home.
Ae we homeless now?
Numbly, I slip on my trainers and grab my jacket before shimmying over the balcony”s railing. It feels like second nature now. So unlike that first night, I’d followed Rin.
Instinctively, I pause at the living room window and duck into the bushes to check on Miss Trix. She’s back in her favourite spot on the chaise, scouring job advertisements.
She really is hellbent on getting Miss El-Agha out of Beaulieu, if only part-time…
And that’s when a thought hits me of how to get her out full time because as Miss Trix continues to scroll, an advertisement for Libeulle requesting models for a promo shoot pops up.
Hadn’t Miss Trix said Miss El-Agha used to be a model?
Modelling is competitive, even for some hole-in-the-wall clubs, but I happen to know the boss.
Stepping back quietly, I slip into the shadows and into the forestline.
When I’m within a metre of Gant, he doesn’t say anything.
He turns and disappears into the lush foliage without a word, because for once, he doesn’t want to chase me. He wants to lure me into his trap and it’s working, because as if I’m tied to him on an invisible string, I follow him right to his web.
The greenhouse is glowing with a thousand candles as usual, but it’s far brighter tonight because the table at its centre is stark white now, covered in a thick mattress pad and dressed in linens. Against the grim backdrop, it seems like a sacrificial sanctuary, so clean and unmarred, unlike the dark ceiling and earthy floor that I know are creeping and moving.
There’s something about that white pureness that draws me in and makes me want to run all at once.
Behind me, the door shuts and I whirl around to see Gant, looking like a dream, as always. Maybe that’s a good thing. A reminder that this isn’t reality.
It can’t be.
But we can just pretend.
“Tell me what’s wrong, dove?”
“Hmm?” I barely hear his words. I’m too caught up in mine.
“You’re distracted lately. Not just now. Even in rehearsals.”
He’d noticed?
“Don’t look so surprised. I always notice you.”
My heart flutters madly and I can’t look at him. Instead, I’m drawn to the white sheets surrounded by candlelight.
“I’m sorry.”
My eyes fly to his then. Sorry? Gant Auclair is sorry for something? Anything?
“The rehearsals with Aria have kept me away from you. Away from finding out what’s tormenting you sooner.”
“You’re so sure it isn’t you?”
“I’m always background noise in your mind, at the very least. But I’m not causing you to zone out for the vast majority of the day. When you’re on stage, you light up like a Christmas tree, but the minute you hit the flanks, you don’t just turn off, you completely unplug, completely detach, and I can’t reach you. Normally I just have to glance in your direction and you can feel it. You can feel me calling you.”
I chuckle, but there’s no humour. “What? You think we have some sort of telepathic connection?”
“Yes,” he says seriously. “I think we understand each other better than anyone else because we have so much in common. We can understand each other. Tell me. I’ll understand.”
I touch the white sheet. Damn, it’s soft. It must be Egyptian cotton or have an insanely high thread count. What counted as high? Eight hundred? A thousand? And how many types of cotton are there? What makes Egyptian cotton one of the best-
Gant stands behind me and hugs me. Just hugs me.
It’s so simple, and yet I melt into his embrace, into his net. Before I know it, we’re on the bed and I’m in his arms, gazing up at the black hole of the domed ceiling. I know it’s crawling right now, but I can’t see it. I just see darkness, like a giant black hole that mirrors the one in my heart.
“You said that your mother never did anything without a reason,” I say slowly, turning in his arms and pressing my ear against his heartbeat. “You said she didn’t just pick Jarett by chance. It made me think, why did Jaime, pick him? Was there a reason? Was he good, charming, decent at some point?”
“Was he?”
But something tells me he already knows the answer.
“No. She told me he kept barring her from getting into this bar to see a band. Some band she grew obsessed with during some depressive episode.”
“What happened?” he asks, and I’m genuinely surprised he cares enough to.
“She’d gotten rejected from art school, from some housing and job opportunities too. The band made her feel understood. She’d do anything to see them and they were performing at the bar that week. Jarett got sick of her shenanigans and eventually, they must’ve hooked up, starting a chain of unfortunate events. I’d never asked how they met, but most people fall in love after some charm, right? With Jarett, there was none from the start. There was literally nothing, no bait to even hook her on. She just…chose him. He just tolerated her. That’s it.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“What do you mean?”
“The reason she chose Jarett is crystal clear. There was definitely bait.”
I sit up on my elbows to peer down at him, more than curious to hear what is so obvious to him but oblivious to me.
“She’s obsessed with him because she’s been rejected at every turn. By her parents. By the band. By art school. Then by Jarett. He was the last rejection she could withstand. She needed his acceptance, not because there’s anything important about Jarett himself. He just came into her life at the right time, when she was going to snap if she didn’t get some sort of approval from anyone. Jarett happened to be the last rejection she couldn’t handle. So she fixated on him and eventually, she got it by becoming his partner and even though it seems obvious, he’s a begrudging participant. Still, she keeps him by any means necessary. For Jarett, that seems to be the basics. Food, electricity, a roof.”
“A shitty one.”
“One all the same. Perhaps Jarett felt he deserved a better one, but of course, he could never get it on his own merit. Him accepting my mum’s advances meant he probably hoped to enjoy some perks in one way or another.”
“You’re so sure she approached him first?”
“Yes, because there’s something about Jarett. Not to Jaime. Not to you, but to her. Once I find out what it is, it will finally make sense.”
I’m not so sure. It’s hard to imagine Jarett having anything at all.
“Did you take some psychology courses?” At his confused look, I say, “You seem to be aware of people. When you came to my dorm in the shower, you said a lot of things about me.”
“So you’re admitting they’re true.”
“I admit nothing. I’m just pointing out that you read people. Even yourself. You’re unapologetically aware of how selfish and entitled you are.”
“Only if I’m using my selfishness to get what I want and what I know I deserve.”
“And delusional.” I nod. “But I think you may be right. Or at least you may have a point about Mum.”
“And you.”
I ignore him. “So that’s the hold Jarett has over her…a hold she put over herself?”
“That’s why she can’t get over him. He can’t fix her problems. She created them,” he says, still stroking my hair. “And no level one psych classes either. I’ve just been to dozens of therapists.”
“You say my mother subjected me to a lot via Jarett. It sounds like your mother did too, so why can’t you give my mother grace?”
“They aren’t justifiable, but my mother stuck with the Auclairs because she knew it’d give me an infinite future that even she, a prima ballerina, couldn’t. In comparison to my father, my mother was destitute.”
“Which is to say not at all.”
“Me being an Auclair gives me an inordinate amount of possibilities. She put up with Bart for the name. For my future, she tried to justify it by sheltering me. By keeping me away from him and his opinions. It’s why I danced ballet despite his wishes. To be fair, he didn’t know. I saw my father maybe three times a year. Your mother kept you around Jarett year-round and offered you a future as a deli worker.”
“At least it’s an honourable job.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t. But it’s only one possibility isn’t it?”
I quiet. Could I fault my mother, if at the very least I was a blueblood from her poor decisions?
I’d rather be miserable and rich than miserable and poor.
But then again, why do we have to be miserable at all? And both Gant and I are miserable.
“And some things are just obvious to read, Elle. Like your growing anxiety. What’s wrong?”
I don’t want to lie, but I don’t want Gant’s intervention. I don’t want his net. If I fall, it’ll be into his arms and who is he exactly?
I still feel like we’re in some surreal limbo despite the new titles. Until we find the driver. Until we graduate. None of it feels real. But why does it have to be real for us to enjoy it?
“My lack of possibilities,” I mutter.
“You can have them with me.”
No, I can’t.
Maybe I could have them adjacent to him. But not with him.
“If you’d just accept me. I’ve accepted you. I’ve accepted why I’m thoroughly obsessed with you.”
“Because we’re bonded over a traumatic event? Since you’re so attuned, I’m sure that explanation has run across your mind.”
“You didn’t cause my trauma, Elle. The driver did. The tape did. My mother did. Your father did. But you didn’t. You’ve been my therapy.”
“Your punching bag.”
“Look at me.”
I turn to him like I’m back on that invisible string again.
“I don’t want to hurt you in any other way except one. But it won’t be purely pain. It can be pleasurable too and I can be your own personal form of therapy while you ride the wave of emotions.”
I swallow.
“Your mother? Forget her. Our classmates? They don’t exist. Me? Use me.”
“To make myself feel better?”
“And worse. But just for a little while. I can make you feel euphoric.”
Tingles. Tingles erupt beneath my skin and I swallow. “I thought I had to love you first.”
“You came to me. Again. There’s a web of spiders above our heads, and a spring just outside that door, both things you fear and yet, you’re here because you feel safe with me despite it all. If that’s not love, what is it?”
Forget Mum.
If she loves me, she’ll do the right thing, right? She’ll have read the notice and fixed things. Just like if I were Jarett, she’d ensure I have somewhere to lay my head tomorrow night too.
Right?
Nothing feels certain. Not where I’ll spend my break.
Not my dancing career.
Not whatever this is brewing between Gant and me, but what I am certain about is that I want to test how good at therapy he really is.
“You don’t have to say it,” he says, leaning in to kiss my lips, sucking on my bottom one before releasing it with a pop. “But look into my eyes and tell me that I’m not someone to you now.”
“You’re not just anyone, no. Your someone.”
“Just the first someone?”
“No.”
“Someone that has a spot in your heart?”
“Yes?”
“Someone you’d give all yourself to?”
“Yes.”
“The deepest parts?”
“Yes,” I nod licking my lips.
“Someone you’d give your blood for?”
“You make it sound like a sacrifice.”
“That’s exactly what it is. A covenant between us.”
“A covenant?”
“Signed in your blood. Once I’ve had you, you’re really mine. In every way. You say we’re in a bubble, fine, but until it pops no takebacks. Your pussy is mine. Your heart is mine. Say you understand.”
“I understand.”
“Aren’t you going to ask anything of me?”
I can see in his eyes how much he wants me to ask.
“Am I someone to you?” I ask, suddenly hoarse. Scared even. “Someone that matters and not just someone you want revenge on?”
He nearly snorts. “You’re not just someone. I love you, Dovey. It doesn’t matter that you can’t say it back yet.”
Shock splits my lips and before I can get into my head, he uses the opportunity to tease my tongue with his and I just…melt. One minute my feet are on the floor, the next I’m on the table, on the makeshift bed with Gant between my spread legs. Instinctively, I spread them wider, and he grips my hips and draws me flush against him. Against his hardness.
I’ve missed feeling him.
I’ve missed him.
When we pull apart, he moves my hair from my right shoulder to my left and I follow his gaze to the grimy, but still reflective, glass walls.
“You look so good on me.”
Given that his fingers are under my ass and my legs are hooked around his hips, It does look like I’m on him. Like he’s holding me up his arms.
He leans forward, his forehead bumping into mine but I continue to watch us. Watch as he presses a soft kiss to my lips and mutters, “Imagine me in you.”
“Why do I have to imagine it?” I lick his bottom lip, and the tiniest little moan leaves his throat as I suck on it. “Let’s see it. Let’s watch it.” I nod at the glass.
He doesn’t hesitate, pulling at my pyjama shorts, and tugging them midway down my thighs to expose my bare sex.
“No panties?” he asks with a smile, his fingers already working their way between my folds. “Good. She needs to breathe.”
“Breathe? Aren’t you about to choke her?”
Those dark eyes grow hazy, the lids heavy as he pulls at each button on my top, popping them easily, slowly, one after the other. When the fabric parts, my tits bounce free and he watches their recoil, mesmerized.
“I could watch them for hours,” he says before sucking a nipple into his mouth and moving to the undersides, slipping his tongue deep beneath the crease to tickle the sensitive flesh. His fingers knead them, squeeze them and the brief shot of pain as he pinches my nipples, finds its way straight to my clit.
“You’re so perfect. And you don’t even know. You don’t know how badly I want you. How badly I need you.”
I believe him. In this moment I’d believe anything that he said because my brain’s too foggy to refute it. Every fibre of my being is on fire as his full lips ascend to my neck. As his tongue licks my pulse point. As his thumb works my clit and his other fingers slip into my pussy, curling right up onto that magical spot that makes me want to pull away from the overstimulation, even while I sink my hips as deep onto his fingers as they’ll go.
A shatter wracks me and I grab onto his shoulders to steady to myself, to continue the ride.
“Look. Look at yourself, dove,” he says against my neck and I crack my eyes open to follow his half-hooded gaze to the walls again. I’m clinging to him for dear life, a life his quickening fingers are desperately trying to take away from me. “No more cameras. No more audiences. You want someone to watch? You watch us. The entire time.”
“I don’t—” But the words leave me when he presses my thighs flat, offering me an immaculate angle of my slit, before he drops to his knees and his tongue slips inside of it.
Instead of his shoulders, I’m gripping his hair for dear life.
“That’s right, baby,” he says between licks. “Give me a facial.”
My eyes flicker from the glass, to between my legs where his face, the tip of his nose, his chin, and his cheeks are growing wetter, shinier by the second. The sight of him feasting and coated with me makes me tremble and buck off the duvet as he works me into a frenzy, that euphoric feeling he promised rising to a fever pitch within me. Until it explodes, and I feel it with a rush that makes me lock my legs and trap his head.
“You’re always so wet,” he says, and his voice sounds funny, distorted, as my legs finally fall open, though they’re still twitching with aftershocks. When he lifts his head, I see why. His mouth is somewhat full, and he’s showing me his tongue coated in a liquid too white to just be his saliva. Before I can blink, or think, he spits it on my tits, and the feel of it spattering against my nipples literally makes my pussy jump. Immediately he’s replacing his mouth with his fingers that I clamp around desperately, wantonly awaiting another explosion of euphoria.
His tongue is trailing my breast again. Licking, sucking, and kissing away my release like it’s his favourite flavour of anything. Then his lips are on mine. They’re so fucking soft. So wet.
The pads of his finger hit my g-spot again and my stomach contracts, my hips bucking.
“I love how responsive you are. How much noise you make when I play with your pussy,” he says, increasing the pressure, creating a symphony of wet, smacking noises. “Such a good little doll, so messy. I can just push a little button.” He pushes against the spot harder. “I can just rub a little nub.” He swirls my clit. “And then…”
I pitch up off the table, clinging to his shoulders again and finding his lips as my release washes over his fingers.
A second later, they leave my pussy to show me the evidence that I immediately dispose of, because I’m sucking it down my throat.
“Elle.”
I reach for the waistband of his joggers and pull, freeing his cock. Its purplish head looks angry with restraint and I want nothing more than to relieve it.
But the second I lean forward and swipe the pre-cum beading it with my tongue, a hand fists in my hair, pulling me off like the ragdoll I want to be and tossing me backwards onto the bed.
“Please,” I moan, trying to reach him again, but he steps back from the table, and kicks the joggers off so that now he’s as naked as I am.
“Please what?”
I lick my lips, watching more precum wet the tip. “I want you.”
“Where?”
“Inside of me.”
“You have so many holes…”
“In my pussy.”
He smiles. “I like that word on your lips.”
“Please. Make me feel good.”
He crawls onto the table before cupping my face in his hands and I feel like a little puppy, desperate for its owner’s affection.
“Please.”
“I like it even more when you beg me to play with you. Is that it? You want me to really make you my doll? To move you, and manoeuvre you, and do whatever the fuck I want to you because you’re all mine?”
I nod enthusiastically. “Use me.”
He grabs my hair again and guides me down so that my face is pressed against the mattress, and facing the glass. With his other hand, he hikes my ass in the air.
“Grab the sheets,” he tells me. “And watch. Don’t you dare close your eyes.”
I do what he tells me, watching as he positions himself behind me, his fingers digging into my hips.
“You said it wasn’t big enough to count.”
“I just said that to—”
He shushes me. “Good doll babies don’t talk. They’re only allowed to scream and moan when their owners are playing with them. You want me to play with you, right?”
I nod, feeling the soft sheet swipe against my cheek.
“So let’s play. Keep your eyes open. I want you to watch how your face contorts from it not counting.”
My sharp intake of breath is the only sound I make because I don’t want him to stop, and I do want to watch as he lines his cock up with my slippery entrance slowly, gruelling slow, as he presses past that first ring of muscles and my knees almost buckle from the intrusion. Not that he’d let me collapse. His arm is hooked under me, his fingers gently teasing my clit again.
“It’s not going to work if you don’t breathe, dove,” he says, but his voice sounds almost as strained as my pussy feels. It burns.
He slaps my ass before stroking my spine.
“Breathe, baby. Just a few more inches.”
More?
“Look down dove.”
I do, taking in our connection from a new angle. I can see a thick vein running beneath the underside of his cock, and my split slit, stretched wide in a desperate attempt to accommodate him, but he’s still less than halfway inside.
It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen and yet it’s too painful to enjoy.
“Please,” I pant, wiggling my hips. If I can just… “Mmm,” I moan as I’m stretched another centimetre. It feels like five and immediately I’m trying to squirm off him. “I can’t take it. I can’t—”
Gant holds me tight, forcing me right back onto his cock right where we’d left off. “What did I say? Moan. Scream. But be good. Of course, you can take it. You’re my doll. Your pussy was built for me.”
I moan again, letting out a shaky breath as he eases out, and goes straight back in, breaking another tiny band of tension.
“That’s it, dove. I can feel you watering. Feel you trying so hard to make it easy for me.”
His voice is so raspy now, so deep.
“I know it’s hard for you, but you’re strangling me and all I want to do… all I want…”
Tears brim in my eyes as I look up at him and the moment I do, it’s like something snaps in him.
“Thank you, dove.” It’s barely a whisper.
For what?
“For trusting me. For giving me so much pleasure even when I only bring you pain.” He grips my hips with bruising force, lifting my knees off the makeshift bed as he drives forward, pulling me onto his cock until he’s so deep, his balls slap my clit.
I don’t know who grunts, moans, or whimpers louder.
Pain. Pure pain tears through me, as pure pleasure strangles him. But then he’s strumming my clit again and leaning over my back until our heads are side by side and he’s kissing me, whispering sweet things to me as he holds still, deep within me.
The tears spill from my clenched eyelids because, despite his orders, I can’t keep them open. It’s too much. A second later, his warm tongue is on my cheek, licking them away.
“Look at me,” he orders and eventually I manage to. “Reach between us. Feel us.”
I feel his balls, tight and pressed hard against my clit.
“You took all of me,” He whispers, driving his hips even deeper. “You’re such a good girl. Such a good baby.”
The words do something to me. I want to be good. I want to be his baby.
My walls constricts, clamping down on him even more and he must feel it because for one second his eyes roll into the back of his head before focusing on me again.
“So perfect.”
He pulls out a fraction before slamming back into me with a steady rhythm that soon overrides my pain. “Such a good little pussy. Such a good girl.”
I buck against him, wanting to show him how good I can be, and he kisses me before using my head to push himself back up and behind me.
I like it. I like the force, I like the gentleness as he eases out and the dominance as he thrusts in relentlessly.
Holding firm, I take it. Every thrust, every smack to my ass, every pinch to my clit, every glimpse of his glistening cock before it disappears again.
He increases the pressure on my clit and I meet him thrust for thrust, my breasts bouncing beneath me, my nipples scraping the soft sheets.
As much as I want to go over the edge, I don’t want to miss his free fall.
And he doesn’t want to miss mine, because every time his eyes threaten to close, he widens them and locks them on mine. Still, they’re unfocused, glazed with lust.
“It’s like your cunt doesn’t want to let go of me.”
He’s right, because I’m gripping him tighter with each thrust, desperate to hold on. Desperate to work him deeper.
“So fucking tight.”
When he ploughs into me one final time, the head of his cock touches the deepest part of me and the foreign sensation causes such an intense eruption within me that I instinctively try to get away from his onslaught by crawling up the bed.
“Not a chance in hell,” he rasps, flipping me over onto my back, and pushing my knees hard into my tits as he pins me back down.
“Ohhh!”
I thought he couldn’t get any deeper, but I was wrong.
Pleasure and pain explode beneath my eyelids and in my pussy as he slides back into me. As he drives his cock as deep as it’ll go until I’m sure it’ll split me into two because I’m so full. Too full.
Hot spurts of cum blast against my walls as he pumps into me mercilessly, and I greedily contract around him. The tightness coiling in my core, comes undone with each blast until I’m orgasming all over again.
Full. So full.
He stays inside of me as we tremble with aftershocks, kissing me until I can finally kiss him back and not just moan into his mouth.
When he finally pulls out, I immediately feel his fingers at my gushing entrance. His touch is feather light but I still flinch as he slips two fingers inside before bringing his bloody cum coated fingers to my lips. Blood. There’s so much blood but it doesn’t revolt me as he uses our mess to part my lips and massage my tongue as I suck on them, his eyes still locked on mine. Seconds later he does it again but this time he licks them himself. Again and again, but each time he seems hungrier until finally he slides down my belly and settles between my legs to drink straight from the source.
I sink my fingers into his hair, holding him close until he’s satisfied from feasting on me. On us.
Until my slick thighs and throbbing pussy are clean.
Until he brings me his cum coated tongue for me to suck on like a pacifier until both our breathing returns to normal and we fall into each other’s arms.
There’s a deep level of contentment I’ve never felt before humming through me and I feel it in Gant too. In his relaxed muscles, that are usually tense. In his harsh features that are so relaxed now, they remind me of the younger Gant from two years ago. The one who hadn’t been so traumatised yet.
“I know you love me,” he says, nuzzling against my neck and into my hair when I’m sure hours have passed.
“Do you?” I ask, but I can’t refute it. There are different kinds of love, even kinds that don’t make sense to our brains but make perfect sense in our hearts.
“I know, because you sacrificed for me. You bled for me.”
I say nothing. Because he’s right.
“I…”
I love Gant fucking Aucliar.
“I love you too, dove,” he says, stroking a thumb over my swollen lips as if I’d uttered the words. “The past. The games. That indescribable rage of betrayal I couldn’t shake months ago. None of it matters anymore. All that matters is that you’re mine. And that you’ve chosen to be mine.”
His.
All his.