Three Months Later
Elliott and I settled onto the cozy loveseat positioned on the deck in the backyard, a serene ritual that marked the start of each morning. The gentle warmth of early Los Angeles spring enveloped us, eliminating the need for the usual blanket I would drape around myself. Instead, I cuddled close to Elliott, our morning coffees steaming gently between us, while we took in the greenery encircling our peaceful little retreat.
“How are you feeling this morning, baby?” Elliott asked, as he did every day. I knew he genuinely cared about my answer.
I looked up at him and smiled. I ran a finger along his square, stubbled jaw line and nestled my hair into his chest. “I’m good. Hana and I are supposed to FaceTime in a little bit—Jenny wanted to show me something.”
Elliott chuckled. “She’s going to freak out when she meets you in person,” he said lightly.
Hana and I had grown close since the night of Michael’s death, texting each other constantly every day and having Jenny join our weekly FaceTime chats. If Michael did any good at all, it was bringing Hana and me together.
“I know. I can’t wait till they’re here next month,” I said excitedly.
Jack, Hana, and Jenny would be staying with us for a whole week while they explored LA. We promised we would make time to see each other at least twice a year. In the fall, Elliott and I had planned to go to them in NYC.
“Well, if you have some time,” Elliott started, setting his mug of coffee on the table beside us. “I think you should take that shirt off and hop on my cock like the good girl that you are.”
I would never get tired of hearing his deep, dominant voice telling me what to do. I widened my eyes at him and shook my head. “What are you gonna do if I don’t?”
I knew what I was starting, and so did he; he flashed me his bright smile, accentuating his rugged, dimpled chin.
“Just try me, baby,” he teased, grabbing my hips as he began to hoist me over him.
I was undeniably wet for him; just fucking looking at him could do that to me. His blue eyes stared into mine, ready to play. I began to roll my hips around as I rested my weight on him, feeling his hard cock beneath me.
“Oh, fuck, Daddy. I love feeling you so hard for me,” I moaned with a smug smile.
His grip tightened around my hips, grinding me around his cock. I let my eyes flutter shut as I lifted my chest and leaned back to grip the tops of his muscular, thick thighs.
“Fuck, Jacqueline,” he breathed. “If you don’t run now, I’m going to take you now, right here on the floor.”
Fuck. Yes. I’m ready to play. Warmth and heated desire spread throughout my body. I giggled as I quickly hopped off of him, my feet landing on the hard, wooden deck. Instinctively, I let out a small, excited scream when I heard him get up from his seat and head toward me. I ran down the hill toward the lemon tree, my bare feet slipping on the grassy slope.
“I’m coming for you, baby girl,” Elliott’s deep voice echoed in the yard, and I squealed as I looked back and saw him slowly approaching down the hill.
I began to run back up the hill toward the edge of the yard, but I lost my footing through the short bushes that invaded the ground, and I landed on my knees, sliding down. Suddenly, I felt his strong hands grasp my ankles and pull me down toward him. I screamed again, my heart racing with giddiness, as he grabbed my hips and swiftly pulled down my underwear.
“Nice try, baby. Now you’re mine,” he gruffed, then he thrust his hard cock into my needy pussy. I let out a scream as he dug his fingers into my hips, fucking me hard and rough.
“Please, Daddy,” I moaned, close to coming but playing my part and trying to crawl up and away.
He pulled my hips closer, and my knees skidded down the hill toward his body. He pushed my head down, lifting my hips high in the air, and pressed my face against the wet dirt beneath me.
He continued to pound into me again, harder. “You’re not getting away now, little one. Daddy is going to ravage your pussy,” he said with his gravelly, breathless voice.
I continued to try to climb up and away and Elliott chuckled as he pulled out of me, then roughly turned me onto my back. His blue eyes were lit up with desire and excitement as he stared into mine, and a slow smile crept up my lips.
“Please,” I begged again, almost unable to keep up with our game; I was too excited for him to continue.
He took my wrists and pressed them onto the soft ground, his weight holding me down. He easily slid his hard cock back into me, and I screamed as he began to pump his hips hard against me.
“Come for me, baby,” he urged, knowing he was hitting my g-spot just right. “Come for Daddy, and I’ll let you free.”
On command, I relaxed my body and gave in, lifting my hips, my pussy seizing hard over his cock. At the same time, he grunted loudly in the crisp morning air, his primal moans intensifying my orgasm.
He hovered close to my body as we caught our breath, his lips moving from my shoulder to my neck in slow, deliberate kisses.
“Jacqueline,” he breathed into my ear. “Marry me.”
I had never felt so safe, so free, so loved and wanted and needed in my entire life. There was no doubt in my mind about marrying him. He knew my answer. He understood me so well now.
“Yes, Daddy.”
* * *
Since that smoky night in December, it felt as though my life had finally broken free from its chains. Elliott orchestrated Michael’s death to appear as a suicide. After Hana and I had departed, he released Michael from the chair and ignited the fire by setting a candle against the window curtain. Before that, as we debated what to do with Michael, Elliott meticulously crafted a suicide note on Michael’s laptop. Just moments before his death, Elliott sent the note to both me and Hana.
Hana and I stood steadfast as each other’s alibis, a story corroborated by Elliott. According to our account to the police, Hana had visited town to offer me support during a tumultuous time in my life—Michael had re-entered my life, bringing with him the dark specter of abuse. We presented tangible evidence of his cruelty: scars from the past, the recent cuts inflicted upon me, and a relentless barrage of threatening messages through calls and texts. My boss, Lauren, co-worker Meg, and Zee provided corroborating statements about his history of abuse. It seemed Michael couldn’t bear the thought of losing me again and ultimately decided to take his own life.
Memories of Michael often brought a stinging pain to my chest, a visceral ache that recalled the tumultuous moments we shared. How could I have been so naive? How did I repeatedly fall under his spell? Through therapy, I came to understand that my years of trauma, beginning with the loss of my mother and exacerbated by growing up in foster care, had deeply eroded my self-esteem. Desperate for love and acceptance after feeling unwanted for so long, Michael’s occasional shows of affection became a lifeline. In those moments, his abuse didn’t seem to matter.
But now…now I was learning to love myself, though it was still a work in progress. I vowed never to lose myself in someone else’s affection just to feel loved and wanted. Loving myself, even if no one else did, would always be enough.