Grace Street (A Chapter 8 Novel, #1) (11 page)

After her appointment, she found her way back
to her office and closed up early. There was just too much on her
mind to try and get anymore work done.

Back at her apartment, she rummaged through
some of her still packed boxes and found several items that she
wasn’t planning on using and loaded them up and took them to 2500
East Grace Street. The stark white walls and sterility of the home
were unwelcoming and if she was going to spend any time there, then
it would have to be made to feel like a real home.

The small hand woven rug that she had bought
at a flea market looked nice in the tiled entrance and gave the
residence a homier feel. Two pictures, one of the seaside and the
other of a beautiful sunset, she hung over the mantle and in the
dining area. She placed an old, small music box that was hers as a
child on the night stand in the bedroom in hopes that it would
bring some kind of peacefulness to the cold, empty house. The last
item, a brightly colored comforter, she lay out on the large bed.
It immediately gave the barren white room life and she smiled as
she looked around, pleased with herself, though the troubling
thought crossed her mind that Mr. Black might not appreciate her
presumptuousness and efforts.

Two more days had come and gone without so
much as a phone call or text message from Mr. Black. She had driven
past the brownstone several times to see if there was any life
within it, but only darkened windows glared back at her.

Wednesday was proving to be just as
uneventful. The only good thing was that in the time away from Mr.
Black, her mind had somewhat stopped fixating on him. The
unfortunate side effect of that was that her thoughts were now
drifting back to Patrick.

On her way home from work, she bought a
bottle of chardonnay to ease her boredom.

Showered and with her bottle of wine freshly
cracked open and
Laura Palmer
by Bastille thumping noisily
on her MP3 player, a knock on her door took her by surprise. In
only a terrycloth robe, she chained the door and peeked out. On the
other side stood Mr. Black, wearing the same form-fitting leather
jacket he had worn the first night she met him and dark, worn
jeans. His expression was relaxed as he watched her through the
open door with his hands by his side and keys dangling casually as
he twirled them. When he shifted his stance, the smell of nicotine
and his unique cologne erased any rational thoughts from her
brain.

“You told me to come to the door like a
normal person and now you’re just going to leave me out here?” he
lifted an eyebrow at her.

Elsa sputtered and gave him a feeble smile as
she unchained the door and opened it wide for him to enter. He
moved past her, brushing up against her purposefully. Tightening
her robe around her body, she watched him with new found interest
as he moved about the room, touching her personal belongings and
looking over the family photos that she had scattered throughout
the room.

She moved close to him and when she did, he
peeked over his shoulder, his eyes darkening with desire.

“You look and smell suitable for eating” he
purred, turning to face her and pulling her close to him by her
waist. “What are you wearing underneath?” he sneaked a hand under
the fabric.

Hell yes, she wanted to be devoured by
him.
With cheeks flushed, she answered. “Nothing. I just
showered.”

One side of his mouth lifted, his crooked,
wicked grin speaking directly to her pussy as he touched the flesh
of her labia. “I know.”

“You’ve been watching again?” She felt her
knees weaken as his mouth descended on hers and he thrust two
digits into her.

His tongue only probed her mouth briefly when
he answered in a whispered tone against her mouth. “Again?” he
pumped his fingers. “I’m always watching you, Elsa. I see and hear
everything - where you go; what you do; who you’re doing it
with.”

Her tongue traced the soft fullness of his
bottom lip. With her eyes closed, she responded, “I’m not doing
anything with anyone except you.”

When she finally pried her eyes open, his
green irises reflected glimmers of light and he nodded. “I know
that, too.” Fisting her hair at the nape of her neck, his look
suddenly turned ferocious. “Let’s keep it that way.”

“Then don’t deny me again.”

His response was quick and harsh. He clutched
her vagina, digging his fingers into her and making her squeal out.
“I make the fucking rules in this game and if I want to deny you,
then I’ll deny you and you’ll accept it.”

Elsa’s eyes rounded and her bottom lip
trembled, the pain between her legs throbbing.

“I’m breaking protocol by being here.
Interacting with you outside our designated meeting place is so far
out of my routine it’s not even funny, so don’t make me regret
coming here and don’t fucking threaten me.”

“I wasn’t…” she whimpered, scarcely aware of
her own voice as she twisted in his arms, seeking to get free all
the while his strong hands holding her tight as his fingers
continued to explore her depths.

The song ended and
Oblivion
by
Bastille came on. The mellow tune seemed to speak to Mr. Black and
the tense lines around his eyes softened.

“When I didn’t hear back from you on Monday…”
he paused as he gazed at her speculatively. “I thought maybe you
were having second thoughts about our agreement.”

“I was,” she answered honestly. Though he
didn’t respond, his face spoke for him. When his eyes narrowed and
his mouth parted, she cut him off before his temper flared again.
“But I signed a contract and I’m a woman of my word. I’ll accept
whatever you have planned for me, Victor.”

His jaw tensed but his eyes became glassy.
“Don’t call me that,” he whispered hoarsely.

“I know you didn’t come here to talk all
night,
Mr. Black,
” Elsa accentuated his preferred title as
she pulled her robe open and pressed into his body.

“No, I didn’t. I came here to…”

She put a finger to his mouth. “Don’t tell
me. Show me.”

Sweeping her up into his arms, his mouth
captured hers as he carried her to the bedroom as if he already
knew the way. It wasn’t lost on Elsa that he probably did know the
way. She also wondered why he hadn’t asked if she had masturbated
in their time apart. Maybe he knew that, too. It wouldn’t have
surprised her if he had already been in her apartment unbeknownst
to her. She might have cared about that little fact more if his
tongue wasn’t planted firmly in her mouth and his arms wrapped so
tightly around her body.

Expecting the same kind of roughness from the
previous weekend, she was comforted when he gently eased her down
onto the bed. His hands roamed over her body in search of her
erogenous zones and found them quickly. He planted small kisses the
entire length of her torso, concentrating on each petal of her
cherry blossom. He sucked only briefly on each of her nipples
before lapping his way up to her neck and mouth. She wrapped her
arms around his neck as he kissed her slowly and thoughtfully, his
tongue exploring the recesses of her mouth. Rising up, he undressed
entirely and stood before her, exposed. He was a sight to behold in
all his dark ruggedness and austerity. His hair was a fantastic
mess with his long bangs hanging over his eyes, hooding his
expression as he crawled between her legs.

Just then soft notes of
Overjoyed
by
Bastille floated into the bedroom. Tugging on her robe, he freed
her of it and hovered over her, his hands caressing the sleek lines
of her waist. She pushed the hair off his forehead to see his eyes
and smiled up at him. When he nervously returned her smile, she was
staggered by the sheer honesty of the fear glittering in his eyes.
This man had been hurt. It was clear to see, but his outward calm
did little to disguise the hunger in his eyes and Elsa tried to
deny the hopeful feeling that was swirling in the pit of her
stomach. As he guided his shaft to her entrance, she reminded
herself that everything he was doing was all part of his game and
that she was probably another player in a long list of
participants.

She closed her eyes and gave herself to him
as his pulsing manliness eased in and out of her unhurriedly, his
soft panting and primal grunts making the fire in her belly burn
out of control.

“Open your eyes, My Sweet Peach. I want you
to see me;
really
see me. I want you to see the man who owns
you,” she heard from above in a voice that was hushed, deep, lusty
and ethereal.

Her lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes
and focused on the beautiful man above her; the man whom she had
signed her freedom away to all too willingly. She looked as deeply
as she could into his soul, past the cruel game maker and creator
of rules, trying to see the real man behind his vindictive eyes –
the man who was begging to be seen for who he really was. She could
almost see him, hiding just out of sight and behind the fringe of
his long, black lashes. She closed her eyes once more, overcome
with raw passion. Why couldn’t he be this man? The one now kissing
each of her eyelids like his lips were meant to be there?

Yes, he owned her, alright. Right here, in
this moment… he truly owned her.

***

Seated in his car outside of Eight’s
apartment, Victor lit a cigarette and took a long, slow, deep drag
off of it. He felt satisfied and his hunger satiated, even if only
momentarily. The white smoke billowed out of his mouth and swirled
around the interior of his vehicle, but he didn’t dare open his
window. Her fragrance was permeating every piece of his clothing
and the sweet scent of her pussy was all around him mingling with
the smoke, and he didn’t want any of it to go to waste.

On his phone he accessed iTunes to purchase
the Bastille
Bad Blood
album. It had played in full while he
was with her and the alternating mellow and thumping notes had only
enhanced their erotic experience. Wanting to relive the moment, he
synced the Bluetooth to his stereo, allowing the music to filter
through his speakers. He turned up the volume and glanced up at her
darkened window to see her nude silhouette behind the curtain,
watching him from above. None of the other Chapters had known about
his stalking and surveillance. Even if they did, none of them
would’ve dared to blatantly call him out on it. Maybe he was
getting lax in his old age and losing his discreet touch. Or
possibly he just didn’t give a fuck if she knew he was watching
her. He laughed. No. He liked that she knew.

Taking another drag, he leaned his head back
and closed his eyes. He hadn’t intended to go inside, but when he
heard her humming in the shower and envisioned her svelte wet body,
he was unable to resist the temptation.

She had fallen off his radar for most of
Sunday night until the early morning hours, making him wonder if
she was with someone else; a male coworker perhaps. After he hadn’t
gotten any response from her after reminding her of her GYN
appointment, he began to think he had scared her off. He was
pleased to discover she had kept the appointment and that she was
now on an appropriate form of birth control. He waited the allotted
time for it to take effect before seeing her, but barely and it was
a long, excruciating forty-eight hours he had forced himself to
wait.

He had kept his mind off of her by submerging
himself in the Cambridge case files and it was proving a daunting
task to go over all the gory details yet again. His sleep was
tortured with the images of the young women who had been mutilated
in atrocious ways and the families’ heartrending pleas. A horrible
thought had started to creep into his psyche that he would never
catch the killer and it was making his days and nights almost
unbearable. Elsa would never know how grateful he was for the
distraction she was providing by playing his game. He was hoping to
have heard back from Anthony by now, but the son-of-a-bitch hadn’t
contacted him yet with any help. Undoubtedly he was too busy
enjoying the chronicles of Seven to give a shit about the lives
still in danger from the Cambridge Killer.

Victor drove away, giving one last look in
the rear-view mirror at Elsa’s darkened street while her moans of
pleasure still echoed in his thoughts. Too mentally exhausted from
his work, the gentle fuck he had given her was a welcome reprieve
from his usual debauchery. He reminded himself to write down how
her body responded to his tender touches.

When he arrived at his out of the way and
secluded home on the outskirts of Richmond, he knew the silence
would be deafening and he dreaded where his thoughts would wander
to. No doubt, the Cambridge case.

Standing in the middle of the immense, stark
white living room, he twirled his keys until the hypnotic sound of
the jangling nearly put him into a deep meditative state. Pulling
himself out of his entrancement, he reached for his briefcase and
dug out Elsa’s file and his journal. Both had grown larger over the
past two days.

During the times when he couldn’t sleep or
had been woken by nightmares, he had taken the opportunity to delve
further into her past. He had lucked out in finding a delicious bit
of Girls Are Wild video footage of her that was quite entertaining
if not revealing about her personality when intoxicated. It was no
wonder she had stuck to drinking virgin sangrias the first night he
met her. At least she had the common sense as an adult to know her
limits and drink only in the privacy of her own home.

After perusing her folder for the umpteenth
time, he finally went into his bedroom to write his thoughts.

I was forced out of my routine tonight by
you, C8. It was as if you knew I was listening and you purposefully
taunted me, challenged me even to try and resist you. I know it’s
my own iniquitous imagination conjuring those thoughts and so
you’re forgiven as I know you would never do such a thing. Still, I
was unable to refuse your unspoken challenge. I am, after all, only
a man with not only emotional but physical needs. You satiated both
tonight so you have fulfilled your purpose.