Page 49 of Saving Grace

My eyes rolled into the back of my head

His lips covered mine, his tongue invading my mouth, fucking it at the same rhythm he fucked my pussy.

He angled his hips and pushed deeper. Pulling his mouth away from mine. He slid his hand between us. Found my clit, started massaging the bundle of nerves. Forcing soft moans from my mouth.

Speeding up he stroked me fast and harder until I came, gasping for air.

He choked out a moan and his hips jerked.

He groaned his orgasm into my neck, shooting cum deep in me. We stayed there until his breathing returned to normal. When he pushed away from the wall, my legs were too weak to hold me so I slide down it. I came eye level with his dick. Watching my thick essence mixed with his, dripping from his still swollen cock made me want to cry. I blinked back tears. The realization that by giving into him—I’d trapped myself rang loud as glass shattering in my head.

My eyes slide up to his and I could see the truth in gaze. He wasn’t letting me go. Not now, maybe never.

I dropped my head.

“I’ll have someone come show you to your room. Your things from the apartment are already in there.” His voice came off as cold and detached. I heard him zip his pants.

“I don’t want this Atticus. All it’s gonna do is make me run again, soon as I get the chance.”

“Then you’ll force my hand.”

My head snapped back. “Force you to do what Atticus. You took my son. What else can you do?” I hated the quiver in my voice, it was barely noticeable, but it was still present.

The cold and calculated look that came to his eyes made me want to fold into myself.

“There’s so much more that I can do to you, but only if you force me. Despite what you might believe, you don’t know the man I am today, Grace. The little boy you met by that lake had died long ago. I’m not even the man you left seven years ago and you played a hand in that.”

He leveled me with one final stare before pivoting on his expensive shoes and heading for the door. I watched him go. My heart aching, and my anger shaking me.

Just at the threshold he threw over his shoulder. “Go clean your cunt, Grace. You’re so worried about my wife, wouldn’t want her to catch you walking around her house with my cum dripping out of you.”

My mouth dropped open. He was being malicious.

“You son of a—”

He cut me off. “I understand your grievances, but save the dramatics, Grace.” He smirked.

I glared back. “I’ll hate you forever for treating me like this, for all of this. For forcing me back here.”

He shrugged, tilting his head, he looked me in the eyes. “I already hate you in a way. Hate is a warped version of love, made that way by betrayal. Tell me when your indifference for me sets in. I’ll be worried then. The maid will show you to your room.” He turned to leave.

I tried again.

“This will destroy us, erase all that we meant to each other.”

“I’m fine with that, we’ll be a beautiful fucking disaster.”

Then he was gone, leaving ash in his wake.

My shoulders slumped. All the vigor I had when I was ready to fight him drained out of me as I came to the realization that the only options I had at the moment was do what he said he said. I collapsed against the wall and tried to compose myself. Tucking my head between knees I forced myself to just breath, not think.

A short beat passed. There was a knock at the door. My visitor didn’t wait for me to answer. A middle-aged white man with silver hair dressed in a white polo and khakis opened the door and stepped into the room without looking at me. “Welcome Miss Devereux. I’ll show you to your room,” he said. I responded to his greeting with a nod. Wobbly on my feet, I stood. He gave me his back. My skirt fell into place. I followed him out of the office. With the thought of what happens now. My plans had been to run again, but Atticus changed that. Now all I could do was wait…

Grace.

The first thing I registered when I woke up was the fact that I was not in my own bed.

Then the memory of where I was slammed into my like a sledgehammer. I didn’t want to open my eyes and face reality. When I did, I fought the urge to scream. Who the fuck did Atticus think he was? My warden at the moment apparently. And there was nothing I could do about it.

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