Chapter 8

Iam still trying to get my head wrapped around who his boss is. I have even googled her a few times and besides a couple of pictures of her out and about with her sisters before all of the murders, there is nothing. I can say this, she is beautiful in a dark, menacing sort of way.

Men in my country whisper about her like she is the boogeyman. I have watched men pale, from a far of course when my father would say that she took someone out. I don't know her, and to be honest I don't know that I want to, but, I admire the fear she puts into men.

Larabee and I spent the morning eating breakfast and then we played a Phase 10 tournament. The winner gets to pick the coffee of the day which is a big deal because that is the one thing we argue over. He loves manly dark, strong coffee. I like the sweet and dainty cappuccinos. He won't try mine and I won't try his. I won. I am not entirely sure he didn't let me win, but it doesn"t matter. He has to drink girly coffee.

The rest of the day is calm and sort of quiet. Larabee spends most of the time in an office, hushed muted conversation that I am used to. The saving grace in this situation is that a few hours ago the books, movies, clothes and espresso machine I ordered arrived.

I was so happy for the clothes because I have been walking around in his shirts since I have been here and even though I love having the smell of him wrapped around me, I want to put on clothes and start trying to feel like me. Once I get everything opened and situated, I take the clothes into the room and jump in the shower. For the first time since I got here, I close my eyes and the monster in my head is replaced with Larabee. I can feel his mouth on my neck like it was earlier. My nipples begin to harden, and I can't stop myself from slowly rubbing my soapy hands over them. "Oh," I whisper at how sensitive they are. I stop immediately, guilt washing over me, because should I be feeling anything resembling happiness right now? And is it happiness or gratitude?

I still wake up screaming, thrashing about, disoriented. Sometimes I walk around, scratching my arms, itching for another shot, but it is a far cry from where I was. I can tell I am still detoxing because I wake up drenched, from head to toe. I asked the doctor about when he came for a checkup yesterday and he told me it was normal and a good sign. Apparently my body is expelling the drugs. Tentatively, I ask him if he knows what they gave me and as expected, it was heroin.

I shake my head to clear all of the hurt and pain from it, at least for a moment. I wash my hair inhaling the scent, but my mind keeps going back to his lips on my neck. I don"t know if he meant to do it, but I felt the wetness his tongue left behind. In ordinary circumstances having these feelings would be shocking and out of the question, but the monsters who had me never touched me in that way. "ay Dios mío," I whisper to myself.

The soap is running down my body and my eyes are still closed. I am conjuring images of his hands going where mine are going. I am shocking myself, but I think I want him to replace everything I have been through with happy memories. They slide down my stomach so slow and tentatively, but with determination. His hand slides down toward the place where no man has touched, and I gasp when my fingers slide between the lips.

"Fuck." I hear as a hiss, breaking my fantasy. I look toward the sound and see him standing there. Immediately I feel ashamed and like I need to apologize.

"I'm… I don't…" he begins to shake his head as he moves further into the restroom.

"Don't ever apologize for bringing yourself pleasure, Piccola. The only thing I want to hear and see is how you touch yourself and the sound you make when you come. I want you to show me everything, Satine, but then I remember what you are going through, and it makes me feel like shit to be thinking of you and any way that isn't innocent."

Goosebumps are on my skin from his confession because the sincerity in his eyes show me he is a good man. So is it wrong I want him to be bad? I need something to make me feel alive. To make me believe they didn't kill my soul in the darkness. I feel like they destroyed any chance I have of normal anything, and love and I don't want that to be so, but when he looks at me, I see promise. I see heat and desire and that is worth more than anything else.

"You are honorable, Larabee. Many men would have taken advantage or demanded something in return for holding me at night and rocking me through an episode. You haven't. You have been nothing but kind, gentle and caring."

"Thank you, angel. But you wouldn't be saying that if you knew what was going through my mind right now." He proves his words with a squeeze on the head of his cock that I didn't notice was out until; now. It looks angry and swollen. His grip is hard and punishing, and the white cream dripping from the slit, is making my clit throb. "Do it, Satine. Touch yourself. Show me what a good girl you are." Holy shit. His words send a spark of some part of me that loves to be told what to do. I have often thought I was like this, especially after reading books our maid used to sneak me, but never had a chance to test it out. Something naughty inside of me lights up, and I widen my stance and turn toward him fully. "I want those eyes open, Piccola. I want to see them when you bring yourself to the clouds."

Feeling braver than I really am and only because it is him, I continue using my finger to split apart the lips and graze my clit. I blow out air and rub more. "Oh," I say, the air in my lungs coming in wheezes of pleasure.

"Damn! Look at you. You look glorious taking what you want." His words embolden me, and I continue my exploration. I can feel the wetness pooling in my center. Instinctively, I slide my finger past the bundle of nerves and into my pussy, the stickiness covering my fingers. "Damn, Piccola. You know how to bring a man to his knees. No wonder they wanted you enough to steal you. You're a treasure."

"Larabee," I call his name and the pressure builds. Every time he speaks my body reacts with zings of need and pinpricks of pleasure. My fingers go back to my clit, vigorously moving in flashes of circles. My body begins to shake, and the air leaves me quicker. "Why can't I?" I cry out. I am almost there but I am scared to fall. "Help," I say before I feel his hands touch me. I didn"t realize I had closed my eyes. His fingers cover mine. In and out. Over and over he pushes my hand inside of me and pulls it out, sliding the sticky honey over my clit. On more than one occasion I can feel his own finger, slip through mine and touch me and that brings me closer.

Suddenly, his mouth is on mine. His clothes are gone, and he is in the shower with me. His tongue slides across my bottom lip, but I am spinning so close to the edge. "Kiss me back, baby. I want to feel that shy tongue in my mouth." Doing as he said, my mouth opens slightly and my tongue peeks out, slowly following his lead. "There's my girl." Our tongues take a moment to get acquainted and say hello before he takes over and slides his fully into my mouth. "I knew you would taste sweet, Piccola. I knew you would taste forbidden and tantalizing.

His fingers have not stopped moving with mine. I am quickly falling, zooming toward a release I can only get to with him. "I think. I can't… It's…"

"I got you, baby. Let go. I will always catch you." Those are the words I need to allow myself to fall, literally. I open my mouth and a blinding scream falls from them. My body feels like it is convulsing. It scares me and I begin reaching for him until everything goes black. The last thing I hear is a whisper. "Never letting you go." I hope he never does.

"Mmm..." Stretching my arms I open my eyes and smile. My body feels light, languid and oddly sensitive. I know instantly he is not in the bed with me or in the house. Don't ask me how I Know, but from the moment he brought me here, I have felt this overwhelming connection to him. Sure it could be hero syndrome. I know. But it is something else. Something tangible, right there at the surface, pulling us closer but also threatening to snap if tugged too hard. Looking outside I see the sun is setting and realize I slept for longer than I expected.

Curious and missing him, I get up and use the bathroom since my bladder feels like it is going to explode. Once I have washed my hands and brushed my teeth, I look at myself in the mirror and smile when I see my eyes are not as sunken in as they were. I can see tiny pieces of who I was trying to reach the surface and it makes me feel better. I can see pieces of myself coming back every day, but I also see something else possibly forming, a new me. A me that never existed before any of this.

I trade out my flowy dress for a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. I don't bother with shoes since I am inside. Turning, I open the bedroom door and walk out. "Larabee. Are you here?" The house is silent but for my own breathing. I check his office and the backyard but find nothing. The panic begins and I lean against the counter. My throat begins to swell, and I think I start to collapse as the wail of despair fills through the air. Am I alone again? Why is everyone always leaving me?

My mind is spinning going over the last time I saw him. "Oh no." My hand at my throat and once again I am calling upon the darkness when salvation comes again.

"Baby, talk to me. What the fuck happened?" When his voice permeates my mind I look at him and all of the darkness begins to recede. I launch myself into his arms and cry on his shoulder. "Piccola, you"re scaring the shit out of me. Talk to me, baby." He sits in a chair with me on his lap and I can't bring myself to talk. Right now, I just need to be in his arms.