Chapter Twelve
Mia
Julien took my hand as we walked through the village. He didn’t hold it as if it were a form of affection. He did it to keep me with him without it looking obvious. Not that it mattered. It was still early in the morning, not quite ten o’clock, and there were only a few people on the streets.
I was so taken with the ancient village that I tripped more than once on our way up the uneven street. Julien caught me each time, although he did mumble something about watching where I was going.
The few people we passed looked at us and I smiled at them. I was more interested in how they reacted to Julien, than to me. He kept his gaze straight ahead, the tension rolling off his body. When we got to a café, the mouthwatering smell of freshly baking bread made my stomach growl, but Julien seemed unaffected by it. He took a deep breath and walked inside, his hand growing clammy around mine.
“Grandmother,” he said to the woman behind the bar who stood with her back to us, her hand on the counter, a cigarette smoking between her fingers .
The woman turned from the TV she was watching to face us. At first, she looked shocked to see him, but then a smile crept along her face and she came around the counter, cigarette in hand, talking loudly as she wrapped her arms around Julien in a familiar hug. He didn’t let go of my hand and he didn’t hug her back. Either the woman didn’t notice, or didn’t care. She spoke in rapid Italian, extravagant hand gestures accompanying her speech, pausing now and then, hugging him a second time before finally quieting and stepping back, looking at me with a smile on her face. She said something to me in Italian, but Julien replied before I could tell her I didn’t understand what she’d said. What he said, however, wiped that smile right off the older woman’s face.
“Mia, this is my grandmother, Gianna.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, holding out a hand.
Gianna turned to put her cigarette out in an ashtray on the bar and reached her hand out to take mine. But a moment later, she gave Julien a look and pulled me into a hug, speaking fast in Italian. She then stepped back and looked me over. “Mia. Nice to meet you.” Her English was heavily accented, but it was better than my Italian and I found I liked this woman. She wasn’t afraid of Julien.
I smiled and she went behind the counter to make coffee.
“Sit,” Julien said in his usual charming manner. He pointed at a barstool.
Gianna pushed an espresso toward me.
“Your grandmother seems very warm.” My comment was directed at Julien even though I looked at and thanked Gianna. “Not what I’d expect, considering,” I mumbled as I sipped my drink.
Julien leaned in close. “That’s three,” he whispered into my ear. He gave me a smirk and picked up his coffee.
I watched as Gianna talked with Julien who listened to the woman in silence. He was tense, I could tell, but I wasn’t sure if his grandmother picked up on it at all. Gianna opened the cash register, took out a key and set it on the counter. She slid it over to Julien.
“I will send clean sheets this afternoon,” she said, smiling at me sweetly.
Two older gentlemen walked into the café then and she smiled at them. Julien too turned and I watched as one of the men paused, then strode over to him with a wide, warm smile, greeting him with a pat on the back and some murmured words in Italian. Julien shook his hand, but he barely managed a smile. All I caught in the exchange was one word: Charlie. I watched Julien when the man said it. The man’s tone became somber at the mention of Charlie, but Julien’s face went rigid.
“Are you finished?” Julien asked me.
I drank the last sip of my coffee and nodded. He said goodbye to his grandmother and the old men and I stumbled through my farewells in rudimentary Italian.
“The house is a little farther up the hill.” His tone was completely different from the one I’d come to know thus far. The hardness was gone, replaced by something else, something old and weary — and perhaps hurt. When he slowed and glanced to his right, I followed his gaze. It was a cemetery. Something in the moment made me squeeze my hand around his, and when I did, he turned to me, his eyes questioning, a vulnerability in them I hadn’t seen before. I didn’t ask, but I had a feeling his family was buried there.
Without speaking, he led the way down a few more streets and up the stairs to a pretty, ancient-looking wooden door. Unlocking it, he switched on the light. Even though it was daytime, the house was dark and musty, as if it had been closed up for a long time. I stood in the entrance while he moved to the next room and opened a window before pushing the wooden shutters open. I followed him, smiling as sunshine filled the small rooms. He pulled the dusty, yellowed covers off the furniture to reveal very old furniture, the seats of which were worn, the floral pattern fading in places. Rings marked the wood of the coffee table and a stack of saucers sat on a crocheted doily on one corner. There wasn’t anything extravagant or modern here.
“Wow, this is amazing,” I said when I went to one of the windows. The house was situated along one of the cliffs, and the view across the valley below was vast and incredible.
He walked into the small kitchen and returned holding a cigarette and a lighter. He met me at the window and put the cigarette to his mouth, flicking the lighter twice before igniting a flame. I watched as he lit the cigarette, listening to the sound of it burn as he inhaled. Leaning out the window, he exhaled, physically relaxing as he did. I realized he’d done it in the restaurant parking lot too. It seemed strange that he smoked, a man who was physically quite healthy, totally in control of everything. It was almost a weakness.
“Why do you smoke?”
After another long drag, he took the cigarette from his mouth and looked at it, holding that breath. He then stubbed it out on the outside wall, tossing the butt away before turning to me. “Trying to quit.” He went toward the living room.
“So, this is where you were born?”
He grunted his answer with a short nod. This was hard for him, I could hear and see it.
“Your grandmother seems happy to see you.”
He just raised his eyebrows and gave me a strange non-smile before moving to the stairs. “Guilt,” he said, stopping on the first step and watching me as he said it. “Come upstairs.”
Guilt.
I guessed we had more in common than either of us had originally thought.
I followed him up the stairs, my heart beginning to beat a little faster at what was to come, my belly suddenly filled with butterflies. The worst part though was that I didn’t know what I wanted. I should have wanted him to leave me alone. I should have wanted to get away, even if Julien claimed he would help me.
But all I wanted was to follow him up those stairs.
The floors throughout the house were tiled, though worn carpet could be seen here and there. The stairs were uneven, the second story consisting of one bedroom and a small bathroom.
“Can I?” I asked, pointing to that little room.
He gestured for me to go ahead and went into the bedroom to wait. I closed the door and, after opening the tiny window in the bathroom, looked at my reflection in the mirror.
I wore no makeup and a handful of freckles dotted my nose from being out in the sun a few days ago without sunscreen. It was early spring and although it wasn’t really warm yet, I had managed to get a little sun. That was days ago though — before I’d ever thought I’d actually meet the man whom I’d watched from my hotel window.
Turning the tap, I splashed cold water onto my face and rinsed my mouth. I combed my fingers through the tangles of my hair, needing a brush to get the knots out, but, settling on a long braid for now, I headed back to meet Julien.
He’d opened the window and was sitting on the one armchair in the room, waiting for me. The look on his face set the hair on the back of my neck standing on end, and I tried to remind myself who this man was, what he was. But it was as though my mind was shutting that out.
“Undress, Mia.”
My clit was the first thing to react to his words, but my brain thankfully took over.
“Why?”
“Because I want you naked. Undress.”
I shook my head, a small, uncertain movement.
He grinned, and shifted so that he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers.
“Mia.”
I stood listening, holding my hands behind my back to hide how they shook.
“Do you remember our conversation in the car not an hour ago?”
I nodded, sweat beginning to form under my arms, across my forehead.
“This is one of the calls I get to make to which you agreed. Do you need me to make you strip? You have a punishment coming already so I’ll just add on to it if I have to strip you myself. But you’ll be naked, one way or the other.”
“Punishment?” We hadn’t discussed that.
He smiled, nodding while raising his eyebrows.
“Why?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Doesn’t need to be a reason other than it will please me to spank that ass of yours. But in this case, it’s your disrespectful attitude.”
“Spank?”
“Strip.”
“Julien—”
“Mia.”
I watched his face, his eyes, wondering if he was joking — but he wasn’t. He leaned back, crossing his right leg over his left, as if preparing to watch a show. A striptease.
“I’ll ask once more, and if you still refuse, then I’ll assume you want me to help you. Undress.”
“I…”
He was up on his feet in a flash of movement, and before I could get a scream out, he had his hand over my mouth and pushed me against the wall. With his other hand, he tore my blouse down the middle, swatting my flailing arms away like they were nothing before he turned me to face the wall, pressing me into it with one hand between my shoulder blades. I heard a woosh and knew he’d pulled his belt through the loops. For a moment, I thought he’d whip me with it and I screamed, but then he gathered my arms behind me and wrapped the thick leather around my wrists, winding it tight and buckling it before turning me to face him again.
I stared wide-eyed, the look on his face fierce, the pupils of his eyes dilated.
“Shh,” he said, his hand at my throat. “No one will come to help you if you scream. You’ll just irritate me.”
I screamed anyway when I noticed the switchblade he’d pulled out of its case on his jeans, and when I did, he clamped his hand back over my mouth and cut away my bra first between my breasts, then at the straps over my shoulders, the ruined lace falling open, exposing me.
“Shut up. I mean it,” he said, taking his hand away but using my own bra as a gag when I opened my mouth. “Better.” He stepped back to have a look at me before putting his knife away and reaching for the buttons of my jeans.
I began to mumble behind the gag, tears filling my eyes, suddenly incredibly frightened of this man who I’d been stupid enough to let down my guard with. He was a killer. He was a murderer, an assassin. I was so out of my league, I had no idea what I was doing.
He ignored me though, easily keeping me pinned to the wall as he pushed my jeans down to my knees.
“Step out of them,” he demanded.
My plea was muffled by my bra, and this time, instead of asking me again, he turned me to face the wall once more and smacked my ass three times. It hurt. He struck hard and when he turned me again and repeated his command, I did as he said, working my legs to pull the jeans off without the use of my hands, and stepping out of them while he held me upright.
I wasn’t wearing panties because I hadn’t found them earlier, so I now stood before him naked and bound, my bra shoved into my mouth, waiting for his next command.
His eyes raked my body and his breath was hot on my face when he pressed himself to me, his cock a steel rod against my stomach. He kissed my temple and pushed the hair from my face.
“I think you’re getting comfortable, Mia. Maybe thinking you know me? That perhaps we have something we’ve… connected on?”
I shook my head, but he was right — I had thought something.
“I think it’s important you know your place, that we set boundaries here and now.”
He kissed my face again, this time while pulling his t-shirt over his head with one hand, leaving him naked from the waist up, the ink on his chest and arms the only barrier between us. I couldn’t help looking at him, wanting to take in all those markings, wanting to know what each one meant, but when he leaned in close and pulled the makeshift gag from my mouth, I didn’t scream. Instead, I took his kiss, wanting him, desiring him even.
This was wrong, this was so very wrong.
“You need to know, Mia,” he said, replacing the gag and bringing his face down to my breast, licking it while I watched before taking the nipple between his teeth, biting just hard enough for me to squeeze my eyes shut and groan against the pain. “That I’ll take what I want when I want it.” He kicked my legs apart, and slid a hand down over my slit, gripping my mound hard. “You see, I know you want it too. Your pussy’s wet for me, isn’t it?” His fingers slipped through the drenched folds of my pussy.
I closed my eyes when he beamed his victorious grin. But Julien wasn’t done yet.
He leaned in, whispering in my ear but never stopping the play of his fingers, his thumb now moving over my clit.
“You want me to take it, don’t you? You like it rough, Mia?”
I shook my head, but I wasn’t sure it wasn’t a lie.
“Your pussy says something else.”
He pushed the gag from my mouth again to kiss me, and this time, he didn’t replace it. Instead, he walked me over to the bed and sat me down on it, one hand remaining curled in my hair. He looked at me for a while, his hand almost caressing my scalp. Then he pushed me backward so I lay flat on my back, and he knelt between my legs on the floor, his hands on my belly, my breasts.
“I like the taste of your pussy,” he said, his eyes locked on mine while he licked it. “I like sucking on this little clit,” he continued, doing just that, making me gasp, making me lift my hips into his face. One finger slid into my cunt as he licked and sucked and I was ready to explode when he stopped, licking just to the side of my clit, looking at me.
“You want me to make you come?”
I couldn’t answer.
“You don’t want to want it, I get that. But you do, don’t you? I won’t judge you, Mia.” He slid his finger out of my pussy, tracing it back to the other hole. I pushed away from him when I felt it touch that tight ring of muscle, but he only had to pinch my nipple to make me stop. “You belong to me now, Mia. Every part of you belongs to me until I let you go. It’ll be easier for you if you can accept that.”
With that, he pushed his finger into my asshole, watching me as I flinched at the intrusion. It hurt at first, but then, he began to rub, to pull his finger in and out while licking my pussy again, his eyes on me, and when he wrapped his lips around my clit and worked a second finger into my ass, I came. I fucking gushed all over his face, his mouth, his tongue, his fingers pumping slowly in and out of my ass, my muscles clamping around them, coming like I’d never come before.
Once the spasms had passed, I opened my eyes to meet his. He wasn’t laughing, he wasn’t gloating. He simply knelt there, watching me. He slid his fingers out of my bottom then, and turned me over onto my belly. Standing, he undid the belt that bound my wrists.
“Let’s take care of that punishment before we continue,” he whispered. “Grip the rails of the headboard and don’t move your hands.”
I watched him double up the belt, and, even knowing what was coming, I did as he said, unable to disobey.
“Now, that’s a good girl.”
He placed his knee at my back then, pinning me down so that my legs hung off the foot of the bed and my butt was raised slightly.
“You’ll feel this even more now that you’re ultra sensitive,” he said, and as I processed his words, his meaning, he began to whip me, lashing my ass with his belt.
I’d never been spanked before, not by hand or anything else, and the leather of the belt bit into me like fire with each stroke. I struggled, trying to get away. I screamed. I wondered if the entire village could hear my screams, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t care. It hurt, it fucking hurt like hell, but he only continued laying on stroke after stroke until I was spent and weeping, no longer fighting. As soon as I stopped, he did too. I heard the belt drop to the floor and felt when he sat down on the bed, pulling me onto his lap, belly down, rubbing circles over my punished bottom while I wept.
“Why did you do that?” I asked through tears when he lifted me up to cradle me in his arms. Even as I asked, I found myself tucking my arms into myself, into him, almost taking shelter in his embrace.
“Shh,” he coaxed. “It’s over now, but you needed to know how you’d be punished.”
“Why?”
He held me close, one hand caressing my hair. I looked up at him to find him watching me.
“Why?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Because I like it.”
With that, he brought his mouth to mine and kissed me once before sliding me off his lap and setting me on the edge of the bed, my bottom hurting when it made contact with the mattress.
He stood between my legs then and unbuttoned his jeans, pushing the denim and his underwear down, bringing his thick, hard cock inches from my face.
“It’s important that you remember, Mia, that although you may think you know me, may think you know my pain, my suffering, you don’t. You need to remember that I am a mercenary, like you said.” His fingers curled in my hair as he pushed me to my knees. “All you need to know is that I will hold up my end of the bargain, and you had better make sure to hold up yours. You’ll do as I say, or you’ll be punished every time. Understand?”
I nodded, my eyes moving to his cock, my sex stirring at the sight of it, the scent, the closeness, even given what he’d just done to me. That was the craziest realization of all.
I was turned on, completely aroused.
“Suck my cock, Mia. I want to come down your throat.”
I opened my mouth, my eyes on his as he guided himself between my lips, one hand keeping a grip on my hair as he closed his eyes. I sucked, watching him as I did, watching his face, the pleasure there. And when he pushed deeper, I took him as far as I could, sucking harder, still watching him. When he opened his eyes to look at mine, the blue was brighter, shinier. He kept his eyes on mine then until he came, until his cock thickened inside my mouth, throbbing, releasing down my throat, his taste salty, clean, leaving me wanting.
Wanting.
It was so strange that I should want him, but when he slid out of my mouth, pulling me to stand, bringing his lips to mine, that was the only word to describe what I felt.
I wanted him.
He was wrong about one thing though. I did know him. I knew pain. I knew suffering.
And he suffered. No matter how hard he tried to make himself appear, I knew he suffered.