Chapter Sixteen
Mia
I didn’t tell him the half of it.
Jason’s attacks began within a few weeks of him having come home for the summer. The rape wasn’t a one-time thing. I’d been thirteen and he’d just turned eighteen. He should be rotting in jail for what he did to me, but instead, he somehow got out — and I was the one being punished for his sins.
I’d been so scared of him, so scared of what he’d do to me, to my sister, if I told. I wasn’t even sure Samuel knew what his son was capable of. I wondered if he ever learned the truth of what happened to Tanya, now that she was dead. But when I found out I was pregnant at fourteen, everything changed.
When Julien had asked me if I was protected, I meant I couldn’t have babies, not that I was on any sort of contraception.
It had taken me two weeks after taking the test to tell Jason. With what intention — given my limited options — I didn’t like to think about right now. I didn’t want to know what I was capable of. But he took care of things himself. I never even had the chance to make the decision. I’d barely finished my sentence when I’d felt a blow to my stomach so hard, I’d fallen to the floor, clutching my belly in agony. But he hadn’t stopped there. He’d wanted to make sure it was done. That was how my sister had found out. When she’d come home to me bleeding in the bathroom, my stomach a landscape of purple and blue, the pain of my beating, of the resulting loss crippling.
“Mia.”
It was Gianna calling from just outside the café door, but I only glanced at her before picking up speed in my attempt to reach the house before anyone else saw me. I’d kept this down for so long, kept all the hurt, the anger, the feelings of betrayal, and then guilt buried so deep inside me, that they were coming now and coming like a tidal wave.
No. Like a freaking tsunami.
I fumbled with the key at the door, but my hands shook so badly, that I dropped it twice. The third time I went to pick it up, Julien’s shadow fell upon me. I looked up at him from my crouched position. He stood in jeans, shirtless, his face etched with worry, his breathing coming fast as if he’d been running. Without a word, he took the key, unlocked the door and lifted me to stand. He held me for a minute in the doorway, standing so close to me I could feel the heat coming off his body. He opened his mouth to say something, but then just rubbed both hands over my bare arms and turned me to walk inside. I did, and he closed the door behind us. As soon as it was closed, I tried to pull free to go upstairs, to hide under the covers in bed and sleep. Or at least hope for sleep. But he didn’t let me go. Instead, he pulled me to him, one hand cradling my head, the other rubbing my back.
I wailed into his chest then. I wept like I hadn’t been able to at my sister’s death. Like I hadn’t ever mourned all of the losses since the day Jason St. Rose came into my life.
All the while, Julien held me.
He didn’t speak, didn’t try to comfort me. He simply held me, keeping me tight to him as I told the story, the whole of it. I’m not sure he understood a word between the sobbing, desperate sucking in of breath and letting loose of emotion, but he stayed with me. He listened. And when it was over, he lifted me up in his arms, my body going limp from the release, and carried me up the stairs where he lay me in the bed and pulled the covers up to my neck. He then closed the shutters to darken the room, and sat down beside me, petting my hair softly until I fell asleep, exhausted.
* * *
When I woke, it was to the smell of something delicious cooking. My stomach growled when I inhaled deeply and I turned to sit up, my head hurting a little. A glance at the clock on the nightstand told me it was nine o’clock at night. I’d slept the entire afternoon away, but I felt good. I felt lighter, my belly relaxed. I hadn’t realized the tension I’d been holding was so heavy, but the stress of the last few days, on top of the running, the hiding, the mourning I’d been needing but unable to allow myself… it had all turned into this boiling cauldron of toxins.
And this afternoon, telling Julien, telling him everything — it had somehow become a sort of confession.
The door opened then and Julien peeked his head inside the room. His gaze was cautious, and for a moment, I felt embarrassed at what had happened, at having let him see me like that, undone, raw.
I opened my mouth to speak but had to clear my throat when the words refused to come.
“I cooked,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, looking a little unsure himself. “And it hasn’t burned yet, so we should eat.”
His eyes held questions in them, but he kept silent, watching me, waiting for me.
I smiled and pushed the blanket off. “I’m hungry. Ravenous, actually.”
His smile widened. “Come, Mia.”
I swung my legs off the bed, thinking how the last time he’d said those words, their meaning had been very different. My ears felt hot at the thought, but I lowered my gaze and made a point of making the bed before turning to him again.
Julien took my hand and led me down the stairs and to the kitchen where the large window was open and stars shone bright in the clear night. He’d set the table and pasta boiled in a pot on the stove.
“Sit down,” he said, pouring a glass of red wine and setting it in front of me as I lowered myself into the wooden chair.
Unbelievably, I still felt tired. Tired, and weak.
Julien heaped two plates full of pasta and covered them with red sauce, then brought them over to the table and took a seat across from me. “Buon appetito.” He picked up his fork and spoon, rolled his pasta onto his fork and ate. “It’s good,” he said, nodding, smiling as if he were surprised.
I smiled back and picked up my fork and spoon, trying to roll it like he was doing but not doing it quite as well. His mouth still full, he set his utensils down and took mine.
“Like this.” He rolled me a forkful and fed it to me.
“God, that is good.”
He picked up his own fork and spoon and smiled proudly. “My great-grandmother’s recipe. My grandmother still follows it to the letter. The woman can’t cook otherwise.”
“I just assumed all Italian grandmothers could cook.”
“Well, you know what they say about assuming.”
He smiled at me kindly, his eyes still searching, but cautious. We ate like that, having light conversation, being nicer to each other somehow. Something had changed between us this afternoon. It had probably been changing or evolving ever since that afternoon in my apartment, when he killed the men Jason had sent and taken me himself, keeping me safe, even if he himself hadn’t come with the best of intentions.
“More wine?” he asked, his accent seeming stronger now that we were back in his village. He didn’t wait for a reply before he poured for me and then emptied the last of it into his own glass.
Once I finished my plate, I sat back, content, and watched him watch me.
“Thank you,” I said, the silence finally growing too awkward.
He cocked his head to the side. “You haven’t told that to anyone, have you?”
I shook my head.
“Why did you tell me?”
“I have no idea.” And I didn’t want to discuss that really, so I got up and picked up the dishes. “I’ll wash since you cooked.”
Julien stood too and I noticed again how tall he was, how much space he took up in the small house. He’d put on a clean t-shirt since the afternoon, a crew neck that stretched tight across his muscled chest and arms. He took a step toward me and the dishes I held clattered as my hands suddenly trembled.
“Put them down.”
He came closer and relieved me of the dishes when it seemed I was unable to do it alone. He then put his hands at my chest and pushed me backward so I leaned against the wall, his body pressing me to it, my face at his chest, my chin touching it when I looked up at him.
“Julien—”
“Mia.” He snaked his hands up to my neck and entwined his fingers into my hair, tugging my head upward.
I licked my lips while he watched me, feeling the steel of his cock pressing against my belly. Without a word, he kissed me, tugging on my hair as he did, his kiss igniting a fire from the very center of my being, making my legs go weak. I opened my mouth to him, or my mouth simply opened to his, the command having been a silent one as his tongue slid into it. A low moan vibrated from his chest, and his grip in my hair grew harder as his other hand slid up my dress to cup my bottom.
“Who does this belong to?” he asked, his voice a whisper, his eyes on mine, their blue gaze darker with arousal.
“You,” I managed, reaching for another kiss but unable to connect my mouth to his when he pulled my head back by my hair.
“Take your dress off before I tear it.”
He gave me the tiniest space but kept that hand in my hair as I reached back to unzip the dress, letting me go only when I pulled it off over my head. He looked down at me, at my white lace bra and panties, new from this morning’s shopping trip. Grabbing hold of my hips, he moved down to lick one nipple through the lace, the rough texture of the fabric mixing with the soft heat of his mouth, making my flesh harden, sending heat straight to my clit. His hands circled around to grip both my buttocks, squeezing.
He stepped back for one moment, only long enough to lift his shirt over his head and bare his chest to me. My hands wandered across the broad planes of his flesh, tracing the tattoos, feeling the strength of the man beneath.
I wanted him.
I wanted this man, this killer, the one who had now become my keeper.
He kissed me, pressing me against the wall, pushing the cups of my bra down beneath my breasts so that the hardened nipples scraped against the warm flesh of his chest. I reached to take his zipper down, taking hold of his cock, rubbing the slippery pre-cum over the length of it as he pushed my panties to the floor and lifted me, his cock against my belly.
“Who does this pussy belong to?” he asked, lining up his cock at its entrance and thrusting once, hard.
I grunted with the force of it. “You.”
Both of his hands cupped my buttocks and I wrapped my legs around his hips, supported now between his body and the wall as he thrust into me again.
“And who does this ass belong to?” he asked, a finger pressing against my back hole.
“Ah… you.” I wanted him. I wanted him like I’d never wanted anyone in my life. I could have come the way he was moving, his finger inside my ass, his cock in my pussy, his eyes glued to mine as if he were determined to watch every reaction, every little change in expression.
“You like being fucked, Mia?”
“By you.” I kissed him, squeezing my cunt around his cock, making him groan.
“You like being my little slut?”
“Yes.”
“You like my finger inside your ass?”
“God, yes. Please, Julien…”
But he pulled out then, an evil grin curving his lips while I desperately tried to climb back on top of him.
He shook his head. “Come,” he said, taking my hand and grabbing the bottle of oil on the counter.
“Where—”
“I like it dirty, Mia. And I think you like it dirty too.”
He sat down on the couch, the lamps on either side of it casting us in soft light. Setting the bottle down, he took hold of my wrist and looked up at me.
“I want to fuck your ass tonight.”
My mouth fell open and I recalled the size of his cock. I pulled back a little, trying to free myself as I realized why he’d brought the oil over.
He grinned and pulled me down over his lap, holding me to him. My hands and feet went to the floor.
“No…”
“First time?” he asked, one hand pulling my bottom cheek out, the other taking the bottle of oil.
“You can’t, Julien, it’s… you’re too big.” I struggled but when he landed two quick smacks on my ass, I stopped and covered my bottom.
“That hurts!”
“Then don’t make me spank you. Put your hands and feet down and push your bottom out to me. And answer my question. First time ass fucking?”
“Why do you have to be so crass?” I asked, craning my head back to look at him, catching his wolfish grin.
“Because I like it. You want to be spanked first?”
I shook my head.
“Then move your fucking hand. And answer my question.”
“Can’t you just—”
He smacked the side of my hip in response.
“Ow. Okay, just stop spanking me!”
I moved my hand and looked down at the floor, every part of me tense.
“Now, answer my question.”
“You know the answer,” I said to the floor.
“But I like to hear it. Last chance,” he said, pulling my bottom cheek out again, the first dribbles of oil landing along the cleft between my cheeks.
“Yes.”
He set the bottle down and kept one hand on one cheek, pulling it out, and with the other, began to smear the oil over my back hole. It felt good. God, it felt good, especially with his thigh beneath my clit.
“Push your ass out to me.”
I did, hollowing my back, offering myself to him.
“We’ll go slowly,” he began, circling my asshole, before dripping more oil directly onto it feeling it slide down over my pussy, onto my thigh. “First one finger.”
Instinctively, I tightened, and he tsked at me.
“No, Mia. I don’t want to take what’s not given. Relax, and open up for me. That’s it. It feels good. You came with my finger in your ass more than once. You’ll come again with my cock inside it tonight.”
I moaned when he pushed his finger slowly in to the hilt.
“That’s it, relax. My cock is getting hard for you, Mia, can you feel it?”
Could I feel it? Christ, it was stabbing my belly. I nodded my head as he pulled his finger out, poured more oil onto the hole and went back in.
“That’s it, relax. I’m going to fill this little hole with oil and make it nice and slippery for my cock.”
God, I was going to come just from his words.
“Second finger now. Relax.”
I tensed as quickly as he said it, but he just pulled my cheek out wider and pressed on, stretching my asshole with his fingers, his other hand coming around to rub my clit.
“That’s it, just relax,” he said, adding a third finger.
“Too much!” I tried to rise, but he pushed me back down.
“My cock is a lot bigger than my fingers, Mia. Take it.”
I swallowed, trying to relax and somehow, he worked his third finger in.
“You see the mirror over there?” he asked.
I turned my head and glanced at the mirror that hung on one wall and nodded.
“When I fuck your ass, I’m going to have you on your hands and knees in front of it so I can watch your face as you take me deep. So I can watch your face as I fuck your tiny, little virgin asshole, as I come inside it. And then, when I’m done, I’m going to make you stay there while my cum drips out of you.”
“I’m going to come, Julien.” It was a combination of what he was doing and what he was saying that did it, and before I’d even finished my sentence, I came — hard. His fingers slid easily in and out of me then, those of his other hand rubbing my clit vigorously as I bucked upon his lap, my fingers curling into the rough carpet, my pussy dripping onto his hand, his wrist.
“No more. Please!” I begged him to stop, to pull his fingers out of me, to let go of my clit — but he only laughed and picked up the oil again.
“All right,” he said, taking his fingers out. “I think you’re ready.” He poured more oil over and into my bottom hole before slapping my hip once and helping me to rise. He then kicked the ottoman toward the mirror and pointed to it. “Hands and knees, Mia. Ass to me.”
Slippery oil dripped down my thigh, embarrassing me as I walked to the ottoman and climbed onto my hands and knees, presenting my bottom to him, waiting for him.
“Spread your knees wider and hollow your back. I want to be able to see that sexy little hole from here.” He spoke as he stripped off his jeans and underwear, his huge cock at attention. He then took a handful of oil and smeared it all over it while I watched. “Mia,” he said, raising his eyebrows and gesturing with his head for me to do as he’d said.
I spread my knees wider, canted my hips, opening myself to him — and waited.
Julien took his time, sitting back down on the couch directly behind me, massaging his length as he watched me.
“I love your ass,” he said, finally rising. “You ready for me to fill it? Ready to take this?”
I looked at his cock as he knelt behind me, his big hands covering my bottom cheeks, pulling me wider. When I hadn’t answered by the time he’d settled, he smacked my ass once. Not hard, but just to get my attention.
“Ow. Yes.”
“Tell me. Say it, Mia.”
He brought the head of his cock to my ass then, sliding one hand around to play with my clit.
I squeezed my eyes shut as his thick cock stretched my bottom hole. It hurt, but it felt good too and with the oil, he slid in easily.
Julien slapped my ass again, forcing me to open my eyes.
“Ready, Mia?”
I nodded, barely able to speak as he began to slide his length inside of me, his fingers still working my clit. “Fuck me, Julien. Fuck my ass.”
“That’s a good girl,” he said, one hand in my hair, forcing me to look up into the mirror, to meet his gaze. “I want to see you take me. I want your eyes on me.”
I swallowed, tensing a little when he pushed too far too fast, pain and pleasure mixing, mingling.
“Push against me, Mia. Take my cock inside your ass. Like that, almost there.”
“It feels… it hurts, but feels… so good.”
He smiled and thrust in the last few inches, causing me to gasp, taking me more than a moment to adjust, to stretch and open. He watched me all along, still behind me, inside me. And once I’d relaxed, he let go of my hair and gripped my hips with both hands.
“You want it hard, Mia?”
I nodded, my eyes nearly rolling to the back of my head as he began to move inside me slowly.
“You ready for me to fuck your ass now?”
“Yes… yes, please.”
With that, he pulled all the way out. “Eyes on me or you’ll be punished. Understand?”
I nodded, needing him to fuck me, afraid of the pain, but wanting it too, wanting to feel him take me there, to feel him come inside me.
Without another word, he began then, thrusting hard, making me cry out. He didn’t pause, and he didn’t slow. Instead, he kept his grip tight and fucked me, fucked my ass hard, the oil easing his entry, and just as I felt his cock throb and thicken even more, I came, the walls of my ass crushing his cock, calling a moan from deep inside his chest as he thrust twice more, hard. Then he stilled and we came together, the throbbing of his cock against my sensitive walls intensifying my pleasure as he shot his seed inside me. When I thought of what he had said, that he would make me stay just like this and watch while his cum dripped out of me, I cried out, the orgasm almost too much, the pure sensation too much.
Finally, breathlessly, he slid his cock from me, and I lowered myself onto my elbows before him, my face on the leather ottoman, my ass high in the air.
And he kept his word.
He made me stay just as I was and stood back, watching as my face burned when his seed slid out of me, dripping onto the leather, the submission inherent in the act seeming to please him immensely. He finally helped me up from my position and hugged me to him, pressing his lips to my forehead before resting his chin on to the top of my head. It was silent while he held me like this, and although there wasn’t anywhere in the world I would have felt more safe, there was something else too.
Julien was thinking. I could feel it.
And somehow, I knew not to ask what it was that he was thinking.