Grace

 

I fall asleep to the rhythm of Deacon’s steady breathing, wrapped in the warmth of his touch. He insisted on staying with me even though I told him I’d be okay. Annette assured me I did the right thing before she went home, but part of me feels like I should get in my car and not stop driving until I find Natalie. Then I think about the little boy asleep in the guest bedroom. And how he deserves so much more than nights like this.

It feels as if I’ve just closed my eyes when the doorbell starts going off with an anxious fury. What the hell? I glance at the digital clock on my nightstand, my eyes adjusting to the bright red numbers. It’s 3 a.m.

I climb out of bed, careful not to wake Deacon, making my way around the still dark room. My heart beats with terror. At three in the morning, there are only two things it could be. The police. Or someone running from a serial killer. And I’m not excited about either one.

 I pull the door open, slowly, carefully, my pulse thumping in my veins.

 Natalie.

She looks like she’s walked through hell to get here. Her lipstick is smeared across her cheek. Her mascara nothing more than a black streak down her face. And the collar of her dark purple tank top is ripped at the seam. My God, Nat. What happened to you? She’s shaking. And cold. Her hand is clammy in mine as I take it and pull her inside.

She curls up against my body, her face buried in the crook of my neck, and sobs.

“I’m sorry. Grace, I’m so sorry.”

“Ssssshhhh. Don’t. Don’t think about that.” She struggles to control her breathing. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re home.” I brush her hair back from her face, so I can look at her. “We need to get you cleaned up and in some fresh clothes.”

All the anger, all the resentment, all the frustration from earlier is gone now. She’s my sister, and she’s in pain. All the way from the inside out. And no matter what she wants, no matter what Deacon says, I have to help her. She wraps her arm around my shoulder as I carry her to the bathroom.

Deacon is awake and standing in my doorway. His eyes convey both an understanding and sadness as if he recognizes something in my sister that brings him pain. And that melts my heart. I wonder if he has siblings. And if they’re close.

“We’re okay,” I tell him quietly as we walk past, and he nods but doesn’t go back to bed.

I help Natalie undress while the tub fills with water. I hear Deacon in the kitchen, then smell the fresh roast of a brewing pot of coffee. He didn’t sign up for any of this. He didn’t ask for restless nights in hospital waiting rooms or sitting up taking care of my sister. But he endures them anyway. And when I think about it, something undeniably hopeful builds up in my chest.

Natalie climbs in the bathtub, and I lather the loofah, inspecting her body for injury while I wash her. Tears spill from her eyes as I pour hot water over her hair.

“I need help, Grace.”

Never once in the two years I’ve been rescuing her has she ever said those words out loud. On the outside she fights to appear so strong, so put together. But on the inside, she’s a broken little girl crying for help. It’s heartbreaking.

“You were right. I didn’t come. I couldn’t. There was so much of Mom still here. I just couldn’t. Then Dad got sick and…” She starts to sob again, and I take her hand. “It hurt to see him that way. What he’d become. I don’t know how you did it. You were always so strong. I didn’t mean what I said. I know you don’t try to be perfect.”

“You’re strong too, Nat.”

“No. I’m not. But, I want to be. I don’t want to do this anymore, Grace.”

She squeezes my hand and closes her eyes as if she can wish away the ugliness she feels.

“You really mean it? You’re ready to get help?” She nods, and I heave a thankful sigh. “Then, I’ll make sure you get it. No matter what it takes.”

“What about Lucas?”

“Lucas just wants his mother back.” She starts to cry again, letting go of my hand to wipe her tears. “And he’ll have her. Better than ever. Until then, I’ll take care of him.”

And I will. I’ll take care of both of them. She’s going to be okay. She has to be.      

 

 

“Do you have any idea how remarkable you are?”  Deacon says when I step out of the bathroom to get Natalie some clean clothes. He links his finger in the waistband of my pants and pulls me close.

“I’m starting to get an idea.”

His mouth turns up in a seductive grin. “No, you’re not. Not yet. But, I do plan on showing you.”

 

***

 

“Take these off,” he says, his words a command my body has no choice but to obey.

After a hot cup of coffee and a little pampering, Natalie is asleep in the guest room with her son. She didn’t tell me what happened to her to bring her to my door, and I didn’t ask. That conversation will happen when it’s time. Right now, the house is quiet, and Deacon is standing at the foot of my bed eyeing my gray t-shirt and polka dot pajama bottoms.

 I slip the thin cotton fabric over my head. Then pull the bottoms from my hips, leaving myself displayed for him in nothing more than a pair of sheer white panties. He never makes a sound. He doesn’t speak, except to tell me what he wants. But his eyes tell me all I need to know. They flash with uninhibited desire. The desire to take, to claim, to own. Outside of Deacon, I am my own. I serve others, help them because I want to. Because that’s what keeps me whole. But when I’m alone with him, like this. I belong to him. Long before I even met him. I was his.

“Now mine.” His firm tone is soft and deep.

The cool air breathes against my naked breasts, bringing my nipples to a peak. I reach forward with steady hands and unbutton his black dress shirt, admiring the silky smoothness of his skin as I slide it off his shoulders. I run my fingertip across a raised scar on his chest, and he grabs my wrist. The pressure is enough to make me stop, but not enough to cause any pain. I don’t have to ask what happened there. I’m smart enough to guess. That’s where she stabbed him. A physical reminder of a wounded heart. Just like the babies I see every day in NICU.

“Eyes forward, Grace.”

 He lets go of my hand, and I drop to my knees and take off his pants. His cock, thick and solid, taunts me as I remove his underwear. I’d give anything to taste him. Then, as if he’s reading my thoughts, he wraps my hair around his fist and pulls my mouth against his flesh.

“Take it. And don’t stop until I say.”

He fills me. So full, my jaw aches. His hand in my hair controls the tempo, but there’s a pattern to his movements. Pain. Fullness. Rest. His hips thrust as he pumps back and forth, fucking my mouth while I take him all the way to the root. The most delicious and satisfied groan escapes from his lips. And I close my eyes and savor the taste of him, the knowledge of pleasing him. My body is his. His to take, his to fuck, his to own.

I want to touch him, to grab his thighs and hold myself steady, but I don’t. Because for reasons he has yet to explain, he needs this. I can see it. I can feel it.  He needs me to give myself to him, just as much as I need for him to take me. When I’m with him, the voices quiet. The never-ending vice of responsibility that threatens to squeeze the life from my lungs loosens its grip. With Deacon, I am free.

The grip in my hair tightens, and he pulls his cock from my mouth. My head tilts back as he forces me to look up at him. With his free hand, he strokes himself. Once. Twice. His eyes close, and his teeth clench. Then liquid, hot and sticky, covers my throat and chest when he comes. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. The sexiest I’ve ever felt.

He unwraps my hair from his fist and strokes the side of my cheek.

 “I’ll never have enough of that mouth.”

“It’s yours.”

“Say that again,” he says, his eyes locked on mine.

“I’m yours.”

 

***    

 

 The next day, Natalie and I research rehab facilities in the area. She’s really doing it. She’s really getting the help she needs. And I couldn’t be happier. For her and for Lucas. I know my parents are smiling down from heaven right now. My heart is full.

I’m getting ready to walk out of the door for my shift at the hospital when the doorbell chimes.

“Miss Matthews?” an older man dressed in a gray three-piece says when I open the door.

“Yes?”

“Sign here, please.” He hands me a tablet and stylus and points to a blank line on the screen. I hand it back, and he pulls a long, white box from behind his back. “This is for you.”

 Natalie wiggles her eyebrows over her coffee cup and watches from the sofa as I set the box on the coffee table.

“Well. Open it,” she shrieks.

I love seeing her like this. Happy. Refreshed. Like the bright-eyed girl I grew up with. I roll my eyes and slip the lid off the box. It’s a dress. Long, black, and covered in tiny black sequins from the waist up. The v-neck plunges low, almost all the way to the navel, and it’s completely backless. There are rhinestone… or are they diamond… clasps where the thin spaghetti shoulder straps meet the bodice. It’s gorgeous. The last time I wore a dress like this was prom.

 Who sent this? And why? It’s not like I can wear this to work.

“Holy shit,” Natalie gawks when I hold it up against my figure. “Someone really likes you,” she finishes with a wink, bringing the oversized mug to her lips.

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. God, I hope she didn’t hear anything last night. It has to be Deacon. No one else has sent me gifts other than my parents in years. I clutch the diamond around my neck and smile. There’s an envelope taped to the bottom of the box. It’s an invitation. To the gallery showing tomorrow night. The one with David’s photographs. At the bottom, in perfectly scripted handwriting is a note. I’ll pick you up at 6.

 Without seeing his face, or hearing his voice. With nothing more than written words on a page, he stimulates me. My body reacts in ways I don’t even understand yet to the simple thought of being with him.

“Yeah. I guess someone really does.”

I can’t fight the ridiculous grin on my face when I realize the truth in my statement.

 

***

 

 

The silky fabric clings to my skin, caressing it like a cool summer breeze. The cut of the dress makes it impossible to wear any type of underwear, top or bottom. And I have no doubt it was chosen that way on purpose. I feel sexy just having it on. Natalie fixes my hair and makeup to perfection and makes me promise to relax and have a good time. I guess she knows me better than I thought. She promises me she and Lucas will be fine. And I believe her. Tomorrow she checks into Tranquility, a therapeutic rehab clinic that’s more like a spa than any kind of hospital. So, tonight I’m letting her enjoy her time with her son. The next three months aren’t going to be easy. But they’ll definitely be worth it.

 

Deacon shows up at five minutes till six, looking completely forbidden but undeniably tempting in his black tuxedo. His hair is perfectly tousled. His blue eyes sparkle when he smiles. And my body quivers at the roughness of his jaw when he leans in and whispers against my neck.

“You look deliciously fuckable.” I don’t think I’ll ever stop blushing when he talks to me that way. My gaze falls to my feet, but he lifts my chin with his fingers, looking me in the eye. “I love the way your skin looks when you’re flushed. I can’t wait to see how the rest of your body turns pink when we’re alone again.”

“So, that’s what you’re into?” The comment is a joke, light-hearted and fun. Because I already know what he’s into. He whispers his secrets in a touch that only my body can hear. He grins, tilted and amused.

  “We’re all into something, beautiful. Some of us are just more honest about it than others.”

My body thrums with anticipation. I’ve seen glimpses of who he is, of what he does. But I have a feeling I’ve only scratched the surface of his desires.

 

 

 The art gallery is modern, yet classic. With marble floors and glass walls. The windows look out above the busy city while people of all ages and cultures float from room to room, admiring the artistic eye of the featured photographers.

Deacon’s hand falls to the exposed flesh at the small of my back while he leads me through the crowd. I swear electricity surges from his fingertips. Every time he touches me, my entire body hums.

We stop in front of a black mock wall with four large black and white photos arranged in a square. The one of the man on fire catches my attention first.

“This is what you do?”

“Part of it, yes.”

“And the other part?”

He ignores my question. Which in turn, answers my question. It’s not something I need to know. Yet.

“Life is harsh. The world is an uncomfortable place. If it matters, I make sure people know. Me, David, Johan… the other photojournalists I employ, we don’t paint pictures for people of things that aren’t there. There’s nothing pretty about war, drugs, or poverty.”

“Don’t you worry about what people will think? About the truth.”

He chuckles and moves in behind me, his hand resting on my hip as he speaks in my ear.

“Sensitivity is relative. What is sensitive to you may not be sensitive to someone else. I can’t worry about offending people. I take the picture and think about what to do with it later. A picture is just that… a picture. You see what your mind tells you to see. For me, that picture has sounds, scents, feelings. People crying. People screaming. The smell of death. Fire and ash.” He points over my shoulder to the photo of the burning man. “It stays with you. You carry it. Always.”

I look at the photo of the woman greeting a returning love, and I feel closer to him than ever. He sees the pain of the world. He carries it on his shoulders. And he does what he knows to make it go away, the only way he knows how. “Everything in my world is wrong. I’m surrounded by destruction and sadness. You’re the one thing I’ve found that’s right.”

I know enough about Deacon to know his words aren’t empty. He’s not about flattery or sweet nothings. He’s not made that way. I want to turn around and wrap my arms around him, slip my hands underneath his jacket and clutch his back. As if I’m afraid he’ll disappear if I don’t hold him tight enough.

“My innocence… my inexperience… doesn’t scare you?”

He chuckles and steps closer until his hard body is pressed firmly against my back.

“There’s nothing innocent about what I’m going to do to you.” I gasp a sharp intake of air as his lips brush my neck. “You’re more in tune with my needs than you think. Instinct doesn’t need experience. Like right now. You want me to touch you. I know this because even though you pleased me, I left you soaking wet, dripping with need last night. And now, if I slid my hand underneath this dress, I’d find you the same way.” He inhales my scent, like he can smell my arousal. People walk past, smiling and saying hello. Some stop and look at David’s photographs, others keep moving, consumed in their own conversations. But none of them, not one, knows the darkness of the things he’s whispering in my ear right now. “I want to taste you, Grace. To feel you on my tongue.” It takes all the willpower I can muster not to moan. “Do you want that? To come apart in my mouth?”

“Yes,” I reply, focusing, but not focusing, on the black and white prints in front of us.

“Good. Then come back with me.”

I stumble out of my pleasure-drunk haze.

“To your room? Now?”

He smiles and turns me to face him.

“To South Africa. Tomorrow. Come with me.”

And there it is. The wrecking ball. Crashing into the walls of my heart that he’d slowly been putting back together. It all crumbles to the ground. Shattered. Broken. He’s leaving. And there’s no one to blame but myself. I knew he had to go. I knew he couldn’t stay. He’s here on business. And after tonight that business is over. I can’t leave. Natalie is just now getting her life back together. I promised her I’d help with Lucas. I have to make sure she’s okay.

“You’re the one thing in all this chaos that makes any sense. But… I can’t. I can’t leave my sister. I can’t give up on her.”

My heart stops beating while I wait for his answer. He pulls me close, his forehead against mine. His peppermint breath against my cheek.

“Then we’ll make it work. Because I can’t give up on you.”

In that moment, I know. He is my salvation. He is the half that makes me whole. And I’m not going to let him go.