We Were One Once Book 1 by Willow Madison Page B

palm
of my right hand to her cheek. I’m impressed that there is only the
slightest shriek from her as her hip and hands hit the floor.
Standing over her, I’m still smiling. “Rule number 1: don’t raise
your voice to me, Red. Got it?”
    Grace doesn’t look up. She
turns away from me and braces herself to stand. I let her. To my
surprise, even with my obvious handprint covering half her face,
she doesn’t say or do anything. I know it has to hurt, but she
doesn’t touch her face or show any sign of tears. Instead, her face
is soft and open, but she doesn’t look at me.
    I step towards her,
expecting her to move away, but she stays perfectly still. “Look at
me.” She looks up obediently. I’m stiff looking into her dark eyes.
There’s no sign of pain. Or fear. I’m oddly even more aroused by
this. Usually I only get this hard after seeing a girl brought to
tears by a justly deserved shot to the mouth. But Grace is
definitely not most girls.
    She speaks up, almost sweet
with her faraway voice, a fog circling her words, “I like to be
called Grace. It’s the name…the name I’d like you to
use.”
    I put my hand gently over
the red side of her face. She still doesn’t flinch or move, just
keeps her eyes locked to mine. “All right. When you’re a good girl,
I’ll call you Grace.”
    And her look melts to her
usual one of seduction—her eyes closing slightly, darkening
alluringly more. She puts her hand over mine, only pressing
slightly with her cool touch. “I believe we have an understanding
then, Simon.” It’s about the sexiest thing I’ve heard in a long
time.
    It brings me back to the
first time I hit Raquel. I’d always known that my sexual desires
drifted to the more sadistic, darker side. I was the kid who got in
trouble for spanking the teacher’s ass or holding down a girl and
pinching her non-existent tits on the playground. I learned by the
time I was seven that I had to indulge my tendencies in private
only.
    Grandfather paid off and
sent away more than one maid after I’d coerced them into spreading
their knees and submitting to my painful touches. His solution was
to send me to all-boys schools and only have male help around the
house. It only fueled my urges and fantasies, and one particularly
helpful driver introduced me to darker erotica at an early age. He
showed me a world in books where my desires were met.
    Meeting Raquel was the
start of all things good for me. She wasn’t willing, not at first.
She laughed off the invitation I gave her to come over for a swim.
I’d met her at one of Grandfather’s boring society dinners. She
blushed and flirted with me all night but tried to act like I was a
child.
    The shrink Grandfather
hired after her suicide tried to make it seem like I was a child
too—that she took advantage of me. I had his eyes popping with the
details of my repeated sexual depravity with her. I left no doubt
who was in control each and every time.
    He then tried to say that
it was my way of acting out from early childhood abandonment
issues. As if never knowing my mother and losing my father just as
I was old enough to remember him were reasons for my carnal lusts.
As if I fucking gave any thought to either of my parents while I
whipped and tortured the girl.
    No, my desires, my needs
were always the same for as long as I can recall. I’ve not really
stopped to analyze them. The trips to the shrink were to appease
Grandfather, no more. I knew what I wanted with Raquel and with
every girl since her—sex. Rough. Sadistic. Sex. The need to cause
pain during pleasure, the need to hear screams as much as moans,
the need to see my sadistic touch on smooth flesh—it’s all I’ve
ever wanted. Raquel was just the first to give in to my
needs.
    I wasn’t surprised when
Raquel showed up at the exact time I told her to. Even then, I
understood the nuance of picking the right girl. I understood that
there are willing victims in this world, girls that will