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“David,” I said.
“Or someone who worked for him. Didn’t matter. I got the message loud and clear. I left that very moment, didn’t even say good-bye,” she said. “And he was waiting on me, opened the door before I rang the bell.”
Her voice was a near whisper, and I clenched my fists to try to help bite back the emotion. Whatever she was going to say would not be pretty.
“I was terrified, but he was on his best behavior. Hugged me, told me how much he’d missed me. Had me make his favorite dinner. Steak and corn on the cob. And he sat, drank his wine, and talked to me about everything that had happened at work while I was gone.”
Her eyes were flat now, far too reminiscent of the way they’d been the very first time I’d seen her.
“He finished his last bite of steak, took the last swallow of wine, and then he grabbed the bottle…”
She went silent, lost in thought, but she didn’t have to continue.
“I thought that I wouldn’t make it, prayed that I wouldn’t, but I got better.”
“And?” I said.
“He got worse. I couldn’t go outside, couldn’t pick my clothes, my food, anything. It was awful, worse than awful, and I spent every moment of every day trying to do whatever I could to keep him happy, trying not to set him off. That was entirely a futile task, one that drove me to the brink of insanity. Beyond.”
The dread that had brushed at my mind now gripped it full force. “What happened, Fawn?”
She pulled her sleeve up, turned her arm toward me. I’d seen the scars, but hadn’t asked where they had come from, probably unwilling to consider the answer.
“They’re fading now; you almost can’t see this one, but it feels so big to me,” she said, stroking a finger across the thin line nestled in the crook of her elbow.
“He tried to kill you?” I said, unable to keep the shock out of my voice.
“Every day. But this,” she said, stroking the mark, “this is from me. I decided one day that he would never let me go, and I couldn’t take another day, another second, so I took one of his razors. Did one, then the other, and then I lay there and prayed for death. And again my prayers went unanswered.”
He’d robbed her of her will to live, had broken her precious spirit to the point that death was better than life. Rage, anger, and sadness again overtook me. After a moment, I spoke, “He saved you.”
She laughed, the sound caustic, bitter. “Saved me? No. But he nursed me back to health, smothered me with attention and affection, said he couldn’t wait until I was strong again.
“And when I was, he beat me. Said he was the one who decided whether I lived or died.”
She stopped then, lowered her head, the weight of the shame pressing down her shoulders, her face.
I squeezed her hand tighter, reached up with the other to cup her cheek. “Not him, no one, will ever lay a hand on you again, Fawn. Not ever,” I said.
I held her eyes with mine, hating the sadness I saw there, the disbelief, but I wouldn’t look away until I knew she believed me.
I couldn’t say when the change happened, but she reached up and grasped my face as I did hers, and then she lay a soft kiss against my lips. I stayed still, let her kiss me as she wanted, ignoring the need that being near her always stirred.
She deepened the kiss and ran her hands across my chest, touching me with passion, acceptance, that made me sigh. Then she broke the kiss and stared into my eyes, her own hooded with desire. I almost protested when she turned, but held my tongue and watched as she lay on her side and then pressed her back to me, her ass curving against my cock. I curled behind her, rested my hands on the expanse of her stomach and then moved down to delve between her legs, found the wetness there.
I needed to be close to her, could sense she felt the same, so I guided my cock into her and stroked slow and gentle as I kissed her, let my hands trace her body until she reached a gentle climax that drew my own.
Later, I held her close, listening to each of her breaths and swore I would never let darkness touch her again.
* * *
“Let me make you feel good, Daddy.”
The cheap whore shook her huge tits in what David supposed was an attempt to entice him. His dick didn’t even twitch. Hadn’t in what felt like forever, not since he’d lost her.
Not since she’d been taken by that son of a bitch.
The whore brazenly ran a hand across his thigh and waggled her eyebrows. In the club, she’d reminded him of Fawn. But under the brighter lights of his private rooms, the resemblance disappeared. She was curvaceous, though not as much as Fawn. Her face was attractive and objectively, David could acknowledge her features had a refinement Fawn’s didn’t. But her eyes killed the illusion completely. Where Fawn’s had been soft, almost innocent, the whore’s eyes were hard, gleamed with calculation.
