CHAPTER 11
Hazel
The ping interrupted the music and startled me, making me jab a long dash of mascara across my brow. Damn it. Usually I wouldn’t be so jumpy, but on top of the whole stalker situation, knowing what was going to happen in an hour made the adrenaline trickle through my veins at an increasing rate.
So you’re going to let a guy torture you? The same guy who abducted you only a few months ago?Christine texted. I smiled to myself. It was nice that she was concerned. It wasn’t torture…exactly. Even if Christine was primarily a top, at least she theoretically understood the appeal of seeking out someone like Grant.
But getting her on board with our history was another story. I decided to be honest, which meant being vulnerable about my past with Grant, and the stalker, and Dean. Well… I hadn’t brought up Dean yet. But I had mentioned the stalker, and Christine had been worried for me. She was convinced that it was Grant messing with me.
Maybe that was part of the appeal. Not only was he a boulder of a man who had shown repeatedly that he could manhandle me, but there was another side to him. A darker side that enjoyed the violence.
I texted Christine, not knowing what else to say:He’s a nice guy.
No, he’s not, she responded.
I wiped the mascara off with a drenched cotton ball, then resumed painting my face. It was such a transformational activity, turning into the image of the woman I wanted to be, the woman with flawless makeup and hair. The best part was the destruction: becoming a blubbering dethroned queen, totally destroyed from everything that had happened.
Be careful,Christine texted.I locked the screen then fixed my hair. Another message:If you want to do that kind of stuff, you should let me do it. Girls aren’t your thing? I can supervise Oliver. Really. Don’t put yourself at risk.
I couldn’t stop smiling. Someone cared for once. And not only about my physical well being. I could never tell Heather about the kinds of stuff that made mefeelbetter, that helped me feel sane again. But I could tell Christine. She had her own desires.
I guess I could tell Heather, considering she was in love with Zaid, and youknowthat creep was into some kinky shit. But I never felt like I could open up to her. She was always judging me, ready to tell me how to set my life straight.
You’re too sweet to me, I sent.
Christine texted back quickly,LOL, I know. I know. I should be much, much harder on you.
I lifted a brow. That was strange. But I shrugged it off. Maybe I wasn’t catching the joke. Or maybe she was flirting?
I had picked out black pants with a pale pink top, sleeveless and low cut, with a collar that wrapped around the neck and went down the middle of my cleavage in a long strap. It would definitely draw attention to the right areas, flattering my average breasts in a way that hopefully made me irresistible. We may have had strict rules for the parameters of our scene, but I still wanted to look good for Grant. To make his time worthwhile.
I turned in front of the mirror, double-checking my appearance. There was about five minutes before we were supposed to leave. I rubbed some tropical lotion on my collarbone and nodded. I could do this.
Wish me luck, I texted Christine.
Good luck, babe!she responded.Text me when you’re done!
I raced down the stairs. I thought about responding, saying that Grant wasn’t the stalker—how could he be?—but decided against it. That conversation would never end. Grant was sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter, a black leather jacket on his shoulders, his back turned to me. My phone pinged, and I checked it quickly, eager to banter with Christine to get rid of some of this nervous energy.
Hey! Can we meet up soon?sent from Heather.Maybe at Pretty Lush? They serve lunch, right?
Ugh. Her text sounded so formal. What did she want? Whatever. I responded,Sure, sounds good, and turned off the screen.
Hearing my feet tap across the floor, Grant stood, turning to face me. He straightened, taking in my appearance, his eyes inching over me, from my sandal-clad painted toes, to my breasts, to my neck, to my dolled-up face.
“Hazel,” he said, my name heavy on his tongue. He stared, gawked even. A white shirt clung to his skin, outlining his muscular chest. His mouth open.
My plan had worked. I smirked. “Yes?”
Grant turned his head to the side, thinking over his plans. He couldn’t look at me and think straight. “Do you want a safeword?”
I forced a laugh. “Safeword? Do you think you’re going to push me that far?” Yeah, I wasthatkind of masochist. Too proud for their own good.
He cleared his throat, then faced me. “No kissing. Nothing sexual.” I nodded. “But that refers to the acts. Not to the areas on the body.”
“Yep,” I said. Why was he differentiating it? If we outlawed every erogenous zone, there’d be no skin left for us to play.
He stepped closer, his mouth hardening. “Your safeword,” he said, his voice low, “is your name. If I hear you murmur it—”
