Owning Wednesday Read Online Free PDF Page A

her face up to his. She gazed into dark, familiar eyes.
     
    “Wednesday.”
     
    She swallowed hard, steeling herself against weeping. He had already brushed past. She closed and locked the door before turning and dropping to her knees.
     
    Vincent looked around her apartment, his face betraying nothing. She waited on her knees, watching to be told what to do. He had brought nothing with him, and she felt a strange disappointment in that. She’d secretly hoped he’d tote everything over here, all the instruments of torture he’d ever used on her. She’d imagined him using them all on her one last time, one big conflagration of pain to mark the end of them, like the huge, jaw-dropping display that ended every fireworks show. But no, he most definitely had brought nothing, unless he had some nipple clamps stowed in his pocket.
     
    She knelt, wishing she could go to him, wishing he would put his hands on her. But he did nothing, and she started to fear he might only say good-bye and walk out the door. She bit her tongue to keep from pleading with him. Please take me. Please hold me close before you go . But he wasn’t leaving and he wasn’t moving. She tried to read him, to read if he felt anger or sadness or perhaps relief. But as usual she could read nothing. She never could unless he wanted her to. But her—he could read her like a book. Surely he knew exactly how hard she was fighting tears, how desperate she was to pour out her heart. He knew she wanted him to come to her. She was sure he even knew she was trying to read him and how frustrated she was at her usual lack of success.
     
    As it was, here and now, awaiting his words of farewell, she was barely keeping it together. Her breath was catchy, and her knees, if she hadn’t been on them, would probably have collapsed.
     
    “Stand up, Wednesday,” Vincent said. “Let me look at you.”
     
    One last time, her mind added. Let me look at you one last time.
     
    She rose with her arms at her sides the way he’d taught her, standing still and straight, her back slightly arched. He came over and stood behind her, yanking her panties down and letting them fall to the floor. He ran his hand over her ass, cupping each cheek. A subtle pressure on her hips, and she was down on her knees again, bending forward while he knelt behind her, unfastening his pants. She heard the faint rattle of a condom wrapper. She waited, open and ready to take him, and a moment later he slipped inside. He fucked her slow and deep, his back curved over hers. Any pleasure she might have felt was stifled by a smothering grief. His fingers slipped over her skin, there but not quite there, like him. He was so uncharacteristically tender that she started to cry again.
     
    “Don’t.” He pulled her back against him, his lips beside her ear. “Enough. This is because of you.”
     
    She shook her head, but if he said it, then it was true, and he was no longer gentle after that. He pulled out of her pussy and positioned the head of his cock at her ass. She tried to relax and let it happen, although there was always that moment of nervous dread. Despite the lube still on the condom, it hurt like a slow burn when he fell forward and slid in.
     
    She felt punished by the way he used her, just as she wanted to feel. Vincent always knew what she needed when she needed it. He always knew just how to make her feel. When she’d first met him, her feelings had been fuzzy and unformed, as if cushioned in Bubble Wrap. Now they were sharp and deep, like the jab of a knife.
     
    When Vincent finished with her ass, he pulled away silently with a light touch of fingertips. She stayed on her knees, her forehead to the floor. She was not aroused, although she always settled into a kind of serene satisfaction when he used her for his pleasure. She felt privileged to be used by him, to satisfy his urges. She hadn’t even thought about coming, hadn’t even begun the climb.
     
    Now she listened and