Double trouble?

Because the sampler went over well yesterday I feel like doing it again! Yay! Also because I will not be able to even see my computer at all tomorrow I kinda feel like stocking up! Enjoys.

The Grey & Maggie one is obviously prequel-ish and the Viola & Vaughan one is the very next scene after the last one you read.

*****************

She had wanted him to pick her up at the wine store, hadn’t wanted her father to see her getting into a car with a man.

Now she sat, quiet and wan in the passenger seat of his BMW as it idled outside the precious little shoppe.

“Listen, everything will be allright,” he soothed. “What’s the address?”

She gave him a funny look as he reached to the GPS.

“I guess I don’t really know.” She said haltingly.

“Ok, what’s the name of the place?” He was using his sweetest voice, gentle and kind.

She didn’t say anything and he looked at her. Her eyebrows were raised.

“Is this a joke?”

He blinked a few times and shook his head. “No—“ what the fuck was her problem? “I mean, there are a few different ones, aren’t there?”

She narrowed her eyes. “No, Grey, there’s only one City Hall.”

He stared at her. He quite literally couldn’t make sense of what she’d just said.

“What?”

She looked furious and hurt and scared all at once. “What were you talking about?”

His mouth was suddenly dry. “What are you talking about?” he answered her with a question of his own. A feeling of dread was creeping into his stomach.

“City Hall?” She said, as if he should have understood. “What other place is there?”

He tried to swallow. Holy fuck.

“Oh, no, no, no, no.” He said, sitting back in his seat, dropping his hand from the ready GPS.

“You said you’d take care of everything-“ she began, her pitch climbing, close to shrieking.

“Oh, no.” Was all he managed.

“What did you think I meant?”

“I’m bringing you to a clinic.” He said with finality.

“Absolutely not.” She leveled.

They stared at each other for a long time.

“I’m not going to marry you.” He said at last.

She sucked in her cheeks and nodded her head. She was livid.

“Yes you are.” She gave each syllable equal weight.

Who the fuck did she think she was? “Listen, I’m really sorry for the misunderstanding—“ he began, but she wasn’t listening, just shaking her head. “I’m sorry if we were talking about two different things, but I’m not willing to marry you.”

She was breathing hard. “Grey Delaney if you don’t take me to city hall and make me your wife I will tell the police that you raped me.”

He jaw fell slack.

“What the fuck?”

“I will go to campus police and then I’ll go to the town police and tell them you raped me.” She held her chin high.

“Lying little cunt, they won’t believe you!” He spat the words at her and was glad she flinched.

“I think they will” she said quietly. “And I know about a half-dozen other girls who will swear you did the same to them.” She looked out the windshield, followed a few passersby with her eyes and swallowed.

He was stunned. He felt like his head might explode and he needed to piss. What the fuck?

“I have never-“ he said in a low growl, “never raped anyone.”

She lifted her shoulders in the slightest of shrugs. He wanted to throttle her. “Who’s to say?”

He ran a hand through his hair and felt like punching the windshield.

It was her word against his. If she wasn’t bluffing it might be the word of a half-dozen girls against his. He’d been a real asshole to a fair few young women—it was distinctly possible that they could be convinced to accuse him of this crime out of hurt pride and spite. He didn’t really know if he stood a chance in hell.

“Get out.” He growled, gripping the steering wheel.

“If I get out I am walking straight to campus security to report date rape- is that what you want? I’ll insist on a paternity test.”

He huffed. He had the strongest urge to slap her across the face. He kept his fingers wrapped around the steering wheel.

“How much do you want?” He asked sharply.

“How much what?”

What a stupid fucking cunt. “How much money do you want?”

She had the grace to look insulted and he hated her all the more for it.

“It isn’t about the money you bastard.” She breathed, blinking back tears.

He pressed his lips into a firm line. “Get the abortion, take the money and move the fuck on with your life.” He said coldly. “No one would ever know.” She looked stricken.

“I’d know.“

He pressed on, “You’re father won’t know and you’ll have enough money to live off for years.”

She grimaced. “I’m not a whore.” She whispered.

“Well you spread your legs like one sweetheart.” It had hardly left his mouth when her slap cracked across his jaw.

“You son-of-a-bitch.” She was crying now, but she looked more angry than anything else.

She unbuckled her seatbelt and put her hand on the door, then paused. Swallowing hard and taking a breath she said: “You have three days to decide.” She looked him square in the face “And then I go to the police.” She opened the car door and was gone.

His ear was ringing and his face stung.

Motherfucker.

*****************************

Vaughan Grey was just hanging up the phone when Viola reached the bottom of the stairs. She’d decided to dress without showering. She knew she smelled like him now, like their sex.

He gave her an easy smile. “I ordered Thai,” he told her, “I hope you like Thai.”

She nodded. He moved toward the well stocked bar at the far end of his living room. She followed, mute.

He pulled a glass from somewhere below the bar and opening a Calder Mini Fridge pulled out some ice. “How about just gingerale with lime this time?” he asked playfully.

She wasn’t in the mood to play.

He squeezed a nozzle and ginger ale fizzed and filled the glass. He opened a small metal container and produced a slice of lime which he tossed into her drink, and then, opening another metal lid pulled out a cherry and added that as well. He was wearing a smirk. A small swizzle straw completed the beverage and he pushed it across the top of the bar toward her.

“What’s the cherry for?” She asked.

“For irony.” He set about refilling his own glass and she sipped the ginger-ale without bothering to squeeze the lime.

“So.” He began when his drink was neatly poured, “Who taught you to fuck like that?”

Her eyebrows came together and she leveled a challenging glare at him. “Who says it isn’t self-taught?”

“I just want to know who I have to thank for turning you into a fantastic lover.” He smiled a predatory smile and she raised an eyebrow in response.

“Me.” She responded.

He chuckled deep in his throat.

“Alright” he conceded “But you didn’t get yourself pregnant. Who’s the father?”

“None of your business.” Her heart rate increased and she felt a hot-cold trickle of sweat slide down her back.

“Were you planning on passing it off as mine?” He was nothing if not direct.

“No.” She responded plainly.

He nodded slowly. She could tell he believed her.

“Would you be willing to?”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

He sipped his drink. “Would you be willing to say it was mine?”

Viola didn’t know what to think. Her response was instinctive, reflexive. “No.”

He looked only mildly disappointed. He shrugged.

“Even if I paid you?”

“I don’t need your money.” She spat.

“What about when Mommy and Daddy find out?”

Viola wanted to slap his arrogant face. “They already know.”

Now he looked sorely put-out. He cursed under his breath and drained his glass. Reaching for the bottle he addressed her without bothering to look at her. “I know you’re using me Miss Delaney, I’m just not quite sure how or why.”

She didn’t say anything. She sipped her gingerale.

He sighed. “How did your father react?” He asked mildly.

“He was very, very upset Mr. Grey.” She answered just as mildly. He looked up. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

“And all this?” he asked, making a small open gesture with his drink. “What will his reaction be to this?”

She fished her cherry out of the gingerale and twisted the too-red stem between her fingers. She chose not to meet his eyes. She had the feeling he might be able to see too much, read things in her eyes that she ought not to reveal. “I believe he’ll be even more upset.” She sighed casually.

She could feel him getting irritated. She knew him to be a powerful and often times volatile man. She held her breath.

“What do you intend to tell him?” His words were clipped, his tone icy. She was taking all the fun out of his big revenge plot.

Viola took a breath and plopped the cherry back into her soda. “I intend, Mr. Grey,” she said wearily “To tell him you’ve fallen in love with me and have asked me to move in with you and be your wife.” She exhaled forcibly.

After a moment of dull silence he laughed, a cruel mirthless thing, and then took a drink.

“You’re serious.” It wasn’t a question.

“I am.” She replied. Finally meeting his eyes.

She was somewhat surprised to find an intrigued expression on his face rather than one of horror or disdain.

“Why the fuck would you want to do that?” He asked baldly.

“Because, Mr. Grey,” she said levelly. “it will destroy him.”

The man’s jaw went slack. She’d surprised him.

“Will you help me?” she asked. Though she thought she knew the answer.

“What did he do to you?” He asked, suspicious.

“That doesn’t matter” she said, a little too quickly and his expression looked still more captivated.

“Maybe not.” He crossed to an ornately carved box on the sideboard and he pulled a cigar from within before replacing the lid. She watched him retrieve a small metal instrument from a slim drawer in the sideboard and realized he was trimming the end of the cigar, cutting it. She’d never seen anyone prepare a cigar, her father never smoked them.

Next he took a miniature box of matches and struck one against the side. She patiently observed this ritual, rapt with the ceremony and habit of it all.

After a few puff-puff-puffs he shook the flame off the match and exhaled some of the rich-smelling smoke. Viola was surprised to find she liked the fresh, masculine smell of cigars.

“But wouldn’t it be best to pretend the child is mine?” He tried again after some thought, tossing the match into a receptacle beside the bar.

“He knows it isn’t yours” she said before she’d thought about it.

His eyes narrowed, and then his face was a mask.

Fuck. A wild panic flashed through her and she could feel moisture under her arms and across her scalp. Fuck. He was a very savvy man. And she had just said a very stupid thing.

“And what do you suppose your pretty mother will say when you tell her you plan on marrying her son-of-a-bitch ex-husband?” His tone was even and calm. He’d deliberately changed gears and Viola hadn’t missed it.

Keeping her face and voice as tepid as she could she shrugged carelessly. “I imagine the bitch will be insane about it.” Maybe if she pretended it was about hurting both of them?

Now Vaughan smiled, a slow, deadly, winning smile and Viola was fairly certain that he’d guessed her secret. Oh, Fuck.

But he played her game. “Well, Miss Delaney,” he said cheerfully. “I accept your proposition—“ He took up her small hand in his large, rough one and brought it to his lips in mock gallantry “—I believe I’ll enjoy saving this damsel in distress.” And he kissed her hand.

She shivered as his lips moved expertly up her bare arm and to her throat. She let him kiss her everywhere and anywhere he chose. She was submissive, letting him know that she belonged to him as part of the bargain, that her body was the price of his cooperation.

He lifted her onto the bar and she numbly accommodated the force of his body on and in hers. She moaned and sighed and whimpered. She dug her nails into his shoulders and arched her back and swiveled her pelvis and did everything she was expected to do. But all she could see was her father.

She was thinking of Jonah when Vaughan Grey brought her to orgasm and then filled her with his own release.

The doorbell rang and Vaughan pulled his bathrobe closed again and picked up the still smoldering cigar from the ashtray where he’d left it just before he’d entered her. He helped her down from the bar and she pulled down her skirt, squeezing her wet thighs together.

“The food’s here.” He said, and puffed on the cigar. “But I imagine you’ll want to get home while you’re still wet with my cum.” He grinned around the cigar in his teeth. He took a few small puffs and then, walking around behind her blew a cloud of smoke into her hair.

She felt tears sting her eyes.

He knew.

“Get home quick so Daddy will know exactly where you’ve been young lady.” He whispered into her ear.

He sauntered toward the front door and as she watched him she tried to decide which monster she loathed more—him or herself?

She couldn’t really fault him. He’d guessed correctly that she wanted to go home smelling like him. Then why did she feel like such an empty whore?

With shaking fingers she picked up her pocketbook and followed him to the door. As he opened it for the delivery boy Viola scooted out without another word, without a backward glance. She was halfway down the front path when she heard him chuckle “I’ll have a key made up for you sweetheart!” he called after her, laughing louder still.