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Beginning Again Ch. 01

By: North200



Author's note:

I expect this to be a longer piece – maybe six or seven chapters. All characters are fictional adults. Your feedback is welcome and gratefully accepted. Thank you for reading.

**

Mac paced the tiny, one-room apartment. The rubber soles of his wet sneakers squealed against the faded linoleum floor in the kitchenette and left soggy tracks on the thin carpet of the bedroom area. The heavy rain had soaked his jeans and t-shirt clear through; they clung to him like a clammy second skin. He barely noticed the chill through the pain of a crushing headache.

He stopped briefly next to the window and pulled the stained curtains aside just enough to peer down at the street three stories below. 

No cops. Not yet, anyway. 

He resumed his pacing. His skull felt like it was splitting down the centre and he pressed his thumbs into his temples. He had to think. He just needed a few minutes to figure it all out.

He passed the couch. The girl. She was shivering violently. Sobbing. Rainwater plastered her long, black hair and a thin white shift against her skin. Scrapes on her knees and elbows left traces of blood on the linen. She lay curled on her side, eyes closed, whimpering. 

"Shh. Be quiet, it's okay," he said, trying to sound soothing and realizing how insane that was. She had every reason to be terrified. Her crying continued unabated.

He crossed to the door of the apartment, checked that the lock was set, the deadbolt secured. Now what to do? Find a weapon, maybe? He hurried back to the window and peeked past the curtain. Still no cops. Rain coming down in sheets. 

The pain in his head caused a brief wave of nausea to break over him. He found the plastic pill bottle on the floor and ripped off the cap. Still empty. How had he gone through a hundred Tylenol in just two weeks? He considered making another run to the drugstore but it was past curfew; he didn't want to fuck up his parole. Not after seven years inside. He looked back at the girl and realized his problems were likely bigger than breach of parole.

He staggered back to the girl, dropped to his knees in front of the couch. 

"There's blood...are you hurt?" he asked. When she didn't answer he grabbed her right wrist and tried to peel her arm away from her ribcage, doing his best to ignore the way the wet cotton was see-through in places. He was just checking her for injury, after all. Nothing indictable. Her wrist was bone-thin and felt fragile in his hand. He noticed then that his knuckles were cut, throbbing and weeping blood. 

She squeaked and pulled her arm back against her chest, curled tighter into a defensive ball, eyes squeezed shut.

"Don't hurt me, please! Just...just let me go. Please." her voice was a teary whisper soaked in desperation.

Let her go? No, no chance of that. Not until he could explain, make her see that this was all just a huge fuck-up. Nothing criminal. Nothing the cops needed to know about, that's for damn sure. He'd find a way to make her understand. 

But first, he needed to remember. He started pacing again and tried to fight through the raging agony in his head. Tried to piece things together. 

He'd made instant soup and white toast for dinner. Planned for an early night so he could start his job search at the break of dawn the next morning. Got another headache but found he had no pills left. The pain was bad enough that he'd run for the drugstore just at the edge of curfew. He remembered leaving his apartment just as the sky started to dump rain. Then...

Then...

Then nothing. Just a blank space where his memory should be. And then he'd found himself climbing the stairs to his apartment with a semi-conscious young woman slung over his shoulder.

He squeezed his head with his hands. The pressure dulled the pain just a little. Too little. It hurt to think. He swore and kicked a rickety kitchen chair, launching it across the room where it bashed a dinner plate-sized hole in the thin plaster wall. It felt good to hit something. Really good. He turned back to the girl.

"Look, let's go to bed...try to figure this out in the morning," he said, not sure if he was speaking to her or just thinking out loud.

"No...please...I won't tell. Just let me go."

He watched her shiver for a moment, wondering if terror or wet clothes were more responsible. He squeezed his head tighter. What would it take for this shitty evening to be over at last?

"Take that off. I'll get you dry clothes," he said, turning to his battered particle-board dresser. 

"No! Please don't..."

"Take it off!" He roared, more forcefully than he intended. 

Why was she making this difficult? Change into dry clothes, then sleep. Somehow this would all make sense in the morning. The pain made him want to puke.

She slowly peeled off the sopping shift. Her eyes were wide now, staring past him like he wasn't there. He threw a t-shirt and some track pants onto the couch next to her, then turned away. The sight of a young woman undressing held no allure for him when his pain was so overwhelming. 

He walked to the tiny bathroom and ransacked it, looking for any Tylenol he might have forgotten he had. None.

He stripped off his sneakers, socks, shirt and jeans. His briefs were damp from the rain but he decided to leave them on. Didn't want to be totally naked if the cops burst into the apartment and found him with a girl who didn't want to be there. They wouldn't even need a warrant; it was one of the conditions of his parole.

Stepping back into the main room, his eyes were drawn to the naked young woman cringing in front of the couch trying to hide herself behind her skinny arms. The wet shift sat in a lump at her feet. Her terrified eyes stared at the wall just to the left of him. For several moments they both stood in silence.

"What are you doing?" he asked. 

"You said...dry clothes..."

They stared at each other for another few seconds. Was she an idiot?

"Right there!" He gestured to the couch. She continued to stare in his direction. He was almost at his limit. He clenched his fists. Tried to remember his anger management. Breathe. Count.

She looked at him uncomprehending for a moment longer, then crouched, uncovered her small breasts and began to tentatively run her hand over the floor to the front and sides of her.

She was blind?

He took a deep breath and pressed his palms into his eyeballs. He didn't care. He just wanted to be unconscious. He'd deal with it – somehow – in the morning.

"On the couch. To your left," he said. 

When he took his hands away from his eyes a minute later she was dressed. He walked up to her and grabbed her arm firmly just under her shoulder. She was so thin that his hand almost fully encircled her upper arm. She tried to pull back but he was having none of it and was much stronger than she was. He roughly guided her to the edge of his single bed until her knees bumped the mattress, then pulled the sheet and comforter down.

"Lie down."

"I...don't want..."

"Don't say another goddamn word. Just lie down and close your eyes." His voice was a harsh whisper. The agony between his temples was too intense. If he didn't sleep soon he'd have to put his fist through something. Or someone.

He watched as she lowered herself onto the mattress and curled into a tight ball, then he flipped the blankets over her. 

Trudging back to the couch, he paused to kick her soggy, balled-up shift off the carpet and onto the ugly linoleum of the kitchenette, then he thew himself down onto the couch. He didn't care that it was damp. He didn't care that it was rough against his skin, or that it smelled musty. He didn't even care that it was a half a foot too short for a man of his height. He closed his eyes and breathed and counted and focused on unclenching his jaw. It didn't happen fast, but eventually he found sleep.

**

The sound of breaking glass brought him suddenly awake. He was on his feet even before he'd found his bearings. Sunlight tried to force its way through two large, dirty windows. The pain in his head had dulled but not vanished; it still throbbed in his temples. Not much of a reprieve but he welcomed it nonetheless.

The young woman was on her feet too, near the kitchenette, rooted to the spot with a terrified look on her face. Fragments of a broken drinking glass, knocked off the counter, lay scattered at her bare feet. His track pants and t-shirt looked almost comically over-sized on her tiny frame. 

He sighed. A new day had arrived. Now to see if he could endure it.

"Don't move," he said, his voice gravelly.

"I'm sorry. I just need to use the bathroom. I can clean it up," she said, dropping into a crouch.

"Don't move!" he said, now with more annoyance. She froze. Jesus, nothing was ever easy.

He pulled on some old jeans and a white undershirt and then approached her, careful not to put his bare feet down on broken glass. In one easy motion he lifted her into his arms, then carefully stepped to the bathroom door. She weighed next to nothing and the warmth of her thin body in his arms felt good. Human contact in prison had been rare and unwelcome. He kicked last night's wet clothes out of the way before setting her on her feet again.

"Toilet's on your right. There's a shower if you want. Dry towel on the wall rack," he said, then pulled the door shut as he left. 

As he carefully swept the linoleum and carpet for glass shards, Mac tried to figure out what he was going to do with the girl. She was blind. She couldn't identify him. Maybe he could walk her down to a coffee shop and just leave her there. It wasn't like he had hurt her or anything – not that he remembered, anyway. No reason for her to involve the cops. He'd only abducted her, refused to let her leave, then made her take her clothes off in front of him.

Fuck. His parole officer wouldn't be amused.

He decided to make breakfast for his unwilling guest. Instant coffee, canned soup and some toast with margarine. Sit her down. Explain things. She seemed a reasonable type – she wasn't screaming or hysterical. And he had a little money he'd earned in prison. Not lots, but maybe enough to smooth things over. It could work.

He heard the shower running. That had to be a good sign. If she was really freaked out she wouldn't be having a shower, he reasoned. A hot shower and a hot breakfast would have her seeing things his way. So to speak.

By the time her shower ended he'd boiled the kettle and had vegetable soup simmering on the stove. He pushed the bread down into the toaster. It was buttered and sliced when the bathroom door opened. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to force himself into the role of a nice guy. He wished his head would stop aching for a damn second so he could focus.

He stepped up to her and grabbed her elbow gently. She flinched at he contact but didn't try to pull away. "Come and sit down. What do you take in your coffee?" He tried to make his voice soft and non-threatening. 

He steered her to the tiny table near the kitchenette and got her seated.

"Sugar," she said in a quiet voice. Her expression was guarded, her eyes followed his sounds as he moved through the room. She seemed tense and nervous but no longer terrified, probably figuring that if he intended to do something horrible to her, he'd have done it already.

He stirred the sugar into her coffee, pushed the mug into her hand, slid the toast in front of her and invited her to eat. He felt relieved when she took a bite of toast. All according to plan so far. She finished one slice and then another, alternating bites with sips of coffee. She seemed hungry.

Her damp, black hair fell over her shoulders in loose curls. A tan complexion suggested Hispanic or Latino roots. In her early twenties, maybe. She had pretty, dark eyes, although he could see in them a weariness that suggested life hadn't been easy on her. Her body was well-proportioned but too thin; she looked fragile and undernourished.

"There's soup too," he said, "And if you want more toast just say so."

She nodded, then was silent for a few more mouthfuls. 

"What's your name?" she said at last.

"My name?" He trailed off as he weighed his options. If she knew his name she could identify him. Should he refuse? Give a fake name? Change the subject? 

"You don't have to say if you don't want," she said. 

He sighed. 

"Call me Mac," he said, figuring it was a good blend of truth and evasiveness.

"I'm Nadja."

"Nice to meet you."

She just nodded and didn't say another word as he pushed the soup in front of her and pressed a spoon into her hand. She took her time with the soup, seemingly lost in thought. He rinsed her plate and coffee mug, then poured himself black coffee and downed it in hasty, bitter mouthfuls. He tried to think of something to say to break the awkward silence but couldn't figure out which direction to take the conversation. In the end he decided that silence was better than saying the wrong thing in a situation like this.

Finally she finished and left the spoon in the empty bowl.

"More?" he asked.

She shook her head. He grabbed the bowl and rinsed it. She broke the silence.

"So...what happens next?" Her tone was careful.

He hadn't figured that part out yet. His mind worked furiously, intensifying his headache.

"Well," he said slowly, "next, I let you go. I can get you a cab to take you wherever you want."

She regarded him silently. If she felt relieved, her neutral expression didn't show it.

"And...I figure maybe I could give you something to make up for the...trouble...of last night. Money, I mean. I never meant any harm. I get these headaches...they make me kind of bad-tempered sometimes." 

She didn't respond, just stared in his direction. Her expression remained unreadable.

He cursed inwardly – she wasn't giving him much to go on. Should he name a figure, or wait for her to suggest a good price? If he named one she might get insulted if it was too low. But her silence suggested that she wanted him to go first. What would be a good amount? Two hundred dollars? More? Fuck!

"I want to stay," she said softly.

The request was so insane that it took a few moments for the meaning to register. Stay? With him? 

"You can't stay," he said, "besides, last night you wanted to leave."

"Last night I thought you were going to kill me."

"Look, I can give you some money to get where you need to go..."

"I don't have anywhere to go," she said in a quiet voice.

Was that how she ended up outside in the pouring rain last night, dressed in a slip? Her old man threw her out? Maybe she had a bust-up with her boyfriend? But how did she end up draped over HIS shoulder at the end of it all? 

"I can get you to a women's shelter. They'll get you back on your feet. Get you in touch with the police."

"I can't go to a shelter, or the police. I'm..not a citizen. They'd just deport me." Her tone was pleading, not defiant; she wasn't arguing with him. 

If she couldn't go to the cops, that changed things. Gave him a better bargaining position. Maybe, somehow, he could make all this go away? It was almost too much to hope for.

"You're not staying," he said again, trying to filter the irritation out of his voice, "I'll give you some money, get you a cab. You go patch things up with your husband or whatever. It isn't my problem. I'm in way over my head as it is." 

"I won't be in the way." 

He took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh, then pressed his thumbs into his temples.

"If you stay here, I'll end up hurting you bad," he said in quiet, measured tones, "not by choice. I'd never hit a woman; I'm not like that. But things build up. It gets too much and...I just can't handle it."

"I can help you."

"I just got out of prison. Seven years inside. This really isn't a good place for you."

"But...I can't see," she said, "and I have no place to go. No family, no friends. Please..."

"I'd like to help you but there's really nothing I can do other than give you some money, help you get someplace safe."

"Please! I'll do anything."

The conversation wasn't going as planned. Just one fucking thing after another! He took another deep breath and let it out slowly. He realized his fists were clenched and deliberately relaxed them. The throbbing pain was intensifying, the pressure building inside his skull. 

"I'm going out for some Tylenol," he growled, "you can stay here for a few hours, get yourself together. Then I'm calling you a cab." He ignored her pleas as he slid his bare feet into wet sneakers and threw on a black hoodie. Without another word he grabbed his wallet and left.

What a fucking mess.

The cool late-autumn air felt good against his face. He walked slowly and focused on the anger management he'd learned in counseling. Breathe. Count. Relax his muscles. It didn't get rid of the pain, but it kept it from getting worse. 

His first stop was the drugstore. He grabbed two giant-sized bottles of extra-strength capsules and swallowed three pills while he was waiting in the checkout line. He vowed never to run out of them again. They were a lifeline.

On the way back to the apartment he stopped at the bank machine and withdrew three-hundred dollars. Nineteen-hundred dollars were all that remained of the earnings from his job at the prison laundry. Finding a job – almost impossible given his criminal record - was becoming more urgent by the day. Not only did he need the income, but finding employment was one of the conditions of his parole. 

He didn't need any distractions or complications getting in the way, and certainly didn't need another mouth to feed. Was it cruel to throw a blind girl out into the street? Yes...there was no denying that. But better that than to let her stay and make her a victim of his temper. She was safer somewhere else.

His headache had mercifully receded by the time he reached the door to his apartment. He paused and took several deep breaths. Unclenched his jaw. Relax, he whispered to himself. Relax. Stay calm, get through this. Don't let it get ugly. He turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open.

His eyes fell immediately on Nadja. 

She stood waiting for him in the middle of the room. Naked. Her hands were behind her back, her feet shoulder-width apart; nothing was hidden from him. Dark eyes. Smooth skin. Small breasts with dark nipples. The faint outline of ribs visible under the skin. A flat stomach and narrow hips that framed a shaved slit. Skinny legs. Lovely.

"What..." he started but his throat closed and cut off the words. He stood rooted in place, unable to move. His heart hammered as lust – dormant seven years – surged through him. He was hard fast.

Nadja's eyes found his face and she stepped in the direction of his voice

"I don't think you understand," she said as she took a second step toward him, "I'm willing to do whatever it takes to stay. Whatever you need." She lowered herself to her knees in front of him. Her fingers quickly found and undid the button on his jeans, unzipped him. Then his pants were around his ankles and her warm hands had freed his cock from his briefs. Without preamble she slid it into her mouth. 

He gasped as hot wetness enveloped him, and again when he felt her tongue stroking the underside of his shaft. The sensations overwhelmed him and he couldn't find his words. He knew what this was – she was trying to play him, trying to lead him around by his dick. It was working. 

He felt powerful as she knelt naked at his feet and sucked him. She was clearly no stranger to oral sex; she used her lips and tongue expertly. His orgasm was closing fast and the idea of flooding her mouth with his cum spiked his arousal even more.

Nadja pulled back, held his cock in her hand and dipped her mouth lower. He felt her tongue on his balls, hot breath on his inner thighs. She took a long, slow lick up the length of his cock then ran her wet tongue along the underside of the head. Mac felt lightheaded; he could hear his own ragged breathing.


Beginning Again Ch. 01



"Anything you want. Any time you want," she whispered, "you make the rules and I'll obey." 

And then he was inside her mouth again, deep inside. He reached down, held her still-damp hair between his fingers. She responded by taking up a slow rhythm, pushing her lips all the way down the length of his shaft, then pulling back. Down, and back. A little faster each time. He could feel the pressure building, building.

His orgasm hit hard and the pleasure seemed to echo and diffuse through his body. The muscles in his abdomen clenched and spasmed as he emptied his lust into Nadja's mouth. He heard and felt her moan around his cock as she continued a gentle sucking, swallowing, keeping him inside her until he was completely spent. Finally she pressed a slow, loving kiss to the tip of his cock and gently tucked it back inside his underwear again.

Only then did he regain his powers of speech, but he couldn't find the words to evict her from his apartment.

**

It was a strangely vulnerable feeling to leave Nadja alone in his when he left later that day for his anger management counseling. He'd known her less than a day and had no reason to trust her alone with his possessions. He consoled himself with the fact that he didn't have a single thing worth stealing. All his clothes were second-hand, his worn-out furniture had come with the apartment and he hadn't had the time or inclination to purchase a cell phone or a computer. Slim pickings for any would-be thief.

She'd been acting differently in the few hours since she'd sucked him. For one thing, she'd stopped wearing the track pants he'd given her and now wore just his t-shirt, giving him tantalizing glimpses of her bare legs and thighs and even her pussy and ass if she moved just right. This occurred too frequently to be an accident. It was a clear invitation. Nadja had gone from fearful and reserved to brazen and sexy in the time it had taken him to run to the drugstore for Tylenol. He knew it was an act; a blatant attempt to manipulate him into letting her stay. It galled him that her ploy had been so successful; he'd been pussy-whipped like a goddamn teenager. Even knowing it was an illusion, it remained a powerful one.

With his lust muted temporarily he'd done his floor routine; push-ups, sit-ups, squats and lunges. Prison had given him the time, opportunity and incentive to put on muscle and he didn't want to let it atrophy now that he was out. He planned to join a gym once he got a job. Nadja had sat cross-legged on the couch and looked on with apparent interest even though she probably couldn't see him. Then he took a quick shower and was out the door. 

She'd pledged to be waiting for him when he returned. 

He took anger counseling at St. Peter's Church six blocks from his apartment. The old nun who ran the session seemed so gentle and grandmotherly that Mac wondered if she'd ever been angry in her whole life. Still, he dutifully listened, took notes, and forced himself to participate in the role-playing activities with the eight men who attended the same session. He practiced how to respond if someone insulted him. How to respond if someone cut ahead of him in line. How to respond if someone was talking too loud on the bus. In each case he applied the techniques the old nun had taught. No yelling, no swearing, no kicking chairs, no punching holes in the drywall. Breathe. Count. Use his 'calming word'. Relax his muscles. Picture himself in the shoes of the other person.

If it helped him stay on top of his temper, he'd do anything. He'd tried medications but they made him feel dopey and disconnected. The counseling helped, although he found the techniques were easier to apply in the classroom than in the real world. But wasn't that true of everything? Regardless, the counseling was one of the conditions of his parole and he had no intention of going back to prison. So he breathed and counted and chanted for the full ninety minutes.

He took the long way home, hoping the exercise and cold air would help clear his head. He had to get his mind right.

He had a plan, a plan he'd worked out before leaving prison. A plan that ensured he'd never end up back inside. Keep everything simple, that was the main part. Work, sleep, do his anger therapy. Repeat. Get that stuff right, lay a foundation for a New Life. Then slowly build on that. One piece at a time. 

Adding a woman to the mix right at the start wasn't smart. He cursed himself for his weakness and stupidity. Why couldn't he get out of his own way? Why did he make it so hard to keep things simple? Life was brutal enough without taking on a homeless blind girl and all of her problems in addition to his own.

He stopped by the drug store and bought more bread, eggs, coffee and canned soup. At least for the immediate future he needed to start shopping for two.

**

"Why were you in prison?" Nadja asked, breaking a long silence. 

She'd been sitting cross-legged on the old couch as he scrambled the eggs and cut slices of cheese for dinner. Every so often she would change the position of her legs, and if he happened to be looking he'd catch a glimpse of her naked sex. He forced himself to focus on dinner – it would be just his luck to cut off his goddamn finger while trying to catch a glimpse of pussy. He wanted her...badly. But they still had to eat.

"Long story. Don't want to bore you with it," he said, hoping it would suffice. 

It did, for a short while.

"Seven years?" she said, obviously unwilling to drop the subject altogether.

"It was supposed to be three."

"What happened?"

"You've heard of getting time off for good behaviour? I did the opposite of that," he said. 

It had been one prison fight after another, with months and years being tacked on to his sentence for each one. The fact that he won more fights than he lost was no consolation; seven years had been taken from him.

She didn't reply, but stood and approached the kitchenette, feeling her way forward carefully until she was standing opposite the counter from him as he diced half an onion. She wore an inquisitive expression.

"What happened to your sight?" he asked, figuring if she got to ask personal questions then he could get in some of his own. Her gray-blue eyes looked normal; there didn't seem to be any injury. 

"RP," she said.

"That's some kind of disease?"

She nodded.

"So it's pitch black for you?"

"I have a vague sense of brightness and darkness, but not colours or shapes," she said simply. It didn't seem to bother her to talk about it.

He grunted his understanding, then turned and scraped the diced onion into the scrambled eggs.

"Why do you get headaches?" she asked. It felt like a tennis match, each of them lobbing questions at the other. Mac found he preferred it to the silence. 

"Don't know. I've had them since I was twelve or so. Four or five times per week, usually. They hurt like hell. Sometimes Tylenol helps, if I take enough of it, but most times it doesn't do much," he said. 

No point telling her the rest; that the headaches had sabotaged his education, ruined his social life at high school, drove him into rages that frightened his mother so much that she hadn't even visited him in prison. Not once. 

Better to leave the past in the past.

He pushed two slices of bread down in the toaster. The welcome scent of fried onion and egg filled the room. He switched off the stove element, then tuned to face Nadja.

"What happened last night?" he asked.

"You don't know?"

"I get blackouts," he said.

Her expression became nervous. Guarded.

"Smells like it's almost ready. I'll wash my hands," she said, then turned and felt her way to the bathroom, shutting the door gently behind her. 

He watched her go, content to drop the subject for now but not for good. He wanted to know what had happened last night, to fill in the gap in his memory. If she was staying then he felt he should know the whole story.

Five minutes later they sat across from one other at the tiny table. She was quiet for most of the meal, and he left her to her thoughts. Whatever happened last night obviously hadn't been a lot of fun.

"If you start frying the onions before you add the egg, the onions will be softer and the flavour will be more spread around," Nadja said out of the blue. Her tone was conversational; it didn't sound critical of his cooking skills.

"Yeah? Good to know," he replied, "you're a cook, then?"

She shrugged. "I used to love cooking. It's kind of hard to do it when you can't see anything."

"When did you lose your sight?"

"It happened gradually over time. It's just in the last two years or so that it's become really bad," she said.

"There's no treatment?"

She shook her head. They ate without talking for another few minutes.

"I didn't do anything really bad, just so you know," he said, "I got into a fight in a shopping mall. Beat up a couple of mall security guards. Punched a cop. Just stupid, really,"

"You punched a cop?" She sounded surprised.

"Yeah. I mean, I don't remember doing it. I never remember when I'm really angry like that. But they had security cameras and...there I was."

"So you just black out?"

"Yup. Can't remember anything afterward. Like last night. I went out for some pills, next thing I know I'm carrying you up the stairs instead of the pills." He gave a humourless laugh. "Keeps life interesting, anyway."

He hoped she'd take the bait and open up about the night before, but she lapsed into silence again.

They both finished their toast and scrambled eggs and he gathered the plates and cutlery and took them to the sink.

"I can do that," she said, rising and navigating to the sink, "I should do something."

He stepped back and leaned against the counter and she began to rinse the dishes. The pale blue t-shirt she wore covered her only as far as her upper thighs and he admired her legs and longed for what remained hidden. 

Was it right, accepting sex in return for allowing her to stay? Holding the threat of eviction over her head unless she satisfied his needs? When he thought about it that way it didn't feel right at all. 

On the other hand, the arrangement had been her idea – he hadn't made any demands, hadn't made any threats. She'd named her own terms. In the end, it was just a matter of give-and-take. A fair trade in an unfair world.

"Nadja," the lust in his voice was obvious even to him.

"Mmm?"

"You did say 'anything', right? Any time?"

She froze for a moment, then nodded slowly and stopped her washing. "Anything, any time," she said with no hint of uncertainty. She flicked the water off her hands and fumbled for a towel.

"No, keep washing, but take off the shirt," he said. He was pleased by how confident his own voice sounded, considering he hadn't been with a woman in the better part of a decade.

Nadja reached down, grasped the hem of the shirt and slowly pulled it up over her head, then let it fall to the floor before resuming her dish washing.

Mac moved to stand behind her, allowing his eyes to roam appreciatively over her tight backside. He couldn't decide what he wanted to do first; his hands wanted to be everywhere at once.

He leaned forward and gently tapped the inside of her left thigh. Nadja understood and widened her stance. He slid his hand between her thighs, loving the smoothness and softness of her skin. He could feel the heat of her sex even without touching it. His cock was painfully hard.

When he finally stroked his fingers over her pussy lips he found them mostly smooth with only a trace of stubble. He let his middle finger slide between her folds; she was hot and slightly moist. Her intimate flesh seemed to cling to his dry finger as he dragged it through the core of her sex, then up between the cheeks of her ass. She moaned as his finger went back for a second stroke.

"Please, let me suck you now," she said in a pleading whisper.

"Legs wider," he grunted as he quickly shed his jeans and underwear, freeing his rigid erection. 

Nadja obediently opened herself further. "Mac, I want you in my mouth. Please let me taste you," she whined, and her desire for him sent his arousal to new heights. He'd never imagined that a woman would beg for his cock. He'd only been out of prison for two weeks! Deep down, he knew her desire for him was exaggerated, but chose to believe it. Everyone had illusions, after all – surely he was entitled to his own?

He stepped behind her, gripped her ass cheeks and spread them wide, delighting in the feel of the warm, yielding flesh. He groaned with desire as her rear hole and inviting sex were exposed. He took his time lining his cock up with the pink opening. He didn't want to rush, he wanted to savour his first stroke into her waiting pussy. She reached back and grasped his rigid shaft to guide him. He closed his eyes and pushed forward...

Nadja's firm, gentle grip on his cock prevented him from entering her. He gave another thrust and she denied him entry again. He felt an irrational surge of anger. Was she toying with him? Trying to humiliate him?

"You should use protection," she said in an urgent whisper.

"Just one stroke. I need to feel my cock inside you." 

She turned to face him, and stroked his cock gently in both of her hands. She lowered her head until he couldn't see her eyes.

"Mac...it might not be...safe," she said in a quiet, serious tone.

"You're afraid I'm going to give you something?" he said in disbelief and growing outrage. Did she think he'd been fucking his cell-mate for the last seven years? 

"No, no," she said quickly, "It might not be safe...for you."

"For me?" The meaning of her words took a moment to sink in. "What makes you think that?"

There was a long pause. Nadja continued to gently stroke him for a moment but then became still. Her shoulders slumped. The silence stretched to several moments.

"I'm...," her voice had gone quiet, barely audible, "I mean...I was...a prostitute."

It was his turn to lapse into silence as he tried to find something to say. His thoughts, so recently consumed with lust, then anger, were now a jumble of different feelings. Should he be upset? How upset? Repulsed? Sympathetic? Should he play it cool? Did this change anything that had come before it? What was the right way to react?

"When?" he asked.

"Up until last night."

Last night, when he'd blacked out then regained his senses while carrying her to his apartment. What had happened during the missing time? One possibility seemed to rise above the others.

"Does that mean...last night...did I hire you?"

Her laugh was so sudden and so out of place that it caused him to take a step back in alarm. As quickly as it erupted, it died off and Nadja covered her face with her hands and shuddered. She took a minute to regain her composure, then raised her unseeing eyes to his face.

"No. Last night you saved me, Mac."

**



Beginning Again Ch. 02



Frantic week! No other way to say it, just every single minute was filled with something to do.

I had just left my home of nearly 14 happy years in the Portland suburbs. I had packed up the Corvette and drove like a fool to be with a new man.

Jon, the man I had met a bit by accident, seemed to like me. He had told me he loved me, in fact. Important things for a woman to hear.

I had quit my job at the Health Analysis clinic, the job I wanted so badly for so many years. Somehow it didn't matter, I couldn't stay in my home, alone. The walls closed in, the memories were too strong. It was just a matter of time before I missed something obvious with a patient, I knew that.

I also knew I would never be able to live with that if it happened. I had to change.

So when Jon asked me to come and be with him, it wasn't a difficult decision. He did not suggest the word, "married." I wasn't prepared for that yet, I am not sure I would have gone had he said it.

Perfect. Still perfect.

Jon moved me into his quarters, way up on the 26th floor at the Casino hotel he and his family own. I had come to realize that this was not a poor or simple man. My first notice of him was a simple security man, he fit the part. Then he was a massuer, and good at it. He also fit the part. Then I watched as he expertly worked the bar in the executive lounge, next he was organizing staff in one of the restaurants.

Yes, more than a first glance would suggest.

I managed make it just one day in the huge apartment. Meals came with a doorbell, beds were made daily by staff, everything scrubbed and done for us. No stove, I couldn't even poach an egg. If I wanted a poached egg, I pushed a button. No washing machine, no dryer.

There was no outside, no windows to open. Even the air we breathed came to us through a pipe.

That would not work, I have taken care of myself and my man for a lifetime. Normal was gone. I felt my chest tighten, the old fear begin to grasp me. I called Jonathan in panic, he was almost instantly by my side.

Jon tried to tell me I would get used to it, I knew I wouldn't. I was fighting tears and panic as he held me.

Finally he told me, "Do what you think is right, I will live with it."

So I bought a house, one of those spur of the moment decisions that sometimes work out and sometimes don't.

There was 2100 square feet, a wonderful kitchen, vaulted ceilings in the living room. The yard was well tended, it even had a small lawn, although most was rock landscaping in deference to this being a dry area. There was a pool and deck, the garage will hold 4 vehicles with room left over. A full laundry room with builtin appliances, tied in nicely with a spare room. I looked in the spare room, skylights and huge windows facing west, well lit. Perfect for a writing room or a massage table.

I even checked the roof, it was all red tiles, the kind they make from what looks like little pipes cut in half. The surprise was the price, it was way less than what a comparable place in the Portland area would go for. It just about cleaned out my savings, but I also knew the check was due in a couple of months from the Casino for a huge jackpot that Ted had won several years earlier.

I made a mental note to ask Jon about that, after all, the check would come from the annuity company the Casino used. I also made a mental note to research the relationship, after all, money is involved and no need to be foolish.

I checked the bedrooms, spotting the evidence of children, easy to repair with some paint and drywall work. There were 4 tall barstools alongside the bar extension off the kitchen that would have to go, a couple had upholstery rips and the legs were wobbly. I also found what looked like a damp spot with some stains under the sink in the kitchen, and wrote a postit to call a plumber. Other than a huge chunk of rock missing from the wall alongside the front door, all was in shape and worked.

Jon had been hesitant when I told him about the house. When I mentioned almost teasing that he had to mow grass on Saturdays, he got even more hesitant.

"Lord." he had said, the tone in his voice uncertain.

Then a long pause, "We shall see." 

I had expected him to be overjoyed, it hit me after some thinking that Jon was used to someone else taking care of all the day to day chores. He helped to run a major business, it took up all his time.

"We shall see." He had said.

Those words were in my head as I stepped off the plane in Portland, heading back to my house to gather some more clothes and belongings.

It felt odd somehow to ride in a noisy and smelly taxi the 40 mile ride to my house. The driver spoke little English, and used the gas and the brakes like a madman. I finally just closed my eyes and braced my legs, trusting in some higher power to get us there safely.

I got right on the phone, hired a driver to move Ted's old truck and boat down to Nevada. I had already sold the other vehicles, but somehow I just couldn't part with that old beatup pickup. 

My husband had built the engine in it with his own hands. The rest of it could use some TLC no doubt, Ted never bothered. The dents and scrapes and rust just stayed, he wasn't concerned about that. One touch of the key and it started with a roar, and the huge tires made it a madhouse to ride in.

I had driven it just once, it felt like it would fly off the road at any second. Ted just said, "Don't fight it, just go with it, it will come back." It did, too, still frightening to drive.

He loved the thing, so there it sat. It hadn't been started for several months. I climbed up on the step and dragged myself up into it. Touching the key, it was running, just like that.

The young man arrived in a few hours to take the truck and boat down to Reno, he took one look and said, "Cool!" I just grinned and handed him the keys and paperwork.

He started the engine, sat there for a moment. Then he touched the throttle several times, obviously enjoying the sound. My mind flashed back to Ted doing the same thing as I sat in the house, every window in the building vibrating.

For a few seconds, some kind of peace came over me, then I was back to here and now.

I checked the house, everything was normal, except for some cereal scattered all over one of the counters where a Mouse had been busy.

I giggled at that, when Kitty and I were around, no Mouse dared venture in, they didn't last long if they did.

I turned on the PC and checked my emails, just spam, about then the phone rang. Expecting Jon, I picked it up and said, "Hi, honey."

It was Sally, my supervisor from the Health clinic.

"I didn't realize you felt that way." she giggled. We laughed, I love Sally. She asked a jillion questions about Reno and Jon, then she asked me what I was going to do with the house here.

I wasn't sure, she asked if I would rent it to her.

Perfect! 

I jumped at that, told her an impossible figure, about half the market rate. It would be worth it to me, I knew all would be cared for.

I added, "If things go all to Hell in Reno, you might end up with a roommate!"

Sally was even more pleased at that idea, we get along famously. Men have almost no chance when the two of us are together.

I drove the Van over to the clinic and dropped off the spare keys, one more problem solved.

Back at the house, I called a cab. Off to the airport. I was back in Reno just three hours later.

Nathan was waiting as I came down the concourse. Nathan is one of the security staff at the casino, a huge black man with a constant smile on his face. He grabbed my bags, looked at them, and called a driver to take them to the house.

I thought that was odd, until we stepped outside. There sat my Corvette (see, I am getting better, I said "MY" Corvette, not "Ted's" Corvette.)

It was buffed up to almost show quality, except for a few streaks of road dirt on the sides. Nathan caught my look, and said, "I will take care of that, miss."

"Lee, please." I smiled at him, keeping a straight face at the word, "miss". I am 51 years old, being called "miss" strikes my funnybone.

Nathan opened and held the door for me, I just held out my hand. He looked puzzled for a moment, but gave up the keys, rolling his huge frame into the passenger seat.

I slid in, touched the button on the door. The machine adjusts to my settings. The engine came to life instantly, were off with a rumble.

I asked Nathan to call for a car since I wanted to keep the Corvette at the house, he picked up his phone and spoke briefly to the Limo driver to have him wait at the house.

We passed the limousine on the freeway, though, I was zipping along pretty fast.

I stored the car, Nathan brought the bags in from the Limo that was right behind us and set them down.

"Do you need anything?" he asked.

"No, I will be fine."

"All right, Lee." He handed me a little mobile phone. "You have the numbers in the program." and he nodded and was gone.

Then I was alone. I looked around, took a deep breath, and busied myself putting everything away.

A few hours later, I went out to the garage to clean up the Corvette, it sat there completely polished, Nathan had beaten me to it.

I went back inside and checked the fridge and kitchen, everything was stocked. I had given Nathan a shopping list and spare set of keys, all taken care of, like always. I turned on my new stove, to poach some eggs. That felt good somehow.

The phone rang as I was finishing the eggs, it was Jon. "Can you come over to the Hotel?" he asked.

"Sure."

"Car is on the way already."

"OK."

"Well, I guess I can get used to some pampering," I thought.

I stripped and put on a soft white blouse and pair of snug tan slacks, pulling one of my shawls around me. It was cold outside. I did leave an extra button undone, Jon seems to like that.

I just barely finished dressing when one of the Casino's big white limousines pulled up. Nathan was driving. We made the 8 mile trip to the Hotel in short order, Jon was waiting at the entrance.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Something to show you."

We went down the stairs and into a set of offices in the rear.

"Your clinic." he said.

I looked around, receptionist area, waiting room, 4 offices in the back. Tables, equipment, everything I would need, all on hand. There was a elevator just outside that goes directly to the entrance if I had to transport.

Wonderful!

I turned and hugged Jon, he wrapped his arms around me, suddenly we were kissing. His hands began to roam my body, then he was tugging at the buttons on my blouse.

In seconds he had me naked to the waist, his face buried in my breasts. I could feel him as he pressed against me.

Giggling, I slipped off my shoes and slacks, I was wearing nothing else. Teasing, I lay back on the medical table, spread my legs and said, "Check me Doctor." Jon leaned forward and pressed one finger, then two into me, I threw my head back with a moan at the sensation.

Just then I heard a voice say, "Jon, I nee...Excuse me!" It was Nathan, we both had forgotten he had walked down right behind us, doing something in one of the other rooms.

I jumped up and reached for my clothes as Nathan beat a hasty retreat. I was pulling my slacks on when Jon started laughing, that got me to laughing.

"Well, no secrets now." I said.

"No, I guess not."

Jon and I went out to the receptionist room, Nathan was standing there. If it is possible for a black man to blush, he was.

He was having a tough time meeting my eyes as he explained to Jon that he needed to know where to store some cartons of supplies.

I walked over, put my hand on his shoulder. "No problem, Nathan, I am not bashful."

He seemed to perk up a little at that. 

Jon and I went up to his quarters. In no time at all, Jon had me naked again, his face buried between my legs as I tugged at his hair.

I fantasized about Nathan looking at me the whole time, I had a crashing orgasm.

Then Jon and I made sweet love, he was like a bull, I realized after his first orgasm that he didn't soften, and began again.

Something was different with Jon this time, I sensed it in the back of my mind.

It had always excited Ted wonderfully if someone got a glimpse of me, he liked that. This reaction was the same. Nathan had caught us, it turned Jon on, I was sure of it.

Later, Jon took a quick shower. I watched as he dried his hair, naked, his erection still evident. I leaned down and wrapped my lips around him, he stopped me with a laugh. "I have to get downstairs, the slot tournament is starting." 

I grinned at him, told him I would be at the house, dinner was at 8. He looked at me, then smiled and nodded, realizing I had taken the time to check his schedule.

I was just finishing up with my own shower when the maids came in.

Again, they busied themselves and chattered away in Spanish the entire time.

At one point, the older maid asked, "Does Mr. Jon still come to see you?"

"No, not for weeks now."

"Do you think he will?"

"Maybe, he has just been busy with the lady."

They both giggled and went about their work. I decided to keep my ability to speak Spanish my little secret.

I was thinking about that as I pushed the button to call Nathan to take me home. I glanced at the maids as I walked by, the younger one is very beautiful. I could understand Jon having some action on the side, although it did surprise me. I had always thought that management was careful to not have a relationship with staff. Then I thought about how the clinic back home had been, I guess people are people everywhere.

I was quiet on the ride back to my new home. So Jon liked me being sexy, got turned on by us being caught playing, and had a few extra ladies around.

I understood perfectly. It could let me be in control, I love being in control.

I started laughing, Nathan looked up at me in the mirror, then back to the road. I kissed his cheek as I got out of the car, I swear, he blushed again.

Then I was home. What was it Jon had said?

Oh yes. "We shall see."

Yes, we sure will.

I busied myself in my new kitchen, thinking of what Jon would say when he saw what I can do in a kitchen. My late husband was a wizard in a kitchen, and a good teacher. I already had my new Peach dress laid out on my bed, Jon still hadn't seen that.

I planned on changing this wonderful man's entire life.

We shall see.

Lee



Beginning Again Ch. 02



Author's note:

A sincere thank you to everyone who read chapter 1. All characters in this story are fictional adults. Any feedback – comments and/or votes – is gratefully accepted.

**

Nadja was a whore. Penniless. Blind. She lived in a musty one-room apartment with an unemployed ex-con – a man with a temper. Her very life was dependent upon his goodwill. Her family was a distant, painful memory. She didn't have a friend anywhere in the world. Even her legal status worked against her; she'd been smuggled into the country at the age of fourteen. If they found her, she was sure she'd be deported.

And yet she was grateful. Her life hadn't been this good in years.

She was on her knees, sliding Mac's cock in and out of her mouth as he sat on the edge of the bed. His hands were in her hair but he wasn't grabbing or pulling; he seemed to like the feel of it between his fingers. She fabricated a wanton moan and quickened her pace. Mac responded with a gasp of his own. 

She felt no arousal – she never did – but could create the illusion. She'd been well-trained. 

Nadja had woken him with long strokes of her tongue over his half-hard shaft. She was eager to prove herself, to show him that he hadn't made a mistake by letting her stay in his apartment. It had been foolish to deny him her pussy last night, foolish to admit to him she was a whore. Why had she done it? To protect him? Who would protect HER?

She knew he would soon leave the apartment to continue his parole-mandated job search, and she would be alone, awaiting his return. Her entire life revolved around one person, and like always, that person wasn't her. Mac was the latest man to control her destiny and so far he was proving to be the best she'd had in a long while. Of course, she'd only known him two days...

He came with a loud groan and she played her part, moaning again and slowing her pace, swallowing his bitter spend, coaxing every last spasm and spurt from his cock. She put on an adoring expression and looked up, pumping his cock gently with her hand and licking the last few drops from the tip.

"You've got an amazing cock," she said in a breathy voice, "You taste so good."

"Your mouth feels incredible," he replied, still trying to catch his breath.

Practice makes perfect. Dozens of cocks; big and small, rough and gentle, latex-clad and unprotected. With no other options, she'd sucked whatever was thrust in front of her. 

Early on, when she still had a small, blurry fraction of her vision and could make a credible threat to walk out on her pimp, she had some leverage and could insist on condoms, could try to keep the most abusive men at bay. 

But when her blindness became total she lost even that weak influence and became dependent on Aden for everything. He told her where to go, what to do. Dictated what and when she could eat; how to dress, how to move and speak. Taught her the 'proper' way to serve a man and then rented her out in increasingly risky – but profitable – ways. Profitable for him, of course – she never saw a dollar of her earnings. Any resistance was quickly, brutally beaten out of her. Her life had descended into Hell. 

And it was from the deepest layer of that Hell that Mac had rescued her.

Mac was dressing, so she moved to the old couch, out of the way, making contented eyes in his direction and every so often shifting to give him glimpses of her sex, sowing the seeds of lust inside him in hopes of reaping the results that evening upon his return. It was all she had to offer, the only thing that kept her off the cold streets.

She knew her place. She was a sucking mouth, a tight pussy, and – as rarely as possible – a yielding rear hole. Nothing more than that. It had been that way for as long as she cared to remember. Once upon a time her body had earned her a living wage but now it was barely enough to ensure a hot meal and a warm bed. And even those simple comforts weren't guaranteed. She knew better than to take anything for granted.

"I'll be back this afternoon. Wish me luck," he muttered, obviously unhappy with the prospect of another day of futility.

"I'll be thinking of you," she said, sliding her fingers over her slit suggestively. She heard his quiet groan, then his footsteps leaving and the door closing behind him.

He was a good enough man, she decided. Flawed, but not malicious. Damaged, but salvageable. He was tenacious – struggling to achieve a life that she had given up on years ago. She admired and pitied him for that.

Even his awful temper had proved a blessing to her. 

She wanted to believe that it had been courage that led her to attempt an escape from Aden. Courage, or maybe the last vestiges of her self-esteem asserting itself, causing her to rebel against the never-ending abuse, humiliation and danger that her pimp piled on her. But it hadn't been courage or self-esteem or anything noble at all. 

It had been terror in its purest form. 

Mr. Gammage was the living embodiment of that terror. She first met him months ago. He was a brutal sadist whose idea of foreplay was to bend her baby finger back until it popped. He had smelling salts so even a retreat into unconsciousness had been impossible for her. Bound and helpless, she somehow survived three hours of nightmarish atrocity – hour upon hour of screaming, begging and praying for the mercy of death. At the end, he prolonged his own orgasm by breaking her nose with his fist. 

It had taken four weeks to recover physically from her first trip to his playroom. She doubted she'd ever recover emotionally. She vowed never to go back, to cut her own wrists rather than endure his tortures a second time. Aden promised it would never happen again. He seemed irritated that she needed time off to recover, and loathe to grant it.

Her life had changed two nights ago.

She'd been in her tiny bedroom in the apartment she was forced to share with Aden when she'd heard Gammage's voice outside in the hallway. Gammage and Aden talking, laughing. She could never forget that voice. The sound filled her with such dreadful horror that for a moment she thought it would kill her. Hoped for it. But unfortunately the heart of a twenty-year-old was too resilient.

She'd run to the window and forced it open with a strength fueled by terror. She knew her room was on the fourth floor; a jump would be crippling if not fatal. Nadja jumped without hesitation. Instead of a long drop she discovered a metal fire escape under her feet, and dressed only in a short slip, she was able to feel her way down to the alley below. A cold, heavy rain drenched her as she frantically felt her way along the wall of the alley, colliding with rough wooden crates and metal trash cans, her bare feet stumbling over bottles and pop cans and splashing through puddles. She had no way to know where she was going and didn't care as long as it put distance between herself and Gammage.

She felt sudden pain in her shin as her leg was knocked out from under her and she landed hard on the cold, greasy concrete in the alley. Then a hand gripped her hair and pulled her to her knees. She heard Gammage's voice close to her ear, mocking her attempt to escape, promising her an especially 'memorable' night...

She'd screamed; a desperate, final act. Gammage silenced her with a hard fist in her gut.

But Mac had heard. He'd come into the alley to investigate. 

Gammage and Aden tried to warn him away. It was none of his business. Not worth him getting killed over. 

And then, chaos. She was pushed aside and pain shot through the back of her head as it hit the ground. A struggle. Grunts. Screams. The clatter of trash cans being knocked over and scattered. The snap of a bone breaking. An agonized scream that abruptly cut off part-way through. Gammage's voice, no longer smug and threatening, now begging, pleading. Another bone snapping. Silence. Then the sound of hard blows thudding into a body, again and again. Ragged breathing. A hand grabbed her wrist, lifted her, and then she was upside-down, hanging over his shoulder. Dazed from the blow to her head and reeling in shock from the terror, she hung limply and allowed herself to be taken. 

And just like that, a new man had thrust himself to the centre of her life. A violent transfer of ownership had taken place.

She rose from the couch and started making the bed. With no television, no radio and no one to talk to, she needed to find ways to keep herself occupied when Mac was gone. She wanted to contribute, even though he wasn't keeping her around for her housekeeping skills.

It surprised her that he'd let her stay after she'd revealed her past to him last night. A stupid decision on her part; honesty was a luxury she couldn't afford. He could have thrown her out and she wouldn't have blamed him – who wanted to live with a common whore? Of what use was her body to him when it was tainted, perhaps unclean? Her confession had tarnished her only asset and she cursed herself for the misstep. What had possessed her to tell him the truth, when there were so many lies that would have been just as believable?

Mac had accepted the news calmly, even kindly. He'd conceded that everyone does what they have to do in order to survive; that he was certainly in no position to judge her; that the past is in the past. He hadn't seemed resentful even though she'd promised to obey him and hadn't even kept her word for one day. He'd slept in the single bed, but put out sheets so the couch was comfortable for her. 

He hadn't asked her too many questions and seemed content not to pry. But the damage was done. It remained to be seen how high a price she would pay for her honesty.

She finished with the bed, then set about learning her new living space – working her way slowly through the one-room apartment with her hands and feet. She began in the kitchen, finding the sink, stove and fridge; memorizing which cupboard held the glasses and the plates; which drawer held the cutlery. From there she taught herself the rest of the apartment. How many steps from the couch to the bed, from the bed to the washroom? Where were the obstacles and hazards? An hour later she had everything mapped out in her mind.

She sat cross-legged on the couch, taking in the muted sounds from the other apartments, the voices and bumps and the hiss of the plumbing. It had started raining again and errant drops pelted the windows. She thought of Mac outside in the cold rain, combing the streets for a job. He'd be wet, chilly and irritable when he returned. Another opportunity for her to prove her worth to him, to earn her keep for another day.

With nothing to do until his return, she pulled the sheet over her and fell asleep on the couch.

**

She heard him on the stairs as he approached and could guess his mood by his slow pace – he was dragging himself up the steps more than he was climbing them. Not the gait of a man with good news.

She hurried to unlock the door for him. She'd showered and used Mac's razor to shave herself. Aden had insisted that she keep her sex smooth – he claimed that men prefer a bare pussy – and even though she no longer belonged to her former pimp, the lesson had stuck. She still wore Mac's t-shirt but she had tied the bottom off in a knot just above her navel, leaving her hips, thighs and legs bare. 

"Welcome back," she purred as he walked in. 

He stopped inside the door and she could almost feel his hungry gaze on her. She turned a slow circle giving him a full view of what was on offer.

"Jesus," he said, his voice an appreciative whisper.

"Do you see anything you want? It's all yours, you know. Say the word," she said, facing him again and absently trailing her fingernails over the smooth skin just above her sex. 

She heard him kick off his shoes and the rustle of clothing being removed – a tie, button-up shirt, pants – and the crinkle of a shopping bag falling to the floor. She stood and awaited him. 

She knew to let the man take the lead and to accept his will, however unpleasant. She didn't think he was the type to punish disobedience as Aden had, but Mac was her best option right now and she had good reason to make sure his needs were fully satisfied.

She felt Mac step in close. He gently brushed a stray lock of hair away from her eyes. She hoped he wouldn't kiss her. Kissing was uncomfortable and intimate in a way that blow jobs weren't. A kiss felt like a lie, like a promise she had no way of keeping.

"My hands are a little cold," he said.

"Not mine," she reached out and quickly found his cock with her hands, "Do you want to sit, or stand?"

"What's easiest for you?" he asked.

It was an absurd, irrelevant question – one she heard often in one form or another from men seeking to assuage their own conscience. 

With an eager moan, she lowered herself to her knees, never letting his cock escape her skillful grasp. She began by pressing hot, gentle kisses to his scrotum, then bathing it in long, wet licks. He exhaled in a contented sigh. 

"Hard day?" she asked, then stroked her tongue slowly up the length of his erect shaft. 

"No one hiring," he said. She could hear lust mixed with bitterness in his voice, and was determined to erase the bitterness.

She took him in her mouth, sliding her lips slowly down his cock until it touched the back of her throat, then pulling back halfway before plunging down again. Long hours of practice had made her a master of her craft, though she took no particular pride in it. It was a necessary skill, nothing more than that.

His hands were in her hair again, touching and stroking but not pulling. He rocked his hips forward to meet her down-stroke but didn't thrust into her throat aggressively. He was gentle and she appreciated that about him – experience had taught her that men tended to be as rough as they thought they could get away with.

"Tomorrow, I bet," she said as she came up for air, then engulfed him again.

"No one's going to hire an ex-con," he said, then gasped as she took him in deep. All trace of bitterness was gone from his voice; it was all lust now.

She pulled back and began a series of wet licks up and down the length of his erection.

"In this apartment, you're not an ex-con. You're the king, the master," she said in a breathy whisper, "You can have anything you want. Just tell me what it is and I'll do it. Command me." 

It surprised her how easily the words were coming. She didn't even have to think; the words seemed to weave themselves together without any effort on her part. It helped that they were true enough.

"Faster," he urged.

She picked up the pace, abandoning her teasing and focusing on the speed and friction of her thrusts, making her lips a tight ring around his shaft. In moments she felt him groan and tighten, felt him swell and spasm in her mouth. She moaned in simulated gratitude and swallowed his cum, stroking her tongue along the underside of his cock to prolong his orgasm and capture every drop of semen.

They moved to his single bed. He lay on his back and she straddled his waist facing him. Her shirt was discarded on the floor next to his and he squeezed and caressed her breasts as she ran her fingernails lightly over his hairy chest. 

This part was less familiar to her; the after-sex stroking and touching. Most often the man just pulled on his clothes and left. The transaction completed, nothing further was usually required.

But of course Mac wasn't leaving. Neither was she, if she played things right.

She didn't know what to say so she was silent, letting him take the lead. He seemed to enjoy her breasts despite – or perhaps because of – their small size. His fingers pinched and rubbed her nipples. She didn't mind; his hands were warm now and his touch was gentle. There was no arousal, but she had to admit that the sensation of his hands on her was a pleasant one.

"I plan to take you shopping this evening," he said, "Wally's is having a sale."

"Wally's?"

"It's a second-hand clothing store. Not too fancy, but for now it's the best I can do."

An uneasy feeling began to form in the pit of her stomach. She tried to pin it down but the cause eluded her.

"Don't worry about me. I can wear anything...or nothing. Besides, it's raining," she said.

"Not raining too bad. It's a good idea for you to have clothes. What if we ever went out someplace?"

Went out? Something inside her recoiled at the thought. 

"I don't even have any shoes," she said, trying to keep her tone light and not argumentative. Aden would have slapped her for even that much.

"I picked some up at the Dollar-Plus on the way home. They're not great, but they should do until we get to Wally's."

"I don't...have any underwear," she said, her voice in full protest now. Her stroking had stopped and her forearms were pressed tightly against her chest. Her body felt cold. Mac's hands drifted down to her hips.

"I'm sure no one will notice."

"But..."

"Hey, didn't you say 'anything' I wanted?" he asked, his voice teasing. 

"Y...yes, anything. Anything at all," she said, but the confidence was gone from her voice. Anxiety had taken hold and she felt her heart thumping in her chest. She couldn't argue, couldn't disobey him. Not for the second night in a row, not with so much riding on her holding his attention and favour. She slowly climbed off the bed. "I'll get dressed."

As she felt for her shirt, her legs were rubbery. She was sweating despite her chill and the unease in her stomach had bloomed into nausea. Mac handed her some track pants and she put them on, pulling the drawstring tight around her narrow waist.

She tried to focus, to regain her composure. After everything she'd survived from Aden – and from Gammage – surely she could handle a simple trip to a store! But the thought of her two tormenters brought on an almost crippling wave of fear. More than fear. Terror.

Her new shoes were ill-fitting and at least a size too big but Mac had been right – they would be serviceable enough. He helped her on with a heavy sweater to ward off the autumn weather, but inside she was ice-cold. She began to shiver.

He led her out of the apartment and she heard him lock up, felt his hand holding her left arm just above the elbow. They were in the stairwell and their footsteps seemed to echo loudly as they descended to street level.

Something was very wrong. She was going to throw up, or pass out. With every step a palpable horror seemed to tighten its grip, squeezing her ribcage until she couldn't breathe. 

And then they were at street level and Mac pushed open the door. The cold air, the sound of the rain, the smell of the wet city – just like that night in the alley. And those monsters were both still out there somewhere. Aden and Gammage. She didn't know what they looked like – by the time she'd met Aden her fading sight had rendered him blurry and indistinct – and Mac didn't remember them. They could be standing right next to her unseen. But they would know her. They'd be looking for her. And they'd be enraged. 

Then somehow she was on her side in the stairwell, curled up. Mac was saying something, his voice close to her ear. All she wanted was to get back to the apartment. She felt hands on her shoulders and she squealed and kicked with her legs and lashed out with her arms. Someone grabbed one wrist. She drew breath to scream but a thick hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the sound. She fought desperately but something encircled her waist and lifted her. The hand was stifling her, suffocating her. She fought hard. There were no thoughts, only a desperate need to escape. To return to the apartment. Where was Mac? She whimpered, hoping he would help her. She couldn't breathe...

"Nadja?" She heard his voice then. She was on her back, rough carpet underneath her. Around her was only Mac's voice and the muted sounds and musty scents of the apartment. She tried to move but couldn't; her arms were pinned to her sides and Mac's partial weight pressed down on her chest. She lay still. He removed his hand from her mouth. 




Beginning Again Ch. 02



"Mac?"

"Yeah." His voice was low, cautious.

"What...happened..." she trailed off, trying to make sense of what had come over her. Her cheeks were wet with tears. She couldn't have been crying. She never cried. She knew from experience that tears brought neither mercy nor reprieve.

"Don't know. One minute you were fine, next thing I know you're flipping out."

"I don't remember what happened."

"I had to drag you up three flights of stairs, kicking and screaming. I'll be lucky if no one calls the cops. I tried to shut you up as best I could." He sounded annoyed.

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"Nadja, are you on drugs?"

"What?"

"Drugs," he said, his tone hardening, "I'm on parole. If they find out I'm living with some kind of addict..." He let the thought hang.

What had she done? How had she messed things up now? What could she say that didn't make her sound like a crack whore or a crazy woman? Maybe she WAS a crazy woman. Had her sanity finally deserted her? 

Despair threatened to pull her down. There was no way she could make this work, no way to keep up the illusion. Mac wasn't stupid, and the more she tried to cover her flaws the more obvious they became.

He got off her and helped her to the couch, then brought her a glass of water. 

"I'm not on drugs," she said quietly as she accepted the drink. She'd heard that some pimps kept their girls hooked to make them more pliant. Aden would never have thought to waste the money on her. She shivered again at the thought of him.

"Good to hear," he said. Did she hear doubt in his voice? 

"No, really. I never..."

"I believe you," his voice sounded more convincing this time, and she let it drop. "Just sit there and relax. I'll get dinner." She heard him move to the kitchenette.

She tried to calm herself but the anxiety was stubborn and came from two different sources. 

She was starting to lose Mac's interest, she was sure of it. Instead of helping him she was becoming a burden and a headache. Her body was a novelty to him now but this wouldn't last forever; if she couldn't offer anything more substantial than that, she'd be out on the street.

More than that, she was losing her mind – the one thing in her life she'd always been able to rely on. Fear of Aden and Gammage had seeped in and made her a prisoner in Mac's tiny apartment. Her mind's betrayal took away her foundation and cast everything she was trying to do in doubt. How could she hope to turn things around with Mac if she couldn't trust her own brain?

Conversation over dinner was sparse. She didn't want to say anything to Mac until she could be sure it would improve her standing in his eyes. She weakly suggested that she'd be happy to wear whatever he picked out at Wally's and that he could do the shopping without her, but he countered that without her he'd be unlikely to get the right size or fit. A valid point for which she had no reply.

They retired early, Mac to the bed and she to the couch. He needed his sleep to be fresh for his job hunt the next day and pointedly suggested that a few extra hours of rest might do her some good too. They did their washing and tooth brushing without a word to one another.

She was losing him.

She lay awake on the couch, mind working furiously and panic slowly rising. She started conjuring up disaster scenarios in her mind, imagining how Mac would ask her to leave. 'You're a great girl but things just aren't working out'. Or maybe 'you need more help than I can give'. What would she do? She'd end up begging on the streets until another pimp claimed her. Or the police deported her. Or until Aden found her...

She sobbed unexpectedly and felt tears leak down her cheeks. Crying, again? What was going on? She tried to hold it together but she felt her control slipping.

"Nadja?" Mac's voice seemed loud in the quiet apartment.

"I'm fine," she said, sniffling and wiping her eyes.

"Come here." It wasn't a question. Nadja rolled off the couch and approached the single bed reluctantly, expecting to be admonished for keeping him awake.

"Yes?"

"Get in," he said gruffly. She heard shuffling as he made room for her in the single bed.

Relief washed over her and, strangely, gratitude. A night on the couch, alone with her dire thoughts, might have broken her. Spending it in bed with Mac sounded so much better. She'd only known him a couple of days – how had she come to need him so much already? 

She started to slide into bed, then thought better of it and first pulled off her shirt and track pants. She heard a quiet groan of approval as her naked body pressed against him, her back against his well-muscled front.

His warm hand reached around her and rested against her stomach and it felt so good against her skin. She took his hand and slid it up to her chest; she needed him to know that her body belonged to him. He took the offer and gently rolled and stroked her nipples. She pressed back against him and delighted in the heat of his body. It felt reassuring, soothing and protective. 

"I know what it's like," he said, his voice a whisper in her ear.

"Hmm?"

"To lose control. Kind of a helpless feeling. Your body is doing something and your brain can't stop it."

She was silent for a while, not knowing what kind of response he was hoping for. He was right, it had been a helpless feeling, and terrifying. But somehow, lying in Mac's embrace, she felt braver. She took a deep breath.

"It's Aden...my pimp. Just the idea of him being out there scares me." 

She'd told Mac last night about her past in general terms and he knew who Aden was. She hadn't mentioned Gammage, worried that exposing the ugly innards of a life of prostitution would only make her seem more pathetic. She couldn't afford that – better to gloss over the worst parts. She was fighting an uphill battle for his respect as it was.

"Sounds like a good reason to be scared."

"Mac, if he ever finds me..." she shuddered. He pulled her tighter against him in response. 

He was muscular and warm. It felt good to be close to him in bed. She tried to settle more deeply into his body. It was a new thing – seeking to be touched – but everything about it felt right. Mac's hands were welcome.

"We'll make sure that doesn't happen," he said, and he sounded so certain that Nadja dared to believe him. 

They lay together in silence for a few minutes, his fingers idly stroking her. Then she wiggled her naked bottom against his briefs in invitation and he groaned in response. 

"Will you let me apologize properly for my bad behaviour tonight?" she said in a low voice.

"I bought condoms today," he said. She took that as a 'yes'.

"And lube?"

"Yeah, just like you asked. Why did you want that?"

"So you can have your choice; wet pussy...or tight ass." She reached behind her and slid her hand down the front of his underwear. His cock was hard, hot and throbbing in her palm.

"If I wanted ass I could have had that in prison."

She was quietly relieved to hear the disdain in his voice; anal sex was painful at best, torturous at worst. And too often, she'd experienced the worst.

"Where are they?"

"Still in a bag on the floor by the door."

"Be right back," she said, sliding out of bed and making her way to the front door. 

A quick feel of the floor located the shopping bag, and she took it with her to the washroom. She stepped into the bathtub and ran the water as she found the small bottle of lube and the box of condoms.

Her routine was well-established. She splashed warm water between her legs and dabbed herself dry with a towel. With practiced efficiency she applied the lube to her fingers, rubbed it over her inner folds and gently slid slippery fingers into her pussy. Things would be fine after he spent a minute or two inside her, but the first few thrusts would be dry and painful without lubrication. She got out of the tub and washed her hands in hot water, then opened the box of condoms and tore one packet off the strip. Fully prepped and equipped, she made her way back to the bed.

She knelt by the side of the bed and found his erection with her warm hands, and then with her mouth. He'd removed his briefs during her short absence. His scent, the feel of him inside her mouth; both were becoming familiar. 

Not just familiar – anticipated. 

His cock wasn't too large and wasn't foul-smelling. He wasn't brutal or aggressive. His touch wasn't painful. Even his words were kind, most of the time. She mentally renewed her vow; she wouldn't do anything to mess this up. Mac was better than she deserved, better than anyone she'd had in her life for years. She would make this work, whatever it required of her.

She was only a minute into her oral service when he moaned and gently pushed her head off his cock.

"I've got to have your pussy," he said. She could hear his harsh breathing, the lust in his words. It thrilled her that she could make him feel that way. "Do you want to be on top or on the bottom?" he asked.

He was giving her a choice? Usually men came to her knowing exactly what they wanted, often in minute detail.

"Top," she whispered. There was eagerness in her voice – had she faked it or did she actually feel it? She didn't know, and at that moment it didn't matter. She tore the condom packet with her teeth and rolled the latex sheath onto his cock, then straddled his waist.

His hands found her breasts immediately, squeezing them more passionately than before, tweaking her nipples hard – but not too hard. She felt his strength, his urgency, his need. It felt good to evoke those feelings in him, to give back to the man who had saved her. To secure her place in his life.

She slowly eased his erection into her pussy part-way, then out, then in again a little farther. The condom was lubricated too and there was no pain at all when she lowered herself completely onto his cock, forcing a gasp from deep inside him. 

She called up a wanton moan, bit her bottom lip, closed her eyes; playing her part perfectly. Making it as good for Mac as she could.

"Feels...incredible," he whispered. His voice was layered with wonder, passion and gratitude. Nadja imagined his eyes on her naked body. Hungry, devouring her as she slowly rocked up and down on his shaft. She liked being the centre of his attention. 

When Mac's fingers became too rough with her left nipple she raised those fingers to her mouth and licked them. Sucked them into her mouth and moaned as her tongue laved them eagerly. She lowered her own hand to her left breast and began cupping it and squeezing it in a lewd display, all the while pushing her sex down onto his cock again and again. Gasping, whimpering, then mewing pleas for him to hear.

"Mac...please...cum for me. Shoot inside me. Make me yours."

He was bucking his hips, meeting her down-strokes with powerful upward thrusts of his own. With her knees on the mattress to either side of his waist she could control the depth of his penetration and take some of the force out of his push. There was no pain, only a sense of fullness and friction and heat. She welcomed it, welcomed him. 

With a strangled grunt he stiffened and came. His thrusting became erratic and then slowed. She rode him throughout his orgasm, breathing sexy 'ohs' and 'ahs' whenever he pushed into her deeply. 

When she was sure his spasms had fully subsided, she raised herself and let his cock slide out of her, then lowered herself to her knees next to the bed. Nadja held his cock with one hand, deftly slipped the condom off with the other, then engulfed his softening cock in her hot mouth.

"Jesus! You're killing me," he groaned, and stroked his hands through her hair as she licked and sucked him tenderly. When all trace of his orgasm had been carefully cleaned away she knelt back with her bare ass resting on her heels and made smoldering eyes in the direction of his face.

"I hope you accept my apology," she said in a low, suggestive tone, "and if there's anything else I can do to make it up to you, just name it."

"Please misbehave every night," he gasped, then chuckled. She giggled as well, then crawled back into bed with him. His arm came around her again and hugged her tight to him, and even though his chest was a little sweaty, the feeling of closeness was wonderful.

And it wasn't just the closeness that felt good, she realized. The sex had been...pleasant! Not arousing – never that – but fun and powerful and intimate and...meaningful. He was a good enough man, and she'd made him happy. For the first time in four years, she felt glad to have used her body to please. 

And for the first time in four years, she drifted off to sleep with the hint of a smile on her lips.



Beginning Again Ch. 03



Author's note:

Thank you again for your support for chapters one and two – I really appreciate the votes and the comments. A special thank you to DeathAndTaxes, a brilliant and prolific author, for her help with the Spanish in this chapter.

All characters are fictional adults.

**

An early snow was a blessing.

Not for Mac, of course. Walking for hours in dress shoes through an inch of snow-turned-slush made a frustrating and fruitless job search all the more uncomfortable. But despite the polite rejections and sneering dismissals, he was in good spirits. Friday night was burger night. More than that, tonight was the night that Nadja would escape the confines of the apartment. He was taking her out for the first time since their aborted shopping trip five days ago.

He liked thinking about her. She was the only good thing in his life. 

Everything else – his clothes, apartment, finances, job prospects and his future in general – was worthless and depressing. His parole officer was all the way up his ass about finding a job, but no one was hiring – and those who were didn't seem enthusiastic about an ex-con working for them. Rent was due and his prison-earned savings were dwindling fast.

But Nadja's presence was an escape from all that. At least for a few hours each day, she made him feel important and respected – even revered. It had only been a week since he'd 'found' her, and already she was becoming the foundation around which he was rebuilding his life. And that made him uneasy.

He knew the situation for what it was. He hadn't won her over with his charm or looks or wealth. She lived with him because she literally had no better option, and he knew a relationship based entirely on naked self-interest wasn't something he should be building around. But for the foreseeable future she wasn't going anywhere and he couldn't, either. They were both prisoners of circumstance, so why not make the best of it?

His feet were aching and damp and his toes were numb by the time he climbed the stairs to his apartment. Six hours of cold-calling all over town for a job. No success. 

On the bright side, no headaches. Maybe the colder weather was helping, or the anger management counseling was working. Or maybe it was Nadja – she was good at diffusing him. But whatever the reason, he only had two really bad ones the past week, and fewer headaches put him in a better mood.

She met him at the door. Sometimes she was scantily clad and seductive but today she was naked and brazen, and he felt an erotic heat surge through him at the sight of her slim body. She was his for the taking and she never let him forget it. 'Anything, any time' is what she'd pledged and she was true to her word, not just accepting his advances but enthusiastically encouraging them. 

"I'm glad you're back," she said, smiling and trying to locate his eyes with hers. She did sound happy to seem him, and he was beginning to think it wasn't just an act. 

"You look delicious!"

"All yours," she said, then turned a slow circle. She was petite and still a little on the skinny side, but a weeks' worth of solid meals had her looking less fragile than before. 

He liked the way Nadja looked. She wasn't a Playboy bunny but she had simple good looks and she didn't need any help from makeup – it was all her. He liked her on the inside, too. Even though she'd clearly been dealt a bad hand and had glimpsed the worst of life, she hadn't become hateful or bitter. He knew there was a lot she was hiding from him, but he didn't much care. He was holding back a lot from her, too. That's how it was in this shitty world; you stowed your own baggage.

They'd been together for a week and other than a few surface questions they'd avoided diving into the ugliest chapters of each others' lives. He knew she'd been a prostitute and it was clear that she'd suffered – badly – at the hands of her pimp. She knew he'd been in prison, with everything that implied. No point in rehashing the gory details. Better to turn the page and leave the past behind.

"Ready for tonight?" he asked.

Her smile faded, replaced by a nervous grimace. "Do I have to do this?" 

She'd been protesting burger night in subtle and not-so-subtle ways since he'd floated the idea a few nights back. He understood how she felt about going outside. But she couldn't hole up forever in a one-room apartment.

"No," he said.

She paused. "But it would make you happy."

"Very much."

She breathed a why-me sigh. "I suppose I should get dressed."

He'd been to Wally's and picked out a small pair of women's track pants, a couple of t-shirts in her size and a warm winter jacket. Naturally, none of them fit right – what did he know about picking out clothes for women? He'd also bought a pink toque and a long pink scarf. He figured when she was all wrapped up she'd be unrecognizable. And if not, if her pimp recognized her? Well...apparently he already beat up that bastard once. He'd be more than happy to do it again.

She'd told him about the fight in the alley with Aden and another guy. He still couldn't remember even the vaguest detail about it. The fact that it was unresolved was a concern – what had become of those two assholes? What had he done? And what price would he pay? The police had Mac's fingerprints and DNA on file, so if it got to that point the evidence would lead the cops right to his doorstep. 

But a week after the fight, nothing. 

Somehow, he'd gotten away with beating up two people in a public alley and then – on foot – abducting a young woman...and he didn't have the foggiest idea how. Maybe his unconscious brain was some sort of criminal mastermind. Too bad none of that brilliance spilled over into his conscious mind!

"Let me grab a quick shower to thaw out first," he said, pulling at his tie to loosen it as he kicked off his shoes.

"No hot water," she said apologetically, as though somehow it had been her fault, "I'm boiling the kettle."

"No hot water – again? Jesus! That bitch said it would be fixed!" Anger began to build as he bent over and pulled his soggy shoes back on, muttering curses toward the building manager. "This is bullshit. There's fucking snow outside and we don't have any hot water? I'm going down there."

"Is that the right thing to do, when you're so angry?"

Mac hesitated. Nadja had developed a way of giving him advice in a tone that made it sound like she was asking for HIS advice. It was strangely effective.

He exhaled loudly, then drew a deep breath and unclenched his jaw.

"No, it would probably be a stupid thing to do," he agreed at last.

"Only if you think so."

"Yeah. Maybe I'll change first, have a cup of coffee," he said. 

"Sit on the couch. I'll bring it to you," she said with a smile and a wink.

He quickly shed his clothing and threw on jeans and a sweatshirt. By the time he'd seated himself on the old couch, Nadja had poured him a mug and brought it to him. She returned to the kitchenette. Her movements around the tiny apartment were graceful and sure; she knew her way around perfectly. It was hard to tear his eyes off her naked body as she moved.

He took a sip, then breathed a relaxed sigh and looked around the apartment.

"The place looks good. You've been busy," he said. The windows had been cleaned, the kitchenette was spotless, the bed was made.

"Thank you. I did the laundry, too. The bedsheets, anyway. I could have done it all but I need you to sort it into whites and colours." 

"Wait – how did you do the laundry?"

"I remembered you saying that there are machines in the basement," she said, "and I know where you keep your jar of quarters, so..." 

"You left the apartment?" He couldn't contain his surprise. She hadn't been outside the apartment since their aborted shopping trip five days ago.

"Yes," she said, and he could hear the pride in her voice. "just inside the building here. I was practicing for tonight, I guess."

"So brave!" He was genuinely impressed.

"Thank you."

"How did you get those washing machines to work? All they ever do is eat my money."

"I asked the building manager about it and she showed me the trick."

He took another sip of coffee. Ask the building manager? There was a novel concept. Why hadn't it ever occurred to him?

"How did you even find the building manager?" he asked.

"I asked a lady in the hallway and she brought me there."

"Just like that?"

"Yes. She was nice."

"There are nice people living here?"

"It looks that way," Nadja said.

He drained the mug of coffee, then leaned back into the couch. She sat down next to him and he reached over and rubbed her bare leg. Her skin was warm and smooth...and inviting. He was tempted to forget about dinner at Maria's Grill altogether.

"So, what's the trick?" he asked.

"For the washing machines?"

"Yeah."

She looked over at him, her expression mischievous. "What do I get if I tell you?"

He chuckled. She was definitely changing. Leaving the apartment on her own was a huge step, and she'd developed a playfulness that didn't trade on her sex appeal. Big changes for the cautious, reserved, frightened young woman he'd taken in a week ago.

"Anything. Name your price," he said.

"Forget about burger night?"

"Anything but that, I meant."

"Hmm. Ice cream," she said after a brief pause, "strawberry ice cream."

"You drive a hard bargain."

"I guess YOU could ask the building manager," she said.

"I'd better not. She's probably still pissed about yesterday," he said, recalling his poorly chosen words to the middle-aged woman when the hot water had stopped working.

"Sounds like you're at my mercy then."

"Fine. I surrender."

"Remember you told me that the machine costs two-twenty-five in quarters? It's actually two-fifty," Nadja said.

"But...the sticker on the machine says two-twenty-five."

"She says it's an old sticker."

"Goddamn it! She's been ripping me off for the past three weeks! I've been paying twice, thinking that the machine's been eating my money," he said, not knowing exactly how annoyed he should be. In truth, he'd only done his laundry twice since moving in. "I don't take back ANY of the things I said about her yesterday."

A giggle was her only response.

**

They walked slowly down the stairs toward street level. Very slowly. Each stair seemed like a tiny journey all of its own.

"Doing okay?" he asked.

Nadja nodded but he could feel the way she gripped his forearm. She was wrapped from head to toe in clothing. Her ex-pimp would have to be some kind of genius to recognize her dressed as she was. 

They reached the front door and Mac pushed it open. She stiffened as the sounds and scents of the city greeted her. Her hand on his arm became a death grip.

"Forward, or back?" he asked, determined not to force her into anything traumatic.

She was silent and still for a minute or two.

"Forward." Her voice was quiet, but determined.

"Maria's is four blocks away. We'll stop and check in every half-block. Sound good?"

She nodded again and he led her out onto the street. It was unseasonably cold and that, combined with the snow, had brought the Christmas window-shoppers out in force. The sidewalks were crowded and walking was necessarily slow. Steering her around pedestrians and other obstacles was a challenge and he was careful to point out places where the sidewalk was uneven.

"How are we doing?" he asked after five minutes of stop-and-go walking.

"Good. It sounds like there are a lot of people," she said. Her voice sounded stronger. 

"Tons. Everyone figured out that Christmas is coming."

Maybe the idea of being an anonymous face in a large crowd strengthened her courage; she sounded more confident at each check-in along the way.

Maria's Grill was a true greasy spoon. Everything on the menu was either grilled or fried. French fries accompanied every entree. But the food was brought to the table by a waitress, on ceramic plates, with metal cutlery and glass cups for the soft drinks, so it was a cut above standard fast food. 

Mac had been there many times since his release from prison. It was always crowded, but the extra wait was worth it; they had great hamburgers. Burgers were the one food that he'd desperately missed while he was in prison, and since he got out he couldn't seem to get his fill of them.

He loved the atmosphere of the place. Good crowd; a mix of college kids on a budget, business types from the surrounding office buildings grabbing a quick bite before the commute home, construction workers from the new site going up a couple of blocks away. Everyone was there to enjoy a bad-for-your-health, blue-collar meal. No one whining about the food or putting on airs.

Mac and Nadja got a seat after only a ten-minute wait. He spent a couple of minutes reading the menu to her and she eventually decided on the chicken fingers. He wanted the bacon cheddar burger – probably the greatest burger he'd tasted in all his twenty-six years – maybe the greatest one in all of human history. 

As they waited for their meals, Mac described their surroundings, the layout of the restaurant, the plastic-and-chrome 1970's décor, the other patrons. Eventually they lapsed into a companionable silence and took in the sounds and scents of the restaurant. Nadja seemed alert but not nervous; there was safety in crowds.

"Would you ever work in a place like this?" she asked.

"I'd work anyplace where they'd pay me," he replied, "why do you ask?"

"They're hiring."

"How can you tell that?"

"One of the cooks is complaining to a waitress because their dish-washer just quit this evening."

Mac paused and strained his ears listening for the conversation, but the crowd was generating so much noise he couldn't focus on any one speaker for long.

"You've got better hearing than I do," he said.

"They're speaking Spanish, so their voices are easy to find."

"You speak Spanish?"

She shrugged. "I understand it more than I speak it. I spoke it in my childhood."

"You don't even have an accent now."

"Childhood was a long time ago." There was a trace of bitterness in her voice that discouraged him from dragging her any further down memory lane.

"I'll come back tomorrow morning with a resume and apply," he said.

"Why not just ask for the job now, while you're here?"

"Well, you can't just ask for a job. There's a whole goddamn process. I have to wear a suit, bring in a resume. Make an appointment for an interview..." he trailed off, remembering the job hunting advice he'd received prior to leaving prison. 

"The manager's here tonight. I hear her going from table to table chatting with people."

"Maria? She's the owner. She's here every night. Nice lady." 

Maria was the living manifestation of her restaurant. A heavyset woman who seemed to love people, she could mingle with folks from all walks of life, bantering and poking fun at them – and at herself. A woman full of laughter who seemed to have no pretenses.

"So? Just ask her for the job."

"That's not how it works. No one gets anything just by asking for it. You've got to jump through hoops, prove yourself. Pay your dues, that kind of thing."

"I guess you have more experience than I do with these things," she said.

They were interrupted by the waitress bringing them their food. Mac spent a moment describing to Nadja how the food on her plate was arranged – chicken, fries and plumb sauce. 

"This is huge! How could any one person eat this much food?" she asked, but Mac was already two bites into his burger and couldn't do more than grunt. He was in heaven.

They ate in silence, and Mac thought more about Nadja's advice. Ask for the job? Just come right out and ask? The notion seemed naive. Nadja was younger than him, after all, and didn't know as much about how the world worked. Asking for a job was a lot different than asking the building manager for directions on how to use a washing machine. For starters...well...

Well, maybe there were more similarities than differences. 

"Mac!" Maria called his name from four tables away. "How did you sneak in here without me seeing you?"

He grinned. It was impossible not to. He was fond of Maria – everyone was.

"And who is this?" Maria came to a stop beside their table and rested her hand on Nadja's shoulder. Nadja didn't flinch away.

"This is Nadja. Nadja this is Maria."

"Hola señora," Nadja said, searching for the older woman's eyes.

"Ooh, Mac, she's a beauty!" Maria exclaimed, loud enough for most of the restaurant to hear. Nadja flushed red, and Mac was sure his own face was an even deeper shade. So much for keeping a low profile. "And she speaks Spanish! You've got great taste."

"Yeah. Luckily, she doesn't," he quipped, prompting a gale of laughter from Maria and a shy smile from Nadja.

"¿Es un buen tipo?" Maria asked Nadja.

"Si. Muy bueno," she replied, her smile becoming more genuine.

Mac didn't understand what was being said – languages weren't his thing – but everyone was still smiling at the end so he let it go.

"Hey, Maria?"

"Yes, Mac?"

"Did your dishwasher just quit?"

"Word travels fast!"

Ask for the job? No suit, no resume, no references? In the middle of a crowded restaurant and in front of his half-eaten dinner?

Sure. What did he have to lose?

He stood and faced Maria.

"I want that job," he said, trying to sound assertive. 

She seemed surprised, but met his eyes for a long moment, long enough that Mac wished he had just stuffed a fork-full of fries in his mouth and not bothered.

"Can you start tomorrow morning at 7?" she replied at last.

**

They got back to the apartment at eight-forty – just under the wire of Mac's nine o'clock parole-mandated curfew. He set the take-out container on the counter – most of Nadja's dinner was inside. Nadja divested herself of her shoes and winter jacket.

"Not too bad, was it?" he asked.

"A little scary at first, but you made me feel safe," she replied, then rested her hand on his shoulder lightly, "Thank you, Mac. For everything."

"Ha! Thank YOU! I've been busting my ass for three weeks looking for work, but you somehow found me a job in less than an hour. Fucking unbelievable," he replied, unable to contain his elation. He wrapped her up in a tight hug, which she endured patiently if not enthusiastically. He knew she wasn't into that sort of thing.

"I think we have something to celebrate," she said when he let her go. She pulled the t-shirt over her head and off, then linked her hands behind her back, thrusting her breasts towards him invitingly. Her dark nipples practically begged for his fingers.

Instead, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her track pants and slowly pushed them down her legs, going to his knees in front of her to pool them around her ankles. She raised her feet one at a time and let him remove the pants completely, leaving her bare.

He took her hips in his hands and held her steady as he kissed the soft skin under her navel, then bent lower to press his lips to the top of her slit. He loved the scent of her skin, the softness of it under his hands and lips. 

"I get anything I want?" he said, his voice low and hungry.

"Always," she purred, "just name it."

"I want to make you come," he said, kissing her flat stomach, "I want you to show me how."

"This is for YOU," she said, taking a step back, "you're the man of the hour. Why not let me pay tribute?" 

She knelt and reached for the button of his jeans, but he wouldn't be put off. He'd been thinking about it for a while, and she'd helped him so much tonight that it seemed like the right time. It bothered him a little, doing all the taking and none of the giving. Tonight was a good night to start balancing the scales...

He grasped her wrist, then easily lifted her naked body into his arms. She seemed tense, or maybe just cold. He'd do what he could to heat her up fast. He walked three steps to the couch and set her down in the middle of it, then knelt in front of her. 




Beginning Again Ch. 03



"Knees apart," he said, leaning forward to capture her right nipple in his mouth. He felt her hesitate, then spread wide for him. He sucked her nipple gently for a few moments, then gave it a few licks. "How is that?" he asked.

"It feels...nice," she replied.

"More? Less?"

"Anything you want. It feels fine. Feels good."

He switched to her left nipple and repeated the gentle treatment. She held still and let him do it, her arms by her sides. 

"Good?" he asked.

"Yes. Feels okay."

He was no expert, but it was obvious from her responses and body language that having her nipples sucked wasn't her thing. Different women responded to different things, he supposed. Still, he'd hoped for better feedback.

He lowered his head, pressed another hot kiss to the hairless skin above her slit, then held her behind her knees and spread her legs wider. Her pussy lips parted, treating him to a view of her pink inner core, just waiting to be tasted. Her faint scent lured him. He bent his head, extended his tongue...

Suddenly she slid her right hand down to cover her pussy, keeping his tongue away.

"Mac...you probably shouldn't put your mouth on it," she said.

"Hmm. Okay, show me how to use my fingers to..."

"Mac...just give me your cock...please?" she cut him off, her tone almost pleading. She pulled her legs together and leaned forward. 

"Nadja, what the hell?" he demanded, making no effort to conceal the irritation in his voice, and beneath that the sting of rejection. It had been years since he'd done this – she could be a little more forgiving of his lack of skill!

"Nothing. Nothing, Mac. It's just..."

"I get that I'm not an expert at this but at least give me a shot here!" 

He pushed himself to his feet and stepped back. He felt a headache creeping in. She expected him to be a masterful lover right out of the gate? After so long in prison? And even before prison it wasn't like he was spending a lot of time with naked women. Was it too much to ask for a little fucking patience?

She was silent and her expression had become anxious. He began to pace back and forth in front of her, agitated. She could have given him a little guidance, instead of just shooting him down completely.

"Mac?" she said in a quiet voice.

"What?"

"I want to explain, if you'll listen. About why you can't...make me come."

He stopped and looked down at her. Her eyes were raised, seeking him. Somehow he bit back the first words that jumped to his tongue; they wouldn't have been very nice. 

Breathe. Count. Relax his muscles. He took a few more deep breaths, releasing each one slowly. She was important to him. She was the only good thing in his life. He should let her explain.

"Okay. I'd like that," he said, surprised at the controlled tone he was able to achieve. 

"Would you sit down next to me? This is going to be hard," she said. She sounded unsteady, with emotion close to the surface. Not like her at all.

"Yeah." He sat down to her right.

She offered him her right hand and he took it. She felt cold. She was naked, he reasoned. He stood and stripped the comforter from his bed and covered her, then took her hand again.

She was silent for a long time, looking straight ahead. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible and she didn't meet his eyes, continuing to stare at the opposite wall.

"At dinner today, you were saying you loved hamburgers," she said at last, "you said that they were your favourite food, and that when you were in prison they were all you dreamed of."

"Yeah. So?"

"Imagine...imagine that you had to eat six hamburgers every day. Every single day. And if you didn't want to, you got beaten up, your mouth was forced open and the burgers were crammed down your throat."

Mac was silent.

"And imagine...that sometimes they tasted awful, sometimes the meat was rancid, sometimes they were cold. But it didn't matter, you had to eat six every day, no matter what. Six every day, for four years. No matter how much it hurt your body or damaged your health."

"Jesus," he whispered.

"Six on your birthday; six on Christmas Eve; even when you were sick with the flu. There was no escape, no way to refuse." She lapsed into silence; Mac could see in her face that she was fighting for control.

"I'd fucking hate hamburgers," he said in a low tone, "Just thinking of one would make me want to puke."

She nodded slowly. "You would, for a while. But even so, you'd eat six every day. And then eventually, a strange thing would happen. You'd get numb. Burgers wouldn't bother you anymore. You could eat six, ten, twelve and not feel anything. Not revulsion, not disgust. Nothing at all. It wouldn't matter. Eating burgers would just become a part of your day. Just a thing you had to do, like going to the bathroom or...or tying your shoes. A meaningless act."

Mac tried to think of something to say, some way to ease her pain. But there was nothing.

"The numbness would make it...tolerable. But you know what? You'd never desire a hamburger again. No matter how delicious it looked, you'd never crave it. Your mouth wouldn't water. That part of you would just be...gone."

She was silent then, eyes still fixed sightlessly on the wall. Mac felt awful; his anger had become shame. 

"I'm sorry," he said. He couldn't think of anything else. He just squeezed her hand. Words seemed weak and useless.

"I'm sorry too," she said. Her voice was barely a whisper, "I lied to you. I wanted to stay with you so I tried to pass myself off as a real woman. But I'm not. I'm just a..."

"That's bullshit," he said, his voice low, "and don't let me hear that 'real woman' garbage ever again."

"But it's true. I'm nothing but..."

He grasped her jaw gently in his right hand, forced her to face him.

"Are you going to make me repeat myself?" he growled.

She tried to shake her head. Her eyes were wide in surprise but she showed no fear; she didn't raise her arms or try to flinch away. 

"Yeah, you were a prostitute. I get it. You told me a week ago, remember? And you're still here. You think I'm going to kick you out because you were the victim of some piece-of-shit pimp? Like I'm in a position to judge you? Like I'm some goddamn saint? I was in a fucking federal prison for seven years!"

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"Don't be sorry. Don't ever be sorry. I'm sorry. It was stupid of me to think I could snap my fingers and you'd be moaning in lust. Stupid, and insensitive. I should have figured out that you'd be still be working through things. It's only been one goddamn week, after all!"

He let go of her jaw and took her hand. He knew she hated hugging and kissing, but she seemed content to allow hand-holding.

"I am sorry," he said in a calmer tone, "for tonight, I mean. I just wanted to make you feel as good as you make me feel. I sure didn't mean to pressure you, or force anything on you. After what you went through, it makes sense that you wouldn't feel anything when I touch you."

"You couldn't be more wrong about that," she said in a tone that was quiet, but firm.

"You said..."

"When you touch me," she continued in the same determined voice, "your hands are gentle. I trust them. Being touched by hands that you trust...is a whole different feeling. It's intimate. It makes me feel like I'm important to you, like I matter. It makes me feel like we're connected. It feels safe. So I feel a lot of things when you touch me. Just not arousal."

As she spoke she flushed a deep red, then turned her face away from him to conceal it. Too much honesty, perhaps? It was the first time he could remember her discussing her feelings. Mac was intrigued and touched by the brief window into her inner self. 

"I just wanted to know how to make you feel good," he said gently.

She was quiet for a few moments, then threw off the comforter and crawled naked to his side of the couch. She straddled his legs, facing him, her knees on either side of his hips. She put her hands on his shoulders and locked her gray-blue eyes onto his.

"I said 'anything, any time', remember?" she said.

"Yeah."

"I meant it. I still mean it. I want to do whatever will make you happy. Everything."

Mac sighed, bidding a silent farewell to the amazing sex he'd enjoyed that week. No regrets – it had been incredible while it lasted!

"Look, you're safe, okay? You're staying. I won't kick you out on to the street – I promise. We can just be roommates. You don't have to pretend to like it when I'm inside you."

"But I do like it when you're inside me," she said. Her face and ears turned an even deeper shade of crimson but she wouldn't look away. "I like feeling your strength and your passion. Your touch on my skin. Your excitement. I like your attention on me. I like your smell. Your sounds. I like knowing that I make you happy in a special way that no one else does. It means something, Mac."

"But no arousal."

"No, no arousal. But...is that so important? I'm happy – I haven't been this happy in years. When you're with me...inside me...I feel good in all sorts of ways. Can't that be enough?"

"Yeah...yeah I guess it can be. But I don't want you to endure something you hate just to please me. That wouldn't feel right at all."

"I enjoy your pleasure. Does that make sense? Making you feel good makes me feel good. Better than I've felt in ages."

"It makes a lot of sense. I feel the same way. That's why I wanted to make it good for you tonight."

She gave him a sad smile. "I'm sorry I can't be what you want."

"You're being stupid again. I told you to stop with that crap," he admonished, "Besides, I bet I can still make you moan. A real moan, I mean."

"I want that," she said, though her tone was doubtful.

"Then go take a long, hot shower while I prepare my secret weapon."

"There might not be any hot water."

"Then take a short, cold one," he said with a chuckle.

**

By the time she was out of the shower, he was ready. He'd raised the room temperature a couple of degrees. Laid out towels on the bed. Poured some olive oil into a bowl and put it next to the bed. 

"How do you want me?" she said, standing outside the bathroom door.

"Face-down on the bed," he said.

She had no difficulty navigating to the bed and in moments was stretched out on her front. She was a lovely sight; naked, smooth skin, tight bottom, long legs. Completely available, open to him, eager to accommodate his every desire. His cock grew hard. Maybe later he'd have his own needs satisfied.

He draped a dry towel over her back, covering her from her neck to her tailbone.

Mac went to the foot of the bed, dipped his fingers into the olive oil and rubbed his hands together, heating the oil and lubricating his hands. He cradled her left foot in his hands and began to rub it, warming it, getting a feel for it. He wasn't in a hurry, not eager to move on. He focused just on that foot, and began pressing and stroking the sole firmly with his thumbs.

"Mmmm." Her sound was a sigh mixed with a moan. He'd only just started. 

He gently pulled on each toe, slid his finger between them, keeping his contact steady to avoid tickling her. It surprised him that eight years without practice hadn't diminished his skills – he remembered everything he'd been taught.

He got his first genuine moan when he moved his hands to her left calf, kneading and squeezing expertly. It was a moan of pleasure, of contentment. Not arousal, but arousal wasn't what he was aiming at.

"Told you I'd make you moan," he said in a low, soothing voice.

"Where did you learn this?" 

He heard the wonder in her voice and it made him smile. 

"When I was eighteen, I left home. Well, I got kicked out, actually. As luck would have it, this guy I knew was leaving for college, and his mom said it would be okay if I crashed in his room for a few months. She was divorced and said she'd be happy for the company."

He moved higher, to her left thigh. He liked doing hamstrings the most; he could apply a bit more strength, and enjoyed the feel of the softer skin of the inner thigh. Not only that, the view of her pussy lips between her slightly-spread thighs was a sexy tease.

"So in the afternoons, his mom watched the soaps, and I hung out with her. I didn't have a job and didn't know what else to do, so why not?"

His thumbs pressed hard into her hamstring just below her buttocks, then an inch lower. It brought a surprise gasp of pleasure from Nadja. She seemed to enjoy it so much that he repeated the motion a second time, working his way down the muscle from buttock to the back of her knee.

"So out of the blue one day she asks if I'd mind doing her feet since they were cold and sore. Seemed like an odd request, but as I said, it's not like I had much else going on, so might as well do it, right? So I get down there, cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch. I grab her foot and I give it my best try – squeezing here, rubbing there. I sucked, but it was my first time so I didn't feel too bad."

Mac pulled another moan from her when he moved from her left thigh to her right one, careful to keep his hands warm and well-lubricated with olive oil. The feel of her body under his hands was sensual and arousing. Nadja was a lovely woman. He could feel his erection throbbing urgently, but he forced himself to focus on her.

"The next day, she asks again. So I get back on the floor, grab her foot. But this time instead of track pants under her robe, she's wearing a slip under it. I'm down there massaging and I look up and I can see, plain as day, she's not wearing any panties. Her knees are apart and I'm staring right at her pussy."

"Probably no accident," Nadja said, and he could hear the amusement in her voice.

"No accident," he agreed, "She sees me looking and asks if I want to learn to give a 'proper' massage. So she starts giving me tips on how to touch her feet. All the while she keeps her legs apart, showing me everything."

He moved down to her right calf, then to her right foot. Feet took the most time since there were so many things to focus on.

"So for a week, I spend an hour a day down there doing her feet, and she's sitting on the couch watching her soaps, legs wide, giving me pointers. I'm thinking I'd died and gone to heaven. After a week she asks if I want to do her legs too. She takes off the robe, hikes her slip up over her ass and lies on her stomach on the couch so she can still see the TV. And I'm on top of her pressing and squeezing, and she's telling me what to do. So that goes on every day for a couple weeks."

"Was it weird, since she was your friend's mom?"

"Eh, not a friend so much as just a guy I knew. Plus, I was eighteen. An eighteen-year-old has his priorities in order, if you get what I mean."

She snickered. He continued to focus on her right foot, making it as good as he could for her.

"So it goes from there to me doing her full body, neck to toes. And that goes on for a couple of weeks. And then she figures I'm losing interest or something so after each massage she rolls onto her back and jacks me off onto her tits. I guess she didn't want me inside her, with everything that involves. So all this lasts about three months. By the end of it I could give a massage like a pro."

"What happened? How did it all end?"

"Nothing too dramatic. Her son came home for the holidays and I had to find someplace else to crash. All in all, I'd say it worked out pretty well for both of us."

He could see the smile on Nadja's face as he finished her right foot.

"I liked that story," she said softly, "It was kind of...sweet. It sounds like it was a good memory for you."

"I guess it was. One of the better ones, I'll say that." He set her foot down and leaned back for a brief rest. "Now wait until you feel what I can do to your back," he said, keeping his tone low and warm.

"Mac?"

"Yeah?"

"Could I ask a favour?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Could you...go inside me? Just like I am right now. It would make me feel really good to feel you."

"You'll never hear me say 'no' to that." 

It took only a minute to wash his hands, roll a condom on and return to the bed. Nadja hadn't moved a muscle. He gently spread her legs further apart, then climbed above her.

Very slowly he pressed the head of his cock against her pink slit. She flexed her back, raising her hips off the bed a little bit, giving him a better angle. He eased himself forward, penetrating her slowly, loving the feel of his cock pushing past her threshold. He pulled back and then forward again, groaning at the sensation of being inside her. She'd clearly lubed herself after the shower, and on the third stroke he was all the way inside her, her soft ass cheeks pressed against his pelvis.

"This is perfect," Nadja whispered, "I can still feel your hands on my legs, it's like you're still touching me. Having you inside me too...it feels full, and warm."

His breath left him in a pleasure-filled gasp as he began a slow pumping in and out of her inviting sex. Her words were more arousing than her exaggerated moans ever were.

"I love this, Mac. Feeling you like this. Gentle and strong, taking pleasure in my pussy. Sharing yourself...sharing everything. I feel like a part of you."

His control began to slip and he fucked her with more energy, longer strokes, harder thrusts. He groaned and panted, and heard Nadja gasp quietly with each thrust. Her eyes were closed, on her face he saw a look of concentration, like she was focused on the feelings inside her. 

There were no more words, just two bodies loving the sensations of being joined, and although the feelings were different for each, there was no question that the pleasure was shared.

He climaxed, his cock pressed deeply into her welcoming pussy, both feeling the spasms of his release. And when it was over he lay on top of her, supporting most of his weight on his elbows and knees. She wriggled her hips as she lay under him, clearly enjoying the closeness and his heat.

"It's never been like that, Mac. Never. Thank you," she said in a whisper.

They slept close together.



Beginning Again Ch. 04



Author's notes:

Thanks again to everyone who took the time to read, vote, or comment on the previous three chapters. I truly appreciate the feedback and support. I expect there will be two more chapters after this one.

All characters are fictional adults.

Also, although I strive for accuracy, the information on sexual health in this chapter should not be considered factual. For accurate information about STIs please contact a qualified professional. 

**

Even folding the laundry made her think of Mac.

She could tell by touch what clothing belonged to him and what was hers -- the sizes and textures were different. The fact that she had clothing at all was another reminder of the impact he'd had on her life in just two short weeks.

Aden, her former pimp, had kept her in nighties and slips most of the time, with a single pair of uncomfortable high heels for those rare -- and always unpleasant -- occasions when they left the apartment together to meet a 'client'. 

But Mac had bought her shirts and pants and shoes and socks and boots. Bras and panties. Indoor clothes and outdoor clothes. And not for any specific purpose -- he said she should have clothes like every other normal woman. She doubted he was even aware of how much a simple gesture like that meant to her. 

She was a woman again. 

Not a complete one -- some pieces were damaged, some tainted, some missing entirely -- but enough remained that she felt worthy of womanhood at last. 

If nothing else, she wanted Mac in all the ways she imagined a woman would want a man. His hands on her, his cock filling her. His scent. The sound of his voice, the almost tangible feel of his eyes on her. His company and his attention. His warmth as they lay together in bed. 

Four years of forced sexual slavery had smothered the flame of arousal within her, but so what? She still rejoiced in the simple pleasures of an ordinary life. Cooking. Washing the dishes. Doing laundry. Helping out in any way he needed. Only two short weeks ago, even this modest lifestyle had exceeded her wildest fantasies.

Mac had saved her, claimed her and restored her. And with every day that passed she grew more determined to become the woman he needed.

She'd long ago resigned herself to the fact that she would always belong to a man. Blind and undocumented -- she didn't have citizenship or even identification -- an independent life seemed unattainable. Did she even want that? What would she do on her own? 

Having a man like Mac at the centre of her life seemed natural, secure and stable. In a short time he'd proven himself to be not only the best available option, but also a darn good one. 

So she'd started a deliberate process to eliminate whatever remained of her old life and her old self, to remake herself into someone worthy of his respect and affection. 

And a trip to the clinic was a necessary part of that plan.

There had been so many men before Mac, so many risks. Aden had rented her out carelessly, happy to risk her health -- her life -- in exchange for a few extra dollars. Now that she'd escaped him, she had to know what damage had been done and how much of it was fixable. 

Mac had been kind to call around for her, to find a free clinic where she could be tested anonymously and confidentially. He'd scheduled an appointment for her. She guessed that a lot of men wouldn't have been so generous, would have recoiled in disgust at the idea that she might be unclean. 

She had no idea what to expect. She'd showered and dressed and now awaited Mac's return from his dish washing job at Maria's Grill. They'd go to the clinic together.

She could feel a growing anxiety, dreading both the tests themselves and the results. In a sense it was better not to know, and if her life had been the only one affected she would have chosen to remain ignorant. But Mac's interest in her was growing and she needed to know what she could safely offer him.

He'd assured her that whatever the test results, her place in his life was safe. She wanted to believe it, but couldn't shake the feeling that so much of her future -- and indeed her very life -- depended on the outcome.

**

She sat on the couch and listened to him dress. Her appointment was only a couple of hours away. She wished she could see him; all she knew of his appearance she'd learned by touch. But her sight wasn't coming back.

"If the tests turn out...badly...and you wanted to think about another woman..." she said, and left the rest hanging. It made her feel awful to say it but she needed him to know that she was willing to be reasonable if the worst came to pass. A woman in her position needed to be practical above all.

"We've been through this. Good or bad, it doesn't change anything between us. Anyway, a second woman in my life is the last thing I need."

"It's just...I wouldn't expect you to limit yourself to a woman who was...ruined."

There was a brief silence, and she knew she'd make a mistake.

"Goddamn it, Nadja, I've had it with that shit. Take your clothes off, now," he snapped. He sounded irritated though not angry. 

"Why?" Her hands were already undoing the button on her jeans. Just two weeks removed from slavery, her obedience was still automatic; a conditioned reflex.

"You know why. I told you what would happen the next time I had to listen to that crap."

She blushed and smiled nervously. "I didn't think you were serious..."

"You're damn right I was serious. You think I'm going to put up with that kind of bullshit? You're better than that."

She quickly pushed the jeans down her legs and stepped out of them. Her plain cotton panties followed, and she imagined his eyes lingering on her smooth pussy. She began to tug her t-shirt up over her head. Soon she stood naked in front of him. Under normal circumstances she found it comfortable to be nude in his presence. But just now...

"Over my knee," he demanded.

She felt his hand take her wrist and guide her into position, draped over his lap, her hands and feet on the rough carpet on either side of his legs, her bare ass presented to him.

The position felt vulnerable, and for a moment it terrified her. She'd been hit many times in the last four years; slapped, kicked, whipped, pinched and punched by her pimp and by her clients. The memory of that abuse brought a feeling of near-panic. Was she going to suffer at the hands of another man?

But the thought lasted only a second. This was Mac. She trusted his hands. A part of her even felt an anxious excitement, an eagerness to please him in a different way, with her obedience, her acceptance of his lesson. It was another chance to inflame him, to delight in his enjoyment of her naked body. To be his in an entirely new way.

"Tell me why you're over my knee," he said, his tone now one of feigned annoyance.

"I talked badly about myself," she said quietly, feeling the flush deepen in her cheeks. 

The admission made her feel childish, and highlighted again the difference between her last man and this one. Aden had demeaned and degraded her at every turn, and over time it had become natural for her to do the same. But Mac wouldn't hear it, and over the past week had become increasingly intolerant of her self-deprecating remarks.

SMACK. His hand came down hard on her rear. 

"Ow! That hurt!" she protested. Her right hand reflexively flew to cover her stinging buttock. The sharp pain quickly faded to a hot throbbing.

He pushed her hand away and she set it back on the carpet.

"Good. Glad it hurts," he said, and a hint of playfulness in his voice was unmistakable now. "I've told you a million times to stop talking like that. Maybe this will make more of an impression."

SMACK. The second spank was lighter and less painful than the first and Nadja couldn't help a half-smile. He'd heard her protest, and was using less force.

"How many am I going to get?" she whined, and the question made her feel even more like a petulant child. For a twenty-year-old to submit to a spanking in this way was humbling. 

"Dunno. Maybe fifty? A hundred?"

"A hundred!" 

He chuckled and her own smile broadened in response.

"Well, maybe not that many. We'd be here all afternoon." he conceded.

SMACK. The third one was gentler still.

The stinging and heat from her bum felt unexpectedly pleasant. Coupled with the embarrassment and self-consciousness of being over his knee, the sensation was intense and impossible to ignore. A demonstration of Mac's strength and his gentleness. She wondered what shade of pink he was seeing when he looked at her lightly punished ass, and imagined his arousal spiking at the sight of his hand prints on her skin. She was happy to wear his marks.

"What if I promise never to do it again?" she asked, trying to sound remorseful.

"I might be willing to give you another chance."

SMACK.

"Ow! I promise! I won't say bad things like that anymore."

"And what will happen if you break your promise?"

SMACK.

"Anything. Just name it," she said in an exaggerated, pleading voice. 

"Hmm. Nothing comes to mind," he said lightly. She could practically hear the smile on his face.

SMACK.

She squealed in false pain and he laughed in response. His hand stopped spanking and gently rubbed her upturned ass cheeks. She sighed in appreciation. His touch, as always, was welcome.

"Listen," he said, "I'm serious. No more of that bullshit about being ruined or whatever. We can't change the past, we just have to be who we are today. I like you, and that's not going to change because of some goddamn blood test. So whatever happens, we deal with it and move on. Together. Got it?"

She was silent as his words sunk in, not trusting herself to reply. She wanted to believe him, to trust his conviction that the past was something she could simply discard like a used tissue. But how much of that was just denial on his part? If the tests revealed something truly awful, how would his opinion of her change?

SMACK. The spank was half-strength.

"Hey, are you listening?"

"Yes! Yes, I understand. We'll deal with...whatever happens," she said, "Am I forgiven now?"

"I'm not sure. I kind of like this. I never realized how spankable your ass is."

"Anything, any time. It's yours if you want it." 

She wiggled her ass on his lap in invitation. Strangely, a part of her hoped he'd take advantage. The feelings of being over his knee were new and exhilarating. Could she be enjoying this? How could it be fun to get a spanking?

He chuckled again. "You may end up regretting that offer."

"Try it and find out."

He bent and pressed a hot kiss to each buttock. "We've got an appointment."

She groaned, slid off his lap and felt for her clothing. 

Time to discover how much her past would linger into her future.

**

Whatever sense of normalcy had been building in her life over the last two weeks was quickly destroyed at the health clinic. 

She'd hoped to spare Mac the embarrassment of sitting with her in the waiting room of an STI clinic, suggesting on the bus ride over that he could just drop her off and grab a coffee somewhere. 

He insisted on walking her to the registration desk, but then had to stay and help her wade through a two-page medical questionnaire -- he read her the questions quietly and then marked down her hushed responses. 

"Uh, it asks how many partners you've had since your last exam," he said.

She just shook her head slowly. 

"I'll leave it blank," he decided.

Several questions were like that, seeking information that she couldn't even guess at. It brought into sharp focus how hopeless her circumstances had been during the four years with Aden.

After that, Mac decided he'd better wait in the clinic, in case she needed more help. She voiced her concern that people might look at him strangely. No big deal, he assured her, and his voice sounded unconcerned.

A young-sounding female nurse introduced herself as Brenda and led her to an interview room. From there, the questions started, and with each question Nadja became more uncomfortable, more embarrassed.

How many partners? No idea. 

What kind of sexual activities had she engaged in? Anything. Everything.

Had she engaged in unprotected intercourse? Yes, daily. Vaginal, oral and anal.

Did she or her partners inject drugs? God only knew.

The questions kept coming, and bit by bit they shredded her 'normal woman' facade, exposing Nadja the whore.

Finally there was no point in hiding it anymore.

"I...was a prostitute. Not by choice. I was...forced. So..." she trailed off.

Brenda's reaction was the opposite of what Nadja expected.

"Okay, I understand. In that case, given that this is your first exam, I'd recommend a complete workup, including hepatitis, HPV and HIV. I'll do a physical assessment and we'll need to take some blood and urine, and do a pap test. The whole process should take half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes."

And that was it. No revulsion, no pity, no scorn. 

"I hadn't expected it to be this easy," Nadja confessed.

"We get a fair number of clients who are in your situation. It's not uncommon."

"Really?"

"Really," Brenda lowered her voice and leaned closer, "Also, there are resources available for women who are being exploited or who are trying to leave the sex industry. Legal and support services, I mean. I'd be happy to give you some contact numbers, or put you in touch with someone who can answer your questions?"

Resources? Support? Even for someone like her?

"That would be great. Thank you."

"Are you in a safe situation right now?" Brenda asked in the same quiet tone.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"I mean the man you came in with..." 

"Oh! Yes, he's totally safe. Completely." Nadja replied. 

She heard Brenda stand. 

"Well then, let's get you up on the exam table and get started."

Nadja didn't know what to expect -- she hadn't had a medical exam since she was a very young child -- but Brenda was careful to explain what would happen at each step. The nurse also reviewed the symptoms and treatments of each of the infections she was testing for.

The exam itself turned out to be easy -- it was simple to just 'switch off' and allow her body to be handled, positioned, poked and sampled. It was a skill she'd perfected over the years, and a necessary one in her former line of work. 

The testing completed, she returned to the waiting room to await the results of the rapid HIV test -- Brenda said it usually took twenty minutes or less. 

Mac was waiting for her, and they sat together quietly for several minutes. It didn't feel uncomfortable, and she was relieved that he never felt the need to fill the silence with small talk, instead allowing her the time to gather her thoughts and process them. It helped that the two of them were alone in the small room.

"Some of the pills to treat this stuff can be awfully expensive," she said quietly, breaking the silence at last. 

"Yeah?"

"Brenda said sometimes hundreds of dollars. Sometimes thousands." 

Why was she going down this road? She didn't even know. To irritate him? To drive him away? To prepare him for the worst? The unfortunate streak of truthfulness that had revealed itself early in her relationship with Mac showed no signs of disappearing.

"Jesus. A thousand dollars, just for some goddamn pills?"

There was another lengthy silence.

"Just so you know, I wouldn't expect you to..."

"Okay, enough," he said, and took her hand in his. His voice was soft but the note of warning in it was unmistakable. 

She let the matter drop.

A few minutes later, Brenda reappeared to discuss the test results. 

"I want Mac to hear them as well," Nadja said, gripping his hand more tightly. Her heart was beating faster and her stomach felt unsettled.

"I prefer to deliver test results privately," Brenda said. 

"It's important to me that he knows...everything."

Brenda relented and led them both to the interview room. Nadja sat on a chair facing the nurse while Mac stood behind her.

The news was good. Better than good.

No visible signs of infection. The rapid HIV test was negative. The other test results would take a week or two to come back.

Brenda cautioned them both to remain vigilant about condom use -- even giving her a dozen condoms and a small tube of lubricant. She also reminded Nadja to return in three months for another HIV test. 

Just before they left the clinic, Brenda gave them a number for a sex worker support group that met twice per month, and suggested that Nadja give them a call.

She felt buoyed and relieved by the news and Mac was delighted, so much so that Nadja had to keep reminding him that all the test results weren't known and to restrain any unwarranted optimism until the whole story came out. 

**

They stopped at the drugstore on the way home; there were things Nadja needed for the evening to come. 

Once back at the apartment, she set about making the supper. She'd assumed jurisdiction over the apartment, taking on all the cooking, cleaning and laundry since Mac was working full time at the restaurant. Those tasks were more diversions than chores -- with Mac away for nine hours each day she way happy to have ways to keep herself busy. And since he usually went to bed early, she wanted him to be able to relax and enjoy his scarce rest time after work. His time with her.

After dinner she washed the dishes as Mac opened the newspaper. When he found an article that he thought she'd be interested in he read it out loud to her and she made attentive noises in all the right places. In truth, she didn't much care for anything that happened outside the apartment. Maybe she would, in time, but for now all her focus was on Mac and how things were between them. 

After the dishes she left Mac to his paper and shut herself in the bathroom with her drugstore purchases from that afternoon and began her prep. She wanted everything to be perfect for their first time.

She stripped off her clothes, folded them and set them next to the sink, then unwrapped the disposable enema kit. After washing her hands, she filled the soft plastic bottle with lukewarm water, put one foot up on the side of the bathtub and reached behind her with the bottle. Exhaling slowly, she relaxed and slid the lubricated nozzle of the enema bottle past the yielding ring of muscle and into her ass.

An automatic sense of dread welled up inside her as she performed the familiar but hated ritual. Anal prep had always preceded an agonizing and often bloody battering of her rear hole. She'd learned the hard way that meticulous preparation kept the damage and mess to a minimum, but no amount of prep could make anal sex anything other than a painful ordeal.

At least Mac wouldn't make her suck him clean afterward. 

She squeezed the bottle and felt the water filling her, then clenched and slowly withdrew the nozzle. The enema did its work inside her as she patiently refilled the bottle. After releasing and flushing, she repeated the process. 

When the second enema had been flushed, she washed her hands again, lubed up her index and middle fingers, put her foot up on the side of the tub again and spread the slippery gel over the inner folds of her pussy. She pushed two fingers inside her tight channel, making sure that her slit would be wet and inviting for Mac's cock.

She applied more lube and gently pushed her middle finger into her ass, working it very slowly in and out. When her muscle had become accepting of the intrusion she added her index finger, lubricating and stretching her sphincter.

She exited the bathroom naked -- lube and condom in hand -- and walked with deliberate slowness to the foot of the bed. Mac's gaze followed her movements; she didn't need to see him to know he was watching her hungrily. His attention on her was something she'd come to expect and enjoy.




Beginning Again Ch. 04



She gracefully lowered herself to her knees next to the bed.

"I want your cock," she said softly but loud enough to be heard in the kitchenette.

She didn't have to force the words, didn't need to dress them in exaggerated, lusty moans. She'd grown past the need for artifice. Her words now were the simple truth. 

She did want his cock. 

Wanted to feel it in her mouth, hot against her tongue. Wanted his taste and his scent. Wanted to use her lips and tongue and throat to pull eager, desperate moans and gasps from deep inside him. To feel his fingers in her hair. To become, even for a brief time, his entire universe. Just as he had become hers.

She heard him toss the newspaper aside, push the chair back from the table and approach her. The rustle of clothing being removed. His heat and closeness, and the creak of the mattress as he sat facing her. 

She reached out and found his bare leg with her fingers, then followed it up to his knee, then along his inner thigh. Her hand closed gently over his hot shaft; he was already erect. She loved that even the sight of her body could bring him to full arousal, that he found her sexy and enticing.

She started low, at his scrotum, licking and kissing. Hot breath on his thighs, on his balls. She moved higher, her wet tongue making long, unhurried strokes from the base to the tip of his cock. Lingering at the top, swirling her tongue over the sensitive nerves there before beginning again at the bottom of his shaft. She was rewarded with his appreciative groan.

With Mac, blow jobs were so different. Not a duty, but a pleasure. She didn't want to rush him; didn't want it to be over too soon. She focused on every stroke, on making it good for him.

After a slow build-up she wrapped her mouth around the head of his cock and slowly slid down, her lips tight around his shaft, taking him deep into her hot mouth in one long, leisurely stroke. He gasped; she knew he loved the feel of being fully embedded in her mouth and throat. She slowly pulled back, lifting her eyes, hoping he was staring down into them.

Very soon she could tell he was getting closer to orgasm; his hips would roll forward on her down-stroke, his breathing became harsh and a soft grunt would issue each time she took his full length. One of the joys of serving just one man was the chance to learn him well, to read the signals from his body and to understand what they meant. And in just two weeks she had mastered the subtleties of Mac's responses to her. 

"I want you to do my ass," she whispered, flushing at the lewd words, hardly believing that she'd spoken them aloud. 

"I'd rather do your pussy," he said. She heard the urgency in his voice and took it as a compliment.

She came off his cock and resumed a slow licking up the shaft while gently cupping his scrotum in her fingers and caressing that sensitive skin.

"Mmm. I love your cock in my pussy. But tonight, I need you in my ass, Mac."

"Why?"

"Well...you remember you said we can't change the past, only move forward?"

"Yeah, sure."

"I want to let go of my past. To turn the page," she continued to run her tongue up and down his erection, looking up into his face all the while, "But there's a...mark. A stain that I can't ignore. A piece of me that Aden still owns. And I hate that -- I hate the idea that he should have a claim to any part of me."

"Nadja, he doesn't..." 

"He does, Mac. I feel it inside me. Deep down I know there are pieces that belong to him. I won't have that. I want all those pieces to belong to you. I want you to take those parts of me back from Aden."

He continued to gasp and pant as she teased his rigid cock with her tongue, but didn't say anything. His silence lasted a minute.

"I know it sounds silly..." she started.

"No, not silly," he said quietly, "I get what you're saying. It's just...won't it hurt?"

"It will hurt," she conceded, "but that's okay. If that's the price, I'll gladly pay it."

"You know that's not what I want, right? To hurt you, I mean."

"I know. And knowing it makes me want this even more. Please?"

There was silence for a few moments.

"Okay, let's do it. What's the best way?" he said. She could tell by his voice that he wasn't sold on the idea of causing her pain with his cock and she felt a perverse swell of gratitude that he was willing to hurt her...for her sake.

"I'd like to lie on my back," she said. 

Nadja expertly opened and slid a condom onto his cock, then applied a generous coating of lube. She repositioned herself on her back on the bed, legs spread and raised, exposing her rear hole to him. It was a terrible, vulnerable feeling, and one that brought back wave after wave of awful memories. 

She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. She'd endured this dozens of times in the past for lesser men. She could handle it once more, for Mac.

"Hold on to my cock. I'll let you control the action," he said as he positioned herself above her, between her wide-spread thighs.

She reached between her legs, gently gripped the base of his latex-covered shaft and guided the tip of his cock to her asshole. 

"I'm ready," she said. Her voice sounded nervous and unconvincing, even to her.

"You sure?"

"Yes. Just...go slow, okay?"

"Keep your hand on me. You decide the speed."

She nodded, then pulled him forward. She felt the head of his cock pressing, pushing. She took another deep breath, tried to release, to unclench. This wasn't Aden, or some brutal, faceless john. This was Mac. 

He slowly pushed past the ring of muscle, stretching her, opening her. And just like that, he was inside. She held him motionless, waiting for the excruciating ripping, the searing pain.

It didn't come. 

She felt full and not entirely comfortable, but her discomfort didn't rise to the level of pain. She froze, not trusting the absence of hurt. Mac was still, letting her pick the pace.

"How is it?" he asked, and she was warmed by the concern in his voice.

"It's...fine," she replied, still not totally convinced.

Finally she gave a gentle pull and Mac pushed forward with the greatest restraint. She stopped him twice more, convinced the pain would come flooding back, but it never did. Soon she moved her hand and felt his pelvis press against her buttocks. He was in, all the way.

"All good?" he asked.

"Better than I'd hoped," she replied, "keep going."

"Okay. If it hurts, say so." 

Mac began a very slow withdrawal until only the head of his cock was inside her, then pushed forward gradually. She relaxed and felt him fill her again, painlessly. It wasn't a good sensation -- it felt intrusive and threatening -- but it didn't hurt. For the first time ever, the cock in her ass didn't feel like it was ripping her apart.

She smiled then, relieved and restored. What Aden had claimed through violence and pain, Mac had captured with care and gentleness. That seemed so...right. So perfectly fitting. She loved knowing that another piece of her had been taken away from Aden and now belonged to Mac.

"Can you come in me?" she asked.

"Not at this speed," Mac said. He was moving so slowly that each stroke took him five or six seconds. "Feels tight though."

"You can go a little faster," she offered.

"You sure this is how you want it tonight?"

She nodded her head. Her smile wouldn't leave her.

Mac picked up speed, each thrust controlled and measured. She closed her eyes and felt him. Her fear was fading; it was easy to stay relaxed and to accommodate his cock inside her. 

As her nervousness disappeared, the sensations began to change. She listened to his rapid breathing, his gasps. Felt his muscles as they flexed and moved, powerful yet restrained. Scented him -- his unique soap-and-maleness smell that had somehow become both familiar and trusted in so short a time. Felt his command of her body and his enjoyment of it. 

It seemed she enjoyed anal sex as much as she did any other kind. In a flash of understanding she realized it didn't matter where he penetrated her because his cock wasn't the source of her pleasure. It was the joining itself, the act of feeling him, of losing herself in the experience and in the essence of who he was. Becoming part of the man she wanted and trusted. Releasing herself into his care, certain that no harm would come to her.

"Still okay?" he asked. She heard him fighting for control of his voice and his lust.

She opened her eyes and nodded. "It feels good. Better than I could have dreamed."

"Jesus, you're tight."

"You can go faster, Mac. Come inside me. Please," she whispered.

Suddenly he gave four long, rough thrusts into her welcoming rear passage and came, his cock pressed deeply inside her, his muscles locked, his breath caught in his chest. 

Her smile broadened as she savoured his orgasm, sharing his pleasure. She gave a few tentative squeezes with her ass, trying to make it tighter around his shaft.

As his climax subsided, he lowered himself to his elbows above her, his partial weight pressing her into the mattress. She welcomed that, too. His weight, his warmth. His bare chest, damp with exertion. His muscular arms on either side of her head. She felt enclosed, protected. Safe.

Her stretched rear hole ached a little but she didn't want him to move. Not yet, anyway. She wanted to feel him inside her a while longer.

"Thank you, Mac," she whispered, her lips close to his ear.

"That was..." he gasped, his words trailing off as he tried to recover his breath.

"It was wonderful. I want to try this again soon. It felt really good."

"Really?"

"I'm as surprised as you are," she said, then laughed. She felt free, unbound.

They lay quietly for a few minutes, then rose together and decided to share a shower. 

It was there, surrounded by steam and spray and soapy scents, with Mac rubbing her back with a rough washcloth, that the question first struck her.

Was she falling in love with Mac? 

Or maybe...had it progressed beyond that point? Was she already in love with him? Was that possible, as damaged as she was, and in just a couple of weeks? 

Surely not -- there were other possibilities to explain the trust and affection she felt for him. Like...gratitude toward her rescuer, for having saved her and for treating her well. Also, she was in a position of dependence; she relied on him for her survival -- that might be easy to mistake for love. Or maybe after four years of Aden's abuse she was confusing the simple absence of hatred for a symptom of love. 

Somehow, though, none of those reasons allowed her to fully dismiss the possibility that she loved Mac. The more she considered it the more the idea appealed to her -- the thought that maybe she was a person who was still capable of loving someone.

And that maybe, against all odds, Mac was that person.

**



Beginning Again Ch. 05



Author's notes:

Thank you again for reading. Your feedback has been welcome and greatly appreciated. This is the fifth of six chapters.

Any medical and/or legal details in this story should not be considered factual.

** 

Mac woke to the buzzing of his alarm clock, and for a brief moment was surprised to find a warm body pressed against him. The disorientation passed and he smiled contentedly. Even after a month, waking up next to Nadja hadn't lost any of its appeal; it still filled him with a mix of delight and wonder. In six weeks he'd gone from sharing a cell with a shaggy car thief to sharing a bed with a pretty girl. 

He silenced his alarm and rolled on his side, facing her, then slid his arm over her and rubbed her bare stomach. She responded almost automatically, turning away and pressing into his bare chest, snuggling closer and wiggling her hips in a silent invitation. She slept nude, always available to his hands. 

He leaned in and kissed the back of her neck and she sighed happily in response. She hadn't been a fan of kissing at first, but the last couple of weeks she'd come around. She still didn't initiate kisses but seemed to enjoy receiving them on her neck and shoulders, though not the face. 

His thumb and index finger sought and captured her left nipple and gently pinched and rolled. Her hand came up and stroked his forearm. He loved the intimacy of touching her this way, loved the notion that her body was his to enjoy. They lay together for a few minutes, breathing and touching and enjoying the closeness. 

How could waking up at five in the morning feel so good?

Soon enough, he decided he wanted more – there was a long day of work ahead, so why not get it started on a high note? He rocked his hips forward, nudging her ass with his semi-hard cock. She knew what he wanted and wiggled again in response. Her hand left his forearm and slid between them, closing over his shaft and gently stroking it to full erection.

He wished he could just pull her against him and slide into her pussy from behind, but he knew the preparation required for that kind of sex would be too ambitious for so early in the morning. 

Instead he lay on his back, kicking off the bed sheet and comforter in the process. The apartment was cool but not uncomfortably so given how hot he felt. 

Nadja rolled out of bed and stretched; he could barely make out her slim silhouette in the darkened room. She crouched briefly next to the bed, then climbed between his knees, nudging them gently apart so that she could kneel between his thighs. 

He felt her hands on his cock, warm and slippery – she'd dipped them in the bowl of olive oil that was left over from the massage he'd given her the previous night. 

He enjoyed giving her bed-time massages as much as she liked receiving them, and the rub-downs were becoming a welcome fixture in their nightly routine. When he had his hands on her, his stress and aggravation melted away. Her presence seemed to dissolve his headaches. She was better than Tylenol.

She slid both hands up and down his shaft, knowing exactly how hard to grip, how fast to go, when to caress his scrotum and when to smooth her palms over the sensitive head. 

He'd always thought that hand jobs were the lowliest of the sexual acts – the consolation prize – something you got when you didn't get what you really wanted. Not so with Nadja – the pleasure he felt from her expert touch was intense and exquisite. His orgasm was coming on fast. His breath was rapid now. His body burned with arousal.

"Tell me when," she whispered, the first words spoken that morning. Somehow she could tell when he was getting close.

He didn't want to come. Not so soon. He wanted to stay in bed, naked and spread as she knelt over his cock, her fingers working their magic, sending throbbing waves of ecstasy through him. But before long the need for release became undeniable. He felt his core tighten. He couldn't keep his hips still, they lifted, thrusting into her hot hands.

"Now," he gasped.

She bent and took the head of his cock into her mouth while her hands continued to squeeze and caress his shaft. Her long hair fell forward onto his stomach and he slid his fingers into it, delighting in the softness.

He felt a tightness, a clenching at the base of his cock and he groaned as his orgasm hit hard. He thrust upward, trying to bury himself in her mouth. In response she took him in deeper, her lips tight around his shaft, her hand still pumping, squeezing, milking. She sucked and stroked and swallowed, prolonging his pleasure. 

Even as his spasms began to fade she kept him engulfed, her hands and tongue gentle now, guiding him down from his climax. Only when he'd regained his breath did she release him from her mouth and kneel back on her heels.

"How was that?" she asked. She knew he loved it, but she liked to hear it said out loud – his pleasure made it good for her, too.

"I never wanted it to end."

"Maybe I'll slow it down next time? Make you beg for it?" her voice was teasing and he chuckled. 

Nadja had come a long way in just a month. She had opened to him fully – her wariness was gone and new aspects of her personality seemed to emerge every day. Her growth was welcome and gratifying.

"I'll beg now if you want. A down payment for next time?" he said.

"No need to grovel," she replied, "although I should mention we're out of ice cream. If you wanted to stay in my good graces..."

"I'll pick some up on the way home."

"Good boy," she said, planting a series of hot kisses on his softening cock, then sliding out of bed. "We're getting low on milk, and we're down to half a dozen eggs, so if they're on sale..." 

Nadja walked through the darkness toward the kitchenette to put the kettle on. She'd eagerly seized control of the household duties – not that he'd put up much a fight. She helped him in so many ways.

"Ice cream, milk and eggs. Anything else?" 

"Olive oil. You've been getting more of it on my body than in your mouth."

He laughed, then pulled himself out of bed and headed for the shower. It was time to begin what promised to be a busy day.

**

Hannah's Hope was a support group that met in the evening twice per month in a sterile but well-appointed boardroom on the second floor of the Central Library. Its mission was to provide education, friendship and resources for women in the sex industry.

It had been one of the organizations that Brenda, a nurse at the STI clinic, had recommended to Nadja during her checkup. The results of those tests weren't available yet, but in the meantime Nadja wanted to attend the support group and see what it was all about – and how it could help her.

Mac didn't know what to expect from the gathering as he led Nadja to a seat around the huge oval desk that dominated the middle of the room. Part of him had expected to see hard-bitten street walkers and sleazy, jaded strippers but the truth surprised him – the dozen or so women who gathered for the meeting wouldn't have looked out of place at a shopping mall or a restaurant. They looked like...normal women. 

"I'm sure you'd be welcome to stay," Nadja whispered as she removed her winter coat.

"Maybe," he said, "but I'll grab a book and wait outside. I want you to be able to speak freely."

"Okay. I think this finishes by eight-thirty. If we go long, come and get me...we don't want to miss your curfew."

He left Nadja there, wandered out into the library and found a nearby magazine rack. He picked out a few sports magazines and found a seat where he could keep an eye on the boardroom. He was probably worried over nothing, but he couldn't shake the idea that if her former pimp was looking for Nadja, this might be someplace he could turn up. If that happened, help would be close by.

Mac's feelings for her had only intensified over the past month, and he got the sense that she felt the same way about him. They'd never discussed it – Nadja shied away from displaying a lot of emotional intimacy and he didn't want to make her uncomfortable by broaching the subject with her. In any case, what was the rush? Neither of them was going anywhere in the near future; they had time to let things develop at their own speed.

The meeting lasted ninety minutes, enough time for him to read through three sports magazines, the world news and four National Geographics. When he started to see people filing out of the room he got up and made his way back inside.

He was surprised to see the normally reserved Nadja standing up at the front of the room with three other young woman, deep in conversation with a twenty-something man in a suit and tie. He decided to hang back rather than intrude on their privacy.

"Can I help you?" a nearby woman asked, politely but also pointedly. He guessed she frowned upon strange men hanging around the proceedings, and he couldn't really blame her for that.

"I'm just waiting for Nadja. I can wait outside..." he said and turned to leave.

"Mac, come over here," Nadja called, obviously having recognized his voice.

He reversed course and joined her at the front of the room. When she felt him next to her she quickly found his left hand and held it. He found the gesture surprising – Nadja rarely initiated anything so...romantic?

"This is Bob Gordon. He was the guest speaker tonight. He's a lawyer," she said. 

Mac dutifully extended his hand and the lawyer shook it. Inwardly he groaned – he'd dealt with lawyers plenty over the years and he'd yet to meet one that did him any good at all.

"Bob, could you please tell Mac about what you were discussing?" Nadja asked.

"Sure. There's legislation called the Victims of Trafficking and Violence Protection Act," Bob said, "and the purpose of it is to empower victims of sex trafficking and give them options for escaping from that life..."

"I could get a Visa, Mac!" Nadja interrupted, the excitement obvious in her voice. 

"Yeah? How does it work?" he replied, trying to match her enthusiasm but falling short. He knew from experience that the law usually worked against people who didn't have money. More than that, once the government learned that Nadja was in the country illegally she'd be at the mercy of a bunch of faceless, merciless bureaucrats. Not an enviable position for a poor blind girl.

"There's not much to it, really. Nadja would need to send in a couple of forms explaining who she is, how she came to be in this country and outlining why being deported would represent an extreme hardship. Her visual impairment would work in her favour, actually," Bob explained.

"Nice. What's the catch?" Mac asked, hoping he wasn't being too discouraging. But with lawyers there was always a catch, somewhere.

"No catch, although it certainly improves her chances if she can get a declaration from a law enforcement agency. For that to happen she'd have to present herself to the police and make a complaint against her traffickers. The police would fill out a supplemental form..."

"But...what if I can't identify my traffickers?" Nadja asked, and Mac could hear a healthy skepticism creeping into her tone.

"Well...the more information you could provide, the better it would look for you. The police would ideally like some sort of evidence to support your claim that you were the victim of trafficking. In any case, the police declaration is just one factor in the overall decision to grant a Visa."

"Is there a time limit for applying?" Mac asked.

"No specific limit, although the application is usually looked on more favourably if it's done sooner rather than later..." 

One of the other women interjected with a question of her own, eager to steer the conversation in a different direction. Mac supposed that having free access to legal advice – even for a few minutes – was an opportunity that no one would want to pass up. 

"Do you have a card?" Mac cut in. 

Bob continued to speak to the other woman but fished a business card out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and handed it to Mac.

He put the card in his pocket and helped Nadja bundle up for the chilly walk home. It was fifteen minutes to curfew and he didn't want any black marks on his record for being out late.

**

"What do you think about applying for that visa?" Mac asked.

They were back in the apartment. Nadja was naked and lying on her back on the bed while Mac – also naked - straddled her hips. Her arms were stretched above her head, her long, dark hair splayed out on the pillow. Half-lidded, blue-gray eyes looked up at him languidly. How had he ended up with such a beautiful woman? 

He ran his hot, oiled palms side by side from her navel up her abdomen and between her small breasts, feeling the soft ridges and contours of her ribcage and sternum beneath his fingers. She was still a little on the thin side, and maybe always would be, but over the course of the month she'd put on a little weight. 

When he reached the base of her neck his hands went their separate ways, following the lines of her collarbone to her shoulders, then down the outside of her ribcage at a leisurely pace until he reached her hips. She rewarded him with a quiet, satisfied sigh, and his hands began all over again.

"Mmm. Something to consider. What do you think?" she said.

He slid slippery hands over her breasts, feeling her nipples under his palms. It was hard to resist the urge to pinch them; instead he focused on applying firm, even pressure against her skin. Patience and attentiveness were the main ingredients in a good massage.

"I think you should do it. And soon, like the lawyer suggested," he said.

"But if I apply and get turned down..." she let the thought hang there. 

She didn't need to finish it – he knew what the stakes were. If they gambled and lost, she'd most likely be deported. There was no way he'd have the money to fight her deportation in court. And since the terms of his parole required him to stay within the city limits, he wouldn't even have the option to accompany her. Well, not legally in any case. Nadja was a woman he'd consider breaking the law for.

"I was thinking we could hire Bob to help with the application."

"How much would that cost?" she countered.

"A lot," he conceded, "but we could cover it. I have some savings..."

"Mac, that's all the money you have."

He smiled to himself as he continued to rub slow hands over her torso. Even a few weeks ago she wouldn't have dared disagree with him, let alone engage in a debate. But now she seemed comfortable speaking her mind; he read no anxiety in her face, only a relaxed enjoyment of his touch. He found her trust gratifying.

"I think this is something worth spending the money on."

"You're going to insist, aren't you?" she sounded resigned but not upset.

He didn't reply immediately, instead pushing his hands up along her armpits to her shoulders, biceps and triceps, focusing on her body while collecting his thoughts.

"I will never, ever force you to do anything you don't want. You know that, right?"

She gave a warm smile and tried to find his eyes with hers. "I know, Mac. Thank you for that."

There was another easy silence.

"I do have a concern with keeping things as they are now. Your legal status, I mean."

"Mmm?"

"If something happens to me – if I fuck up and get sent back to prison, or get hit by a bus – what happens to you?"

She didn't respond, but he could read in her expression that she was working the scenario through in her mind. 

"If you had this visa, then you'd have options, social services that you could turn to for help," he continued, "You could even go to the cops if you had to."

"I see what you mean," she said quietly, sounding far from convinced.

"As it stands now, you're in a vulnerable position – a heartbeat away from being back on the streets."

"But even if I wanted to apply, we'd never be able to get the declaration from the police, and Bob said that was an important factor for getting the visa."

"I think we could get the declaration," he said.

"We can't make a complaint against Aden. We have no idea where he is. I don't even know his last name," she protested.

He felt her tense up at the mention of her former pimp, and her fear of him was easy to read on her face. Mac worked his fingers over her shoulders and neck, determined to erase that tension.

"I know where he lives," he said, "Or at least, I'm pretty sure I do."

"Your memories came back?" she sounded surprised.

"No, that night in the alley is still a total blank. But I think I've figured it out just from what you told me about it."

"How?"

"Well, that evening I left the apartment to get some Tylenol. It was raining, I was in pain and it was almost curfew, so I would have taken the most direct route to the drugstore."

"That sounds reasonable."

"You told me you fled down a metal fire escape from the fourth floor, into an alley that had garbage cans in it. So a while back, on my way home from job hunting, I checked out all the alleys between here and the drugstore. Only one of them had the fire escape and the garbage cans."

"You never told me you tracked him down."

"I know Aden's your least favourite topic, so I never brought it up. There didn't seem to be a point. But now..."

"So that means...you know what building he lives in?"

"Yup. We know the building and we know the floor. And I bet we could find the room number, maybe even his last name."

"Oh?"

"The front door is secure access...there's a two-way intercom system where you can call up to the apartment in order to get the door unlocked remotely. So I figure we could use the com system to call each apartment. Eventually you'll hear Aden's voice, and at that point we'll know the apartment number and maybe his last name too. Depends what's listed in the directory in the lobby."

"And then we go straight to the police," she finished, "Not bad, Mac. It might work." 

"Well, FIRST we hire Bob and get him to represent you, THEN we go to the cops and get the declaration."

She lapsed into silence, her expression pensive. 

"Would I have to testify against him or anything like that?"

He could tell from her tone that this was just about the last thing she wanted. 

"Well, maybe. But there would be cops everywhere in court – believe me, I know. It's not like he could do anything to hurt you."

Another silence followed. He ran his slippery thumbs firmly up the undersides of her forearms, certainly in no hurry to bring the massage to a close. 

"I suppose...it couldn't hurt just to find him. Just to figure out where he is," she said, sounding very tentative.

"We'll locate him, and then we can decide what to do next. You're calling the shots here. We can go as fast or as slow as you like," he assured her.

"So...when?"

"How about Friday, after burger night?" 

Working at Maria's Grill had none nothing to diminish his appetite for hamburgers. He was their dishwasher AND their best customer.

She thought about it for a while. 

"We can go in hats and scarves, right? So even if he sees us, he won't recognize us?"

"Absolutely. We're not going to leave anything to chance. Safety first," he replied, with conviction.

"Okay, let's do it...just find him, nothing else, okay?"

"Nothing else. In and out, fast. We'll keep it nice and simple, so nothing can possibly go wrong," Mac said.

"Now you've jinxed it," she joked, and her smile returned.

**

"This is it. I recognize the smell," Nadja whispered.

It was a dark, unseasonably cold Friday evening. The two of them stood in the tiny vestibule of the Millbank Estate apartment building, wrapped from head to toe in winter clothing. Nadja clung to his arm fiercely; her body language wasn't difficult to read. The less time spent there the better. It was where Aden lived; where she'd spent four awful years.




Beginning Again Ch. 05



"The directory shows the first letter of the first name, the full last name and the apartment number," Mac replied using the same hushed tone, "There are two A's on the fourth floor. McDougall and Halloway. Either of those sound familiar?"

She shook her head.

"Okay, we'll try McDougall first," he said, then pressed the call button. There was a long, tense pause as they awaited a response.

"Yes?" came an elderly-sounding female voice from the speaker. Definitely not Aden.

"Uh...sorry ma'am. I pressed the wrong button by accident," Mac said. The lady disconnected.

"Aden Halloway it is," Mac whispered, "Let's be sure."

He pressed the call button. There was a much shorter wait.

"Hey. We're running late. She'll be down in ten," muttered a man's voice.

He heard Nadja's sharp intake of breath. No doubt about it now – it was her former pimp. They had him!

"Sorry...wrong button," Mac replied. Aden cursed and disconnected.

"Apartment four-eleven," Mac whispered.

"Great. Let's get out of here," Nadja said, already tugging him in the direction of the exit. 

She didn't need to say it twice. He quickly moved them to the door, opened it...

...and came face to face with a middle aged man hobbling towards them, leaning heavily on a wooden cane and favouring his right leg. He wore a dark trench coat to ward off the wind and chill. Probably a businessman or something.

Mac stepped back and held the door. "After you," he offered.

"Thanks. Much appreciated," came the reply. The other man hobbled past them and into the foyer of the building.

Mac tried to lead Nadja out but she stood rooted to the spot, then started to tremble violently. 

Another panic attack? Jesus, not here of all places! 

As casually as possible he slipped his arm around her waist and half-carried, half-dragged her out the door and into the frigid evening. When they were alone he spoke to her in calming tones even as he continued to bear her away from the building.

"We're going home. We'll be there in a few minutes. Just relax."

"That voice...it was him," she whimpered.

"It's okay, don't worry about Aden. He didn't see us. We'll be in the apartment before..."

"No...the man we passed...he..." she started, then her voice broke and she went quiet.

"They guy we passed just now? You know him?" Mac quickened his pace, eager to get Nadja home in case she melted down completely. At least she was walking on her own now.

She nodded. "The devil." 

"Ten minutes. We'll be home in ten minutes. He can't hurt you."

Suddenly she stopped dead. Mac tried to get her moving again but she shook off his efforts. She definitely wasn't faring well.

"Nadja, just a few more minutes. Hang in there..."

She stood still, trembling, her eyes closed, fists and jaw clenched. 

A couple of minutes passed in that state and he began to wonder if she'd gone catatonic. He just stared at her silently, helplessly, not having any idea what was wrong. Stupid! Stupid of him to bring her out here like this. He should have guessed the trauma of hearing Aden's voice again would be too much. How did the guy with the cane factor into all this?

He quickly glanced up the street, gauging the distance to his apartment. Two blocks, maybe slightly more. He could carry her, but it would attract tons of attention. He considered trying to flag down a taxi instead.

"We have to go back," she said in an even tone. She'd stopped shaking, and now seemed calmer. Maybe a little too calm, given the circumstances.

"Back?"

"To Aden's building. We have to stop that man who passed us on the way out."

"Why?"

"Aden said 'she'll be down in ten'. That means he's got another girl now. Another girl he's forcing..."

"Okay. Let's go home. Go home, call the lawyer and go to the cops right away. Tonight, I mean."

"That man we passed, his name is Gammage. He's..." she searched for the right word, then gave up and shook her head. "He needs to be stopped. Now, before he gets his hands on the new girl."

"There's a pay phone a block away. We'll call the cops." He cursed inwardly – if cell phone plans weren't so fucking expensive he'd have one and this would all be simple.

"By the time the police arrive it'll be too late. She'll already be alone and helpless at his house. Mac, he'll hurt her...in ways that won't heal."

He didn't need to ask how she knew these things; the answer was obvious. Anger welled up inside him at the thought of anyone hurting Nadja. Anger...and a new appreciation for her strength. As terrified as she clearly was of this Gammage guy, she was willing to intervene to save another girl from a horrible fate. 

How could he do any less?

"Alright. Let's get you someplace safe, then I'll hurry back and do...something," he said, looking around for someplace he could leave her. A convenience store, maybe, or a coffee shop? There were plenty of stores still open, but he didn't want to leave her someplace sketchy.

He felt her hand slide into his.

"No. We do this together." her voice was quiet, but firm.

"What? Forget it. Way too dangerous." he protested.

"There's no time, Mac," she said, and began pulling him back towards Aden's building.

"This is stupid. You can't do any good if it gets violent. I'd feel better if you were out of the way," he said.

"I'm not leaving you," she said, and it sounded final.

Reluctantly, he followed, and turned his thoughts towards the conflict to come. He figured one older guy with a bum right leg shouldn't be a big problem. He'd walk up to Gammage casually, then kick him hard in the right knee. Or maybe sucker punch him in the gut. The guy would go to the ground, they'd grab the girl, flag down a cab and go straight to the cops. Nice and simple.

Mac knew it would be an unprovoked attack; a flagrant violation of his parole. The sidewalks weren't crowded but there would still be a few witnesses to the incident. The cops would throw him in jail, but he'd get a phone call. He'd call Bob Gordon and enlist the lawyer's help getting Nadja her police declaration and eventually her visa. 

Bottom line: they'd save the girl and Nadja would probably get her visa, but he'd go back to prison on a parole violation. 

Fuck. 

Well, maybe whatever public defender got assigned to his court case would be better than the last one was. Or maybe the judge would believe the story that he was just trying to save a girl he'd never even met. Heck, the girl might even testify in his defense. Not goddamn likely, but not impossible.

It wasn't a perfect plan, but good enough. Sometimes 'good enough' was all you could ask for. He wished he could have more time to prepare, or that he were smarter, but unfortunately he'd have to play the hand he was dealt. A couple of minutes wasn't enough time to come up with anything better. 

He fished his wallet out of his back pocket as they walked, removed his cash and debit card and stuffed them into the deep pocket of Nadja's winter coat.

"Listen, you've got eighty dollars in cash. My debit card access code is one-two-nine-eight," he said in a low voice as they walked, "If anything happens and I'm not around, the very first thing you should do is withdraw six-hundred dollars from a cash machine..."

Nadja tried to stop as the implication of his words dawned on her. "Wait! Let's think about this. There's got to be some way..."

Mac pulled her forward. They were a few steps away from the walkway to the apartment foyer. There was no time, and no backing out now.

"The rent is paid until the end of next month," he continued, "After that, talk to Maria. She likes you – she'll help you."

He stopped suddenly, dragging Nadja to an abrupt halt at the end of the walkway.

The middle-aged guy – Gammage – was limping slowly down the path towards them, leaning heavily on his cane with each step. A dark-haired guy – younger and taller, wearing jeans and a white hoodie – was walking with Gammage and the two men were talking. A young girl stumbled along between them, trying to keep up.

"Jesus, she's just a kid," he said quietly.

The girl looked to be in her early teens – fifteen, tops. She was black-haired and petite – rail-thin and dressed only in a red negligee and some ill-fitting high heels. Her thin arms were folded over her chest; she had to be cold. The expression on her face was one of hopeless dread. He could see a lot of Nadja in that young girl.

The thought made him even more determined to put a stop to this.

"There are two guys with her – Gammage and a tall guy," he whispered as he awaited them at the end of the path.

"It has to be Aden," she replied, and he heard the determination in her voice waver, "he usually walked me out to the customer's car. What should we do?"

"No idea," he replied, trying desperately to sort out a strategy. A two-on-one fight was a very different scenario than what he'd prepared for!

He could take out the limping guy fast – then at least he'd only have to deal with Aden. The pimp was taller, maybe six-two, but didn't look all that beefy. And Mac didn't actually have to beat Aden...even if he kept him occupied until someone called the cops it would amount to a victory either way. Suddenly, he liked his odds a lot more.

Mac was out of time; Gammage and Aden were right in front of him, oblivious to his presence. Holding hands and bundled up as they were, Mac and Nadja looked like any other unassuming couple out for a walk. 

That would quickly change, but Mac was grateful that at least the first move would be his.

As soon as Gammage came within range, Mac unloaded his hardest punch into the older man's soft midsection. 

Completely unsuspecting and unguarded, Gammage took the full force of the blow. He squeaked, let go of the girl, doubled over and collapsed onto the pavement. 

"Take her," Mac growled, grabbing the girl's skinny arm and shoving her into Nadja. Both women stumbled off the walkway. He quickly turned back to Aden, hoping the surprise attack had caught the pimp off guard.

No such luck. A searing, shooting agony exploded on his right side just under his ribcage, a pain so intense that for a moment it consumed his awareness, shoving everything else aside. 

He'd been stabbed. 

Mac grabbed Aden's right wrist with both hands, trying to immobilize it and prevent the blade from twisting and jostling around in his guts. Aden pressed the attack, raining left-handed punches down on Mac's head and face. A few of them connected but Mac could only feel the point of the knife; it twitched and jerked inside his abdomen, doing serious harm, hurting badly enough to weaken his knees. But underneath the pain there was wrath, and as one increased so did the other.

Aden was taller, and he had the knife. But Mac was stronger – he'd spent seven years lifting weights and fighting with inmates in prison.

And Mac was angry.

He welcomed the rage – a pure, righteous, all-encompassing fury that began to drown out the burning pain of the knife wound. He looked up into the other man's eyes.

Aden was the man who had abused and dehumanized Nadja. 

Aden was the man who had subjected her to pain and humiliation and the risk of lethal disease. 

Aden was the man who had terrorized her and left her fearful and timid.

Mac snarled, gritted his teeth and tightened his grip with both hands on Aden's wrist. Tighter. Tighter. And then a slow wringing motion. 

The punches continued to land on Mac's face; his ear, his jaw, his nose...but they were clumsy now. Glancing blows. Hurried. Panicked. Aden wasn't trying to injure him anymore. Aden was trying to disengage, to escape. The knife sawed and slashed as Aden struggled to free his wrist. Mac barely felt the damage.

SNAP.

The wrist broke. The hand holding the knife handle went slack. Aden howled. Mac grinned. 

A couple more vicious twists of the ruined arm brought Aden to his knees, shrieking. Still clutching Aden's wrist with his left hand, Mac drove his right fist into the side of his opponent's head. The taller man lapsed into unconsciousness.

But Mac didn't let go. He wasn't finished – not even close. There was more damage to do. More bones to break – many, many more. And when he finished with Aden he would start on Gammage. The older man was still writhing on the ground, clutching his stomach. He would suffer for what he'd done...

He felt a hand on his shoulder and whirled, expecting an attack.

It was Nadja. 

She was saying something. She'd shed her hat and scarf – given them to the girl – and he could see her lips moving, an expression of desperate concern on her face. It gave him pause, and he dropped Aden's limp arm. 

Nadja was important. She was the only good thing in his life. He should listen to what she had to say.

He loved her.

But her voice was far away, and he couldn't make out the words. And then the world spun and she was above him, looking down at him with her beautiful, sightless eyes. Her mouth was moving but there was no sound. 

He felt cold. 

Then there was darkness.

**



Beginning Again Ch. 06: Final



Author's note:

This is the final chapter in the current saga of Nadja and Mac. Thank you all very much for reading, and for your many encouraging comments and votes – I really appreciate your feedback.

All characters are fictional adults. Medical and legal information in the story should not be considered factual.

***

Nadja lay alone in the bed she used to share with Mac.

In the wee hours of the morning, there were no sounds. No traffic on the street outside, no sounds from the other residents of the building. Even her heartbeat and the sound of her own breathing seemed muted and barely detectable. All around her, the world was dead silent.

She could scent Mac in the sheets and in the linen of the pillowcase. She ached for him. The heat of his hands on her, his breath on the back of her neck as he held her close, his body pressed against hers. His steady, reassuring presence. His voice.  

She should be sleeping. There were a dozen things she needed to do in the morning in an effort to re-assemble the shattered fragments of the life that had seemed rock-solid only twelve hours ago.

But sleep wouldn't come. Her quiet life with Mac had been invaded by paramedics and police, by lawyers and child case workers. By Aden and Gammage. They'd left everything in disarray.

It seemed so long ago – had it only been a handful of hours? The fight with Aden and Gammage. Mac, victorious, collapsing to the ground at her feet. The police, and then – an eternity later – an ambulance. 

The paramedics had taken him away, and his absence felt like a cinder block inside her chest, cold and heavy, weighing down every thought and feeling. 

The police had questions for her, of course, and even more so when Nadja had declared herself a victim of trafficking. They'd taken her to the station and pummeled her with questions, the same questions over and over, each time phrased differently. What were they looking for? Were they trying to catch her in a lie, or just being thorough in building a case against Aden and Gammage? 

It was a grueling experience to spend hours recounting – in excruciating detail – the abuse and mistreatment that Gammage and Aden had inflicted upon her. The ordeal was humiliating and soul-crushing, but well worth the suffering if those two got what they deserved. She assured the police she'd be more than willing to testify if it would help put her tormenters in prison.

And still the questions came on in waves.

During one of the breaks in the interrogation they helped her call the hospital – she was desperate for any word on Mac's condition. But she got nowhere; the hospital wouldn't release any information over the phone and wouldn't even confirm that Mac was a patient there. 

She could only pray that he was still alive and getting treatment. He was tough. He'd pull through for sure. Her heart recoiled at the thought of any other scenario.

At least they'd rescued the girl – a fourteen-year-old named Isa. Whatever devastation the night had wrought in Nadja's life and in Mac's, they'd denied Gammage his sadistic pleasure with Isa and removed her from Aden's callous influence.

It was something, anyway. The silver lining on a thundercloud.

When the police had run out of different ways to ask the same question, one of them was kind enough to drive Nadja home. She'd eaten some toast, showered and climbed into an empty bed.

Sleep wouldn't come.

***

In hindsight, sleep would have been a good idea.

Maria's Grill opened to the public at seven in the morning. Nadja was waiting outside at six when Maria arrived to unlock the door.

She felt fuzzy-headed from lack of sleep, but the early-morning chill in the air helped to wake her up. At least she was warm, dressed in the bulky winter wear that Mac had bought for her.

"Nadja? Is Mac here already?" Maria asked, cheery and energetic even before the crack of dawn.

Nadja has spent plenty of time with the vivacious older woman over the weeks and had come to genuinely like and admire her. Hard-working and infallibly friendly, the brightness of her disposition seemed to infuse everyone around her with happiness. Nadja felt the urge to smile at the sound of Maria's voice, even with the weight of the past twelve hours pressing down on her. The urge passed quickly.

"No...he's...it's complicated. Is there someplace we can talk?" Nadja replied.

"What's wrong?" Maria asked, and from the concern in her voice there was no doubt she'd picked up on Nadja's miserable tone.

She heard the jingle of keys and the clatter of the front door being unlocked.

"Come inside. I need to get things ready, but no one else should be here for half an hour or so," Maria said.

The scent of the place – grease and remnants of cooked meat – was somehow familiar and welcome. The restaurant was normally bustling with life and noise and activity – the emptiness and silence was incongruous with her memories of time spent there. 

"Mac...was injured last night. Badly," Nadja began, then stopped. Saying the words aloud made them real. Grief slammed into her without warning, smashing through her fatigue-weakened defenses. She sobbed, then caught herself and tried to reassert control. 

She almost had it back when Maria swooped in and wrapped her up in a tight, warm hug. 

"Is he okay?" the older woman asked, alarmed.

"I don't know. Nobody will tell me anything," Nadja whimpered, then broke into helpless tears. The battle lost, she wept, allowing Maria to hold her tight.

The story came out then, ugly and raw and mixed with sniffles and sobs. Her sordid history. How Mac had saved her. How they'd grown close. The possibility of a visa and their decision to find Aden as a result. How she'd pressured Mac last night to save Isa from a night with Gammage. The fight.

She heard the front door open and close as cooks and servers arrived to begin the morning shift. Nadja couldn't imagine what they must have thought of her, but Maria seemed unperturbed, quietly directing her staff even as she continued to hold Nadja tightly against her.

"Mac is a good man – I knew it right from the start. The moment I set eyes on him I said to myself 'here is a good man. A strong man'," Maria said in a quiet voice. Words meant for Nadja alone.

Nadja nodded, then gently pulled back from Maria's generous embrace. She felt stronger now; she'd regained her emotional footing.

"I just wanted you to know...I'm not sure when he'll be back on his feet." Nadja forced herself to say 'when' and not 'if'. 

"I'm sure he'll be up in no time. He's built like a bull!" Maria said, and Nadja was grateful for the conviction in the older woman's voice.

"Thank you. I know you're busy, so I won't interrupt..."

"Please, sit! Eat! You're so skinny! How do you expect to survive the winter if you don't eat?" Maria admonished in a tone of mock concern. Nadja felt the older woman grasp her shoulder warmly. "Have a big breakfast and let me make some calls. I know people..."

Nadja was herded into a booth near the kitchen. A few minutes later Maria pushed a mug of coffee in front of her, followed shortly by a stack of pancakes and a side of bacon. As always, the portion sizes were enormous. Nadja forced herself to eat.

Almost an hour later, Maria slid into the booth next to her and took Nadja's hands in her own.

"My sister Sophia is a paralegal. She's coming now to speak to you," Maria said in a quiet voice so as not to be overheard. The restaurant was already raucous with the noises of the breakfast crowd.

"Thank you so much. You're so kind to me and to Mac," Nadja said.

There was a pause that was just long enough to be awkward.

"Nadja, I'll do whatever I can to help you, and to help Mac, you understand? Just ask me if there is anything..."

Nadja nodded, sensing the approach of bad news in the older woman's hesitant tone.

"But, well...I mean, I can't operate the Grill without a dishwasher. Do you see what I'm getting at? If he's injured and can't work..."

When she realized what Maria meant, Nadja's spirits sank. It took her a few moments to find the words and the tone to conceal her bitter disappointment.

"I understand, and I'm sure Mac would as well. You've got a business to run..."

"If I could hold the job for him, I would," Maria interjected, squeezing Nadja's hands, "If he's back in two or three days we could manage without him until then. But if it's going to be much longer than that, I need to find a replacement."

Nadja nodded again. What else could she do?

"Have some more toast, more coffee. On the house, of course. Sophia will be here soon and you can ask her anything – immigration law, how to deal with the police, anything! She's so smart. I have to run out for supplies, but she'll be here soon."

Maria gave her a final squeeze and then slid out of the booth, leaving Nadja alone with her increasingly grim thoughts. Mac's job – the one she'd helped him find – was gone.

She wondered if that would become the least of her worries.

***

"I don't understand how you could let him go free," Nadja said in stunned disbelief.

There was a long pause as the officer – Sergeant Everett – considered what he wanted to say. He'd brought Nadja into an interview room to give her the news: Gammage had been released without charge. A slap in the face would have been kinder and less painful.

"There was insufficient evidence to lay a charge," he said lamely.

"But Isa...she was forced to be a prostitute. She's only fourteen."

"Mr. Gammage claimed that he'd never seen her or Mr. Halloway before, that they were just walking out of the building together."

"And you believed that?" Nadja tried to hold her tone in check. Anger and frustration wouldn't improve her situation. She still needed the police to sign a declaration to say she'd been the victim of trafficking so she could get her visa. Burning bridges wasn't an option for her.

"No, of course not. But it doesn't matter what we believe, it matters what we can prove," he said. His voice was flat, as though he were reading to her from a textbook.

"You know what he did to me. The police took my statement."

"Again, without evidence we didn't have anything that we could put in front of a judge."

Nadja was silent, fighting back rage and a rising feeling of despair. Mac had told her once that justice was for the rich, and his cynical views were borne out by her experiences so far. A bad omen...

"This makes it very dangerous for me," she said in a whisper. Would Gammage hunt her down? He'd been brutally sadistic even when he was happy – what would he be like angry? She shuddered at the thought. One more terrible problem thrust upon her.

"There's more," the sergeant said hesitantly. Nadja recognized the tone and braced for more pain. "Mr. Gammage is pressing charges against Mr. Dagnall. He claims he was the victim of an unprovoked assault. Witnesses corroborate his version of events..."

"You're charging Mac?" she asked, and her outrage was coupled by an unexpected and bizarre surge of relief. Mac was alive! That news alone was a bright light in the midst of a very dark day. "Even after he saved Isa?"

"I know he felt he was doing the right thing," Everett offered blandly, "but he shouldn't have taken the law into his own hands."

"And I suppose Aden goes free too?" She didn't try to keep the bitterness out of her tone.

"Oh no...Aden won't be going anywhere. We searched his apartment early this morning. There's lots of evidence and we're still sorting through it all, but there's no doubt that he's involved in trafficking and prostitution. As you say, Isa is a minor, so that adds to the seriousness of the offenses."

Nadja was quiet, not trusting herself to react to the news. Isa was safe and Aden was going to be punished. On the other hand, Gammage was free and Mac was going back to prison. Should she be happy? Furious? Was this justice?

She felt Everett lean closer. "I should also say that we found...evidence...to support your claim that you were a victim of trafficking. There shouldn't be any problem getting you the declaration you wanted. I'll process it myself, after the investigation is complete." He sounded happy to be able to offer her that much.

Another crazy blend of elation and dread swirled around inside her, jumbled up.

"What evidence?"

"Well," the officer hesitated as though searching for the right words, "there were...pictures. Documentation. That sort of thing."

Pictures? She'd forgotten the pictures; she couldn't see them, so they existed in her memory as shutter-click noises or computerized beeps. At the time, they'd seemed like minor humiliations when stacked next to everything else she'd been forced to endure. 

But there had been pictures. Pictures of her sucking and fucking. Posing. Begging. Gagging. Crying. Different men, different acts. So many pictures.

And now the police were sorting through them, examining them. Entering them into evidence, to be presented at Aden's trial in front of a judge and a courtroom full of people. Had Sergeant Everett seen those pictures? Was he recalling them even now as he interviewed her? Would Maria see them? 

Would Mac?

"I see," she said quietly. A flush of mortification burned her face. She felt stripped and exposed. It was hopeless. The Whore would follow her all her days.

Mercifully, there was no more news and the officer led her back to the foyer of the police station. He offered to get her a cab but she declined. She wanted to get to the hospital to check up on Mac, but needed a pause to regain herself first. 

Lack of sleep and wild swings of emotion had left her feeling raw and unsteady. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. Instead, she found a molded plastic seat and sat with her face in her hands and tried to fight through the hurt and confusion. She didn't know what to focus on. Her life – and Mac's – was in shambles.

Nadja took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She'd heard Mac do it so many times. She began to count in a whisper. Breathe. Count. After a few minutes she began to feel a little more stable. 

"Are you okay, miss?"

The man's voice was in front of her, above her. She realized how pitiful she must have appeared and sat up in her chair.

"I'm fine, officer, thank you," she replied in a tone that wasn't at all convincing.

She heard the man slide into a seat next to her.

"I'm not an officer. Dan Fowler, nice to meet you," he said. There was an easy familiarity in his voice that she immediately distrusted. It was a tone that invited her to open herself, to engage him.

She tried to find his eyes based on where his voice was. It was fitting that with the kind of day she was having that she'd have to fend off the advances of a strange man – in a police station, no less. Just the latest indignity.

"I'm not interested, thank you," she said, aiming for a tone that was assertive but not unkind.

To her surprise, he chuckled.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not asking you out," he said, "You look like you could use a little help. Anything I can do?"

It was Nadja's turn to laugh, but hers was bitter and humourless.

"A monster is walking around free, and a good man is going to prison. So what can you do? Are you a judge?" her tone was mocking, caustic. She didn't care. What kind of man tried to pick up a woman in a police station, anyway?

"Sounds like quite a story. And no, I'm not a judge – I work for the Tribune. I'm a journalist."

"And you hang around the police station 'helping' young women?" 

"Not usually, no. I'm here to interview one of the officers for a story, but he's tied up and won't be around for a bit. I've got some time to kill...why not tell me what's bothering you?"

Nadja paused. If he was feeding her a line, it was a good one. Very believable. 

"How will that help me?" she asked. The harsh edge was gone from her voice.

"If it's a good story, I might write it up and put it in the paper. Maybe someone who reads it will be able to help you."

She was silent as she faced him. If he was telling the truth – and that was by no means certain – his reasoning made some sense. Surely someone out there would want to help her keep Gammage off the streets and keep Mac out of prison? 

But there were downsides, too. There would be no way to sugar-coat the truth about her; Nadja the Whore would be exposed for all to see. Could she bear to be out in public if everyone saw her for who she was? The scrutiny would be uncomfortable and humiliating for her, and perhaps for Mac too. Would he want her around if everyone they passed knew the truth about her? 

Of course, with his injury and pending prison time, his reputation might be the very least of his worries.

"Can I think about it?" she asked guardedly.

"Absolutely. I'll give you my card," she heard movement and he pressed a small rectangle of stiff paper into her hand, "Or...uh...if you can't read the number I can give it to you out loud?" Obviously he'd noticed her blindness.

"I'll need to check with Mac...my boyfriend," she said, "but I'll be in touch. Thank you."

She stood up, found her way to the reception desk and asked them to get a taxi for her. The day was slipping away and she hadn't even been to the hospital yet. 

***

She arrived at the hospital late in the afternoon. Her chat with Sophia and her ordeal at the police station had eaten away most of the day. 

She hadn't been able to get any information about Mac's condition over the phone, but she figured maybe showing up in person would make a difference.

The cab driver was kind enough to guide her to the reception desk in the lobby of the hospital. She could hear a fair number of people about – it was a busy place.

"I'd like to see a patient you have here. He was admitted last night," Nadja said to the receptionist.

"What's the patient's name?" the woman asked in a bored but businesslike tone.

"Michael Dagnall." It felt strange to use his real name. He'd always been Mac to her, and always would be.

There was a pause. Nadja could hear mouse clicks and typing.

"He's on Two South. Visiting hours there are ten to four. You'll need to come back tomorrow," the woman said. 

Nadja dared to hope that this was good news. If there were visiting hours, wouldn't that mean that Mac wasn't on death's doorstep or in a coma? They wouldn't admit visitors to someone in life-threatening danger, right?

"Thank you," she said, "But...would it be okay if I saw him for just a few minutes? Just a quick..."

"Ten to four, hon. They need their rest up there."

"But Mac...Michael...might be worried. I need to see him..."

"Look, miss. I understand, but hospital policy..."

"You're looking for Michael Dagnall?" asked another woman. The voice came from the same direction as the receptionist. 

"Yes, I really need to see him."

"Your name wouldn't be Nadja by any chance?" the second woman asked.

"Yes, why?"

"This is the guy I was telling you about," the second woman said in a hushed tone to the receptionist, "Let me take her up. He's driving us crazy up there."

"You'll sign her in?" the receptionist asked, obviously reluctant to allow the breach of protocol.

"Sure."

There was another pause, then Nadja heard the second woman's voice again.

"Come with me, Nadja."

"Could you please lead me?" she asked.

The woman took Nadja gently by the elbow and led her slowly out of the reception area, through a door and down a hallway.

"I'm Beth. I'm a ward clerk on Two South," the woman said, "You have no idea how happy I am to see you."

It was a puzzling comment, but the tone in Beth's voice sounded genuine.

"Is Mac okay?"

"He's stable. The surgery went well and he's...resting. Sort of."

Nadja felt a chill. How badly injured was he? "Is he going to be okay?"




Beginning Again Ch. 06: Final



"He should make a full recovery," Beth assured her, "assuming the nurses don't smother him with a pillow first. When I came off shift they were talking about drawing straws..."

"What do you mean?"

"He woke up at eight this morning, and ever since then he's been driving everyone crazy. 'Where's Nadja?'...'call my apartment'...'call Maria'...'call the police'...'check the other hospitals'. He's been pestering the nurses pretty much non-stop all day, trying to find you."

"Really?"

"He tried to get out of bed twice. The first time he fell on his head and we had to get doctors involved to re-check his injuries, re-do the IVs, the whole thing. A huge hassle for everyone."

"Oh no! Was he okay?"

"Apparently so, because he tried it again a few hours later. This time one of the nurses caught him in the act and was able to restrain him. He's pretty weak post-surgery. So now we've got nurses keeping a near-constant eye on him in addition to making more phone calls than a telemarketing company."

The were in a stairwell now, footsteps echoing as they climbed to the second floor.

"What are his injuries?"

"I'm not supposed to say – patient privacy and all. You can ask him yourself. The docs seemed to think he'd be okay."

"Thank you for letting me see him. This really means a lot," Nadja said.

"Seriously, if you can settle him down it would be appreciated. The job's hard enough, you know? And we're getting complaints from the other patients."

"I'm sorry. I'll do my best."

Beth led her to a stop shortly after reaching Two South. 

"You'll never guess who I found!" Beth crowed, the glee obvious in her voice.

"Are you Nadja?" answered another female voice.

"Good guess," Beth answered for her. Nadja began to feel self-conscious, like a minor celebrity. 

"Thank God. I think I've aged five years today," the other nurse said. She didn't sound like she was joking. The two women led Nadja down another hallway and into a room.

"We found Nadja," the nurse announced as they entered.

Nadja could hear relieved muttering and sarcastic applause from the other patients in the room. To judge by the sounds, there were three others besides Mac.

"Nadja! Jesus Christ, where have you been? What happened?"

The sound of his voice – his tone one of immense relief and frustration – filled her with joy. She didn't trust herself to say anything as the nurse led her to his bedside – emotions were too close to the surface. 

Instead, she reached out, searching for him. She felt him take her hand and give it a firm squeeze. She drew his hand up and kissed it gently, then decided it wasn't enough. Moving carefully, she leaned in and found his face with her fingertips, and then pressed her lips to his. 

She couldn't remember the last time she'd kissed someone. Plenty of men had kissed her, of course, and she'd endured those kisses out of necessity. But the last time she'd sought a man's lips with her own? Eagerly and passionately? Never before. 

She vowed it would happen more often from now on.

He kissed her back, and his hands found their way into her hair. She loved his hands on her, always warm and strong. Always gentle. She pressed against him a little more...

They were interrupted by a very loud and deliberate throat-clearing noise from behind her. Nadja pulled back, but didn't release Mac's hand. The grumbling from the other patients had become less grouchy and more amused. As a sense of time and place returned, Nadja blushed and looked over her shoulder at the nurse and Beth.

"Sorry. I was...worried," she said with an embarrassed grin.

"I can see that," the nurse said in a voice laced with sarcasm, "You've got half an hour, then we really need to wrap this up. Understood?" 

"Yeah. This is great – thanks again," Mac said in an unsteady voice.

Beth pulled a chair to the bedside for Nadja, and then left the room with the nurse. 

Aware that there were others in the room, Nadja leaned in close and spoke in a near-whisper.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"A thousand times better now that I know you're safe," he said, and the relief in his voice validated his words.

"No pain?"

"Lots of pain – but only when I move. Or breathe. What the hell happened last night?"

"You don't remember?"

"Nope. I remember leaving the Grill with you. We were going to check out Aden's apartment. Next thing I know, I wake up here with a bunch of goddamn tubes sticking out of me. They said they had to put my liver back together."

"There was a fight..." Nadja told him about their visit to Aden's building, their encounter with Gammage, her insistence on saving Isa, the fight. She also told him about the aftermath; the police, the fates of Aden, Gammage and Isa. She didn't tell him about the pictures – not yet. There would be plenty of time for that.

He was silent for a few minutes after she'd finished recounting the last twenty-four hours.

"I figured...when I couldn't remember...that there had been a fight," he said, "And today, when I couldn't find you – you weren't at home and the fucking cops were no help at all – I started to think maybe Aden had taken you again and that you needed help."

She kissed his hand again, understanding now why he'd been so desperate to find her. She should have come sooner to visit him; should have realized the fight would have caused him a memory lapse. She hated that she'd made him worry so much.

"How long until you're better?" she asked.

"They say I'm stuck here for the next six or seven days. Then I can go home, but they said I won't be able to work for a week after that, and I might not be one-hundred percent again for six months or more."

"That long?" 

"Yeah."

"Mac...I spoke with Maria this morning..."

"I've been trying to call her today, but she's been out. I wanted to tell her she'd need to find another dishwasher."

She was grateful that she didn't have to deliver the bad news herself. Mac had figured it out on his own.

"I'm sorry Mac. I know the job was important to you," Nadja said. He squeezed her hand in response.

"That's not the biggest problem," he said, his voice quiet, "A cop came by this afternoon and served me a Notice to Appear. They're charging me with simple assault. Court date's in a couple of weeks. Makes more sense now that I know the whole story."

"It's not fair!" she said.

"Nope."

"We can fight it in court, right?"

"We can," he said, "but they can revoke my parole even if I beat the charge. Fighting is a violation of the parole conditions."

"I feel terrible. This is all my fault," Nadja said, suddenly gloomy.

"Yeah. Your fault that Aden's going to prison. Your fault that a little girl is getting the help she needs. Shame on you," he said pointedly.

"My fault that you got hurt. My fault that you might get sent back to prison" 

"Maybe. A fair trade-off, I'd say." 

The sat together in silence for a few minutes more, and she enjoyed the closeness. Nadja could feel herself drawing strength from his nearness, and she hoped she was giving the same kind of boost to Mac. 

"I never told you...about Gammage. About what he did to me," she said, keeping her voice low.

She didn't want to share that part of herself with Mac. Telling the police had been awful enough, but they were strangers. Their opinions of her didn't matter very much. Mac's opinion meant everything – she couldn't bear to seem pathetic or pitiful in his eyes.

"You can tell me if you want," he replied in the same low tone, "Or not. Whatever you're comfortable with."

"It's important that you know why I asked you to risk so much to save Isa."

"I hope you didn't have to try too hard to convince me to save a little kid," he said, "I'd like to think it was an easy choice to make."

She smiled and hugged his hand to her cheek.

"You were really brave," she said. 

Eventually he spoke again, and his tone was steady but resigned.

"Okay, let's get down to business. You need to contact the lawyer, get that visa application started..."

"I already called Bob. We're meeting Monday."

"Great! You also need to empty my bank account. I don't know what they did with my wallet, but I'll give you my bank card..."

"You gave it to me last night, but...you're going to need your savings to get a lawyer," she protested.

"I can get a public defender for free – not that it'll make a damn bit of difference. Plus, the hospital's going to come after that money soon enough. I don't have insurance, and this stay is going to cost a fortune."

"How much will the hospital cost?"

"Tens of thousands. So get that money out of my account and into your pocket. I guarantee you're going to need it more than they do."

Things were going from bad to worse. He'd lost his health and would soon lose his savings and his freedom. Had it been worth it?

"Okay, if you think that's best," she said. It didn't feel right, pillaging Mac's savings while he was in the hospital...or heading to prison. But she couldn't fault his logic – she would need the money. Until her visa came in, she wasn't even eligible to work.

"Good. There's maybe twenty-two, twenty-three hundred dollars in there. Take out six hundred per day until it's gone – that's the maximum you can get per day. Whatever happens to me, the cash will keep you afloat for a few months..."

"NOTHING is going to happen to you," she said, filling her voice with as much determination as she could muster. Somehow, she would find a way to protect him, the way he'd always protected her. "Look, I met a man at the police station. He says he's a reporter for The Tribune. He said maybe he could do a story on us, and it might help..."

"Forget it!" Mac said in a voice filled with derision, "It figures one of those fucking vultures would get wind of this. He just wants to make a few bucks off our misery. They're worse than the goddamn lawyers."

"You don't think that maybe, if people knew..."

"People wouldn't give a shit one way or the other. Hell, the reporter would probably make US out to be the bad guys. Anything to sell a few more papers. He probably hangs out at the police station just looking for crap like this to write about."

"I guess...you may be right," Nadja said reluctantly. A part of her wondered what in his past had turned Mac so fiercely against journalists. Whatever had happened, it had clearly left a scar.

Then the nurse came back and the visit was over. Nadja vowed to return the next day during visiting hours, and Mac promised the nurse he wouldn't be any more trouble.

As she was being led back down to the reception area, Nadja's mind worked furiously. There was no way she'd allow them to take Mac back to prison. She'd save him – whatever the cost.

***

She lay in bed. She was desperately tired; depleted physically and emotionally. Still, sleep wouldn't come.

How to keep Mac out of prison? Her brain wouldn't let her rest until she had the answer, but in her sleep-deprived state she wasn't making much headway. And that assumed there was an answer – maybe there were no options. Maybe it was hopeless. Maybe, by pressing charges against Mac, Gammage had succeeded in hurting her one final time.

A part of her mind – a small but growing part – thought she should move on. Accept that Mac was going to prison and focus on what she would need to do to stay alive until he got out. But how long would that be? His original sentence had been three years but his temper had managed to extend his sentence by a further four. What if the same scenario repeated itself here?

He could be in prison for weeks, months or years. 

So should she focus on the near-hopeless task of keeping Mac out of prison or on the depressing possibility that he might be absent from her life for an extended period of time?

She ran through the options in her head, from the reasonable ones like asking Maria or Sophia for help and pleading with the trial judge to give Mac a second chance, to crazy options like sneaking Mac out of the hospital and making a run for the border.  

No matter which hypothetical path she ventured down, the result was the same – Mac was in prison and she was alone and struggling to survive in a world where Gammage roamed free and might be seeking her out.

Hopeless.

Except...what if Dan Fowler had been right? What if there was someone out there who could help them, if only they knew the whole story? 

It would be utter, total humiliation for her to be known to the world as a whore, and once done it could never be undone. But what if, somehow, someone read the story and decided to help? Wouldn't that be, in Mac's words, a 'fair trade-off'?

Maybe she could convince Mac to change his mind and get him to back down from his vehement opposition to the idea? On some matters she'd been able to sway him, but he could be stubborn, and if he dug his heels in that would be it. 

Given how strongly he felt about the subject, she knew it was unlikely she'd convince him. He'd said no and that was that. The decision was his, and she needed to respect it and find some other way. It certainly wasn't her place to question his decisions.

Or...

Or...she could call Dan.

She could call Dan and do the interview. 

She could defy Mac's wishes and ignore his heated objections. She could do the interview, bare her soul and pray for help.

Mac would hate it. He'd be angry at her, maybe furious. He'd never been really mad at her and she had no idea how it would feel or how she'd respond. Even if he forgave her for doing the interview, how would he react to the woman in his life being publicly and widely revealed as an ex-prostitute?

What other option was there? Nothing else had a realistic chance of success.

Passive obedience to Mac's wishes was no longer an option.

She would sleep, then she'd ask the building manager to read Dan's number off the business card. She'd call Dan, do the interview, and find some way to live with the shame and with Mac's anger and possible rejection.

It was a terrible plan, but at least it offered hope.

Nadja slept.

***

When Nadja arrived on Two South at ten o'clock the next morning, a nurse told her that Mac was sleeping. Still, she led Nadja to his shared room, mentioning that he'd been an absolute saint since her visit the night before. Before long Nadja was settled into a comfortable chair at his bedside, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. 

The other voices in the room were quiet; if not for the occasional cough or rustling of bedsheets, she wouldn't have been able to hear the other patients. She could almost pretend that she was alone with Mac.

She didn't wake him. Doubtless he needed rest to recover from his injury. Besides, Nadja could use the extra time to decide how to explain to Mac that she'd already phoned Dan and given her story, in spite of Mac's wishes on the matter. It wasn't a conversation she was looking forward to.

Her first call had been to the Tribune, to make sure that there was indeed a Dan Fowler who worked there. After that, the building manager had been kind enough to come up and read his number off the business card, and Nadja had interrupted his breakfast with a phone call.

He'd interviewed her over the phone, and Nadja gave him everything. She told him about her years with Aden and her night of terror with Gammage, about her escape from Aden's apartment and Mac's timely rescue. 

Throughout her narrative Dan wasn't a passive listener – he interrupted frequently, digging into the details of her story, asking about her mindset and her feelings about different aspects of her behaviour and Aden's. 

Nadja didn't hold back, though some of the questions took her back to places and events that she would have preferred to leave in the past. Discussing her time with Gammage had been especially difficult but she was careful to include every detail. Even when she would try to gloss over a painful memory, Dan relentlessly chipped away until he'd uncovered the specific details.

It got easier when she told him about her time with Mac, about his struggles and hers, culminating in the violent confrontation with Aden and the resulting legal, financial and medical repercussions for herself and for Mac.

It had been a long, exhausting phone call, and at the end of it Dan called it an incredible story – he couldn't wait to write it. He told her he needed to fact-check with his contacts in the police; he couldn't simply accept everything she said as the truth. There were journalistic standards.

And he insisted on interviewing Mac.

She'd explained that Mac wasn't likely to agree to an interview, but Dan asked her to try to convince him; the story would 'read' better if it included his perspective as well.

And so Nadja had wracked her brain to come up with the words that would not only diffuse Mac's certain anger at her disregard for his wishes but also convince him to participate in the very interview he'd refused to consider in the first place.

Too soon, he began to stir.

"Glad you made it back," he said in a voice rough with disuse.

"How do you feel?" Nadja asked. Her hand found his and held on tightly.

"Better. A little stronger, not as much pain."

"Do you need anything? Can I get you a coffee?"

He chuckled. "No, I'm not allowed to eat or drink anything that tastes good or makes me happy. The nurses here are sadists." 

She was glad to hear the humour back in his voice; all the setbacks of the last couple of days hadn't crushed his spirits. She felt awful that she was about to ruin his improved mood.

"Well, make sure you do exactly what they say and you'll be back to eating Maria's burgers in no time."

"That's the dream," he quipped.

"It's going to happen, don't doubt it."

"What makes you so sure?" he countered, half-joking.

She sensed her opening, took a steadying breath, and dove in.

"I called the reporter this morning – the one I told you about. I gave him the whole story."

There was a dreadful silence that seemed to go on for several minutes. She knew the long pause meant he was angry and struggling to manage his reaction. There was nothing for her to do but sit quietly, hold his hand and wait for him to process what she'd done.

"You knew how I felt about that," he said, his voice low but controlled.

"Yes, I know. But I felt it was the only option. I won't lose you, Mac. I'll fight with every weapon I can find."

She heard him let out a long breath. More anger management. Nothing was said for three or four minutes. She waited. 

"Okay," he said at last in a voice that was more resigned than upset, "So, you gave him the story. What did he say?"

"He said it was a good story and that he wanted to write it. But..." she trailed off, uncertain of the best way to tell him the rest.

"But?"

"He wants to hear your side of it too. He wants to interview you."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"I told him to come here today around noon."

"Nadja, have you lost your mind?" Mac growled, "What makes you think I'm going to tell this guy anything?"

"Because...I'm asking you to. I think this will help both of us. I know you disagree, but I think we should at least give it a shot. Please?"

"Jesus, Nadja," he snapped, then lapsed into silence. 

The pause that followed lasted so long that Nadja decided she had to re-start the conversation somehow. But how? Usually the best approach with Mac was to give him time to adjust, breathe and count. She'd never found a short-cut that worked. She tried to figure out some way in.

Suddenly he laughed. 

It was such an unexpected noise that for a second she didn't believe she'd heard it. Then he squeezed her hand reassuringly and she knew her ears hadn't been mistaken.

"It used to be you'd never disobey. Even if you didn't want to do it or didn't like it, you wouldn't dare refuse." He sounded amused and...pleased?




Beginning Again Ch. 06: Final



She smiled, remembering their earliest days together.

"Right about now you probably miss those days," she said.

"Nope. Truth is, I like this a lot more, even if it means you're going to be a huge pain in the ass from now on," he said, then chuckled again.

Her smile widened and she felt her way forward until her lips were next to his ear.

"You can still spank me when I'm bad," she whispered, then pressed a kiss to his earlobe.

"Count on it!" he said, none too quietly.

She sat back in the chair.

"And you have to be POLITE to the reporter," she added, belatedly, "He's not going to write nice things about you if you cuss him out."

"Jesus, all these goddamn RULES!" he fumed in mock exasperation.

***

The story broke in The Tribune the day before Mac was scheduled to be released from the hospital.

Dan had called to warn her the previous day, cautioning her to expect a response, although exactly what that response would be, he couldn't say. There was no way to predict, he'd said. Different stories evoked different reactions from the public. 

The day started with an early-morning call from Maria. She'd seen the picture of Nadja and Mac on the front page, read the story, and loved it. She said it made them look like heroes, and she thought Nadja was so brave to have survived such an ordeal, and so noble to have risked that much to save a young girl from the same. Maria also said she'd be making a donation to Mac's medical/legal fund as suggested at the bottom of the story.

The fund had been Dan's idea – he said that when people were moved by a story they liked to be able to do something to make a difference, and the fund would give them a tangible way to help. Mac had opposed the whole notion of accepting hand-outs from strangers, but Nadja had coaxed him around to a different way of thinking.

Nadja arrived at the hospital by cab at ten o'clock to find the staff on Two South buzzing about the story. The nurses and ward clerks crowded around, offered hugs and handshakes and voiced their support. 

The patients that shared Mac's room gave a non-sarcastic round of applause when one of the ward clerks led her to Mac's bedside, which Nadja soon learned was adorned with several stuffed animals and an impressive thicket of Mylar and foil balloons that swayed at the end of long ribbons anchored to the floor with walnut-sized weights.

"Where in that goddamn story did it say I wanted a bunch of teddy bears?" he grumbled as she settled into the now-familiar chair next to his bed. 

She picked up one of the soft, plush animals and smiled. A lovely gesture of support, but Mac clearly wasn't a 'teddy bear' kind of man.

"I bet there are some children here at the hospital who'd love them," she said.

He couldn't agree fast enough, and the staff began re-directing any incoming toys to the kids. 

Nadja and Mac spent the morning together, taking the kind words and congratulations in stride. Mostly they just enjoyed one another and the simple pleasure of being together. Mac read the paper aloud to Nadja, including the article in which they'd been featured. It was factual and portrayed them in a good light, even if it was overly dramatic in places.

It was in the afternoon that things began to get crazy.

Dan stopped in to tell them that the response to the story had been insane and that he was fielding calls from other news organizations who wanted interviews with the two of them. He described how the story was 'going viral' on 'social media', then spent a fair amount of time describing both those concepts to Mac and to Nadja.

He told them that a petition to pardon Mac was circulating online and had garnered more than twelve-thousand signatures. He showed Mac some online comments on a 'tablet', and Mac read aloud the ones most complimentary of Nadja. A few of the comments brought tears of pride to her eyes. People online were so kind and supportive!

Dan also mentioned that he'd spoken to his police contacts and learned that Gammage had been arrested; apparently several women had read the story and come forward with complaints similar to the one that Nadja had filed. The police were searching his home and the early results were described to him as 'revealing'. He also mentioned that Aden was being offered a deal in exchange for identifying other people involved in the trafficking ring that had enslaved Isa.

He'd be reporting both those developments the next day in The Tribune.

With all the extra attention from so many people, Mac didn't feel comfortable with Nadja going back to the apartment alone – too many weirdos out there, he said – and he was able to convince the nurse in charge to allow Nadja to stay at the hospital overnight on a cot. Nadja didn't protest; with all the chaos and instability, she wanted to stick close by Mac in case a problem came up and he needed her help.

'Ex-con, former prostitute expose child trafficking ring' was the headline the next day. Front page. 

And just like that, their world exploded into a chaotic rush of interviews and pictures, celebrity and scrutiny. It was too much, too big for either of them, and it was all they could do to cling together and try to ride out the media storm.

***

Epilogue:

Nadja closed her eyes and enjoyed the early-morning thrills and shivers as Mac's tongue slid slowly, expertly over her clit. He seemed to know exactly where to lick, how hard, and for how long. He'd made the last year a study of her body and her reactions to his touch, and she'd come to crave his mouth. His hands. All of him.

She sat on the edge of their queen-sized bed holding his face gently between her palms, unwilling to allow his mouth to drift away from her sex. Maybe in a few minutes she'd be ready to lie back, spread wide and surrender to his cock, but for the time being she wanted nothing more than to feel his hot, slippery tongue on her pussy and to feel her own body warm and soak in response. 

There was an orgasm inside her waiting to happen, she was sure of it. It hadn't surfaced yet, but it was close, and one of these days she knew it would erupt. During the twelve months she'd known Mac he'd gradually rekindled her dormant libido and coaxed her climax ever closer with a combination of enthusiasm, skill and patience.

Her positive HPV test had been a bump in the road, but not a big one, and once Mac got himself vaccinated he'd made it his mission to acquaint his tongue with all her erogenous zones. He'd more than made up for lost time.

"Just a little longer," she whispered, stroking her fingers through his hair.

His response – a satisfied hum – assured her he wasn't in any hurry to finish. He loved her taste and enjoyed pleasing her with his lips and tongue.

After a few minutes she lifted his face away from her slit and pressed a slow kiss to his mouth. The scent and taste of her own juices didn't bother her too much and the feel of Mac's lips on hers – the hunger and passion she felt in his kiss – made her quiver inside. She let her hands drop, fingers seeking out his erection.

"Do we have time?" she asked in a breathless voice.

"Fuck yeah," he growled. 

His shift at the Grill didn't start until almost seven o'clock. Even so, she didn't want to make him late. He was a cook – the place couldn't open without him. On the weekdays the morning crowd was hungry and hurried so lateness wasn't an option. Maria had invested a lot of responsibility in Mac. And although his parole was completed – his lawyers had successfully petitioned to have the sentence shortened – Mac still needed the job.

He put his hands on her shoulders and pressed her back onto the mattress. She spread her legs wantonly; her need for his cock was urgent. He paused just long enough to roll on a condom and lower his lips to hers again, then slowly eased inside her. She was wet and slippery and his hard shaft triggered shocks and pulses of intense pleasure as it filled her.

The powerful feelings Mac had evoked in her over the past year – combined with some professional counseling – had first weakened, then destroyed the residual influence that her old life held over their lovemaking. Aden and Gammage were the past; Mac had staked an irrefutable claim to her present and future. 

The fact that her former tormentors were serving prison terms further solidified Mac's position in her life.

He began a slow, rocking rhythm, restrained and gentle at first to give her time to open and accommodate him but soon faster and harder. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head lower so she could kiss his ear and trace the lobe with her tongue. 

Nadja loved his sounds – his gasps and groans, breath panting as his exertion increased. Loved the scent of his skin and the sex-and-sweat fragrance of their combined arousal. His heat. His touch. The taste of him. The feel of him pounding in and out of her pussy. Mac was familiar and welcome in a way no one else had ever been.

When he came, he thrust deep inside her, muscles locking. She could feel his cock twitching and pulsing in her tight channel, an intimate sensation and one that she especially enjoyed. She tried to squeeze him in return, to reciprocate the feeling and prolong his pleasure. 

He was in no hurry to pull out afterward, content to lie on top of her, his weight supported by his elbows and knees. It felt safe to be under him, his heat and muscular chest pressing her softly into the bed as his breathing and hers returned to normal. His knife wound had fully healed and his body was solid and stronger than ever.

A short while later, as he showered, she made her way out of the bedroom and down the short, narrow hallway to the kitchen. 

Thanks to Mac's job and the leftover money from his medical/legal fund they'd been able to find a better apartment, with secure entry and better furnishings. 

The media frenzy surrounding the stories in the Tribune had died off surprisingly fast and the public's attention had quickly turned to other stories, but not before Mac's fund had swollen to ninety-two thousand dollars. Almost half of it remained even after settling the hospital bill and paying the lawyers. The money had given them options and a little breathing space.

The bigger apartment had been a challenge for Nadja to navigate at first; a bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, dining room and living room were more difficult to map out in her head than the one-room apartment they'd started in. But she certainly didn't miss the musty scent of the old couch or the feel of the rough, dirty carpet under her bare feet. The new place was nicer on many levels.

She had the coffee brewed by the time Mac dressed and entered the kitchen.

"Your classes finish at three?" he asked, and she could hear him pouring coffee for him and for her.

"Yes, but I'll need to stop at the library, so I'll be closer to five," she replied. She was halfway through a one-year course in victim counseling and didn't want to risk letting her grades lapse. Once she got her certificate she hoped to work in a hospital or women's shelter. With her new visa, she looked forward to adding a second income to Mac's cook wages.

"I can meet you there at around four. I'll read the paper until you're done your work." His warm hand rubbed her bare ass gently. She loved being naked for him, and knew that he loved her nudity too – she never got tired of having his attention on her. Nadja used every opportunity to tease and entice, playfully seeking to rouse him to action. 

Too soon he had to leave for the bus to work; they embraced, kissed, and he gave her bum one final squeeze before tearing himself away. She locked the door behind him.

After showering and drying, Nadja poured herself another coffee, took the mug into the living room and sat on the loveseat in front of the wide, east-facing window. She sipped her coffee and greeted the rising sun – feeling the heat on her face as the radiant glow bathed her in a brilliance that even her depleted eyesight couldn't fully block out.

She thought of the day ahead and smiled. The future was bright.

The End.