Free I'll Sing for my Dinner by BR Kingsolver

one.”
    I bit my lip, turning to face him. “Jake, I don’t know what to tell you. I never want to lie to you, so I don’t tell you anything. It scares me, Jake. I’m so afraid that if you find out who I really am, how screwed up and damaged I am, that you won’t love me anymore. Sometimes I want to tell you. Tell you everything. But I’m a coward. And I know that isn’t fair to you, and it’s tearing me apart.”
    He walked over and took me in his arms. “Nothing could stop me from loving you,” he said.
    My face hidden against his shoulder, I said, “You don’t know how bad I am. I don’t love me, how could I expect you to if you knew the truth?”
    “How do I convince you to trust me?” he murmured into my hair.
    “I trust you,” I said. “You’re the fool for trusting me.”
    I felt him stiffen. “Are you so bad that you need to be punished?” he asked.
    “Yes, please,” I whispered.
    He picked me up and carried me across the room, slamming my back against the wall. Rough, careless hands pulled my shirt open, and tore my jeans off. With no foreplay or preparation, he penetrated me and pounded me, punishing me with his body. Feeling him driving hard and deep inside me as I rode the edge between pleasure and pain, it was as though he was driving a spear into all the evil and humiliation buried in my soul. When he climaxed, an orgasm slammed through me like a battering ram, and I screamed his name.
    He withdrew, and held me in his arms, tears running down his cheeks. It was the first time he had been able to let go, to give me what I needed.
    “Thank you,” I whispered. “God, I love you, Jake.”
    “Is that really what you want me to do to you?” he asked.
    “Yes. You need to punish me sometimes. When I hurt you. I don’t mean to hurt you. I just can’t help myself. You can’t just let me hurt you and be silent. You need to punish me for it. You need to hurt me back and make things balance.”
    “God, Cecily, I don’t know if I can do that again. I feel like ...”
    “Shhh,” I said, putting my fingers to his mouth. “Love has many ways of expression. You don’t have to understand, Jake. Just know that you make me happy. And I’ll try, I promise I’ll try, to make you happy, too. I’ll try to be better, Jake. I’m trying to learn to be good enough for you.”
    ~~~
    Chapter 9
Jake
     
    Dave Thomas called me and asked if we could meet. I left Cecily at home cleaning the bathroom and singing along with an aria from one of my CDs. Since that day I came home and found her singing opera, she had opened up to admit that she’d had extensive classical training, both voice and instrumental. But she hadn’t told me much more than that.
    We met at the bar before my staff showed up to open for the day. He handed me three CDs. The name of the artist leaped out at me, Cecille Buchanan. One was ‘Interpretations of Beethoven on the Celtic Harp’, the next was ‘Greatest Violin Solos’, and the third was ‘Operatic Arias’. The pictures in the liner notes confirmed that my Cecily and Cecille Buchanan were the same woman. I hadn’t known her full name before, never thought to ask.
    “Jake, I’m sorry if you think I’m sticking my nose in where it’s not welcome. Something about the way Cecily acted that night didn’t make sense. Just because I’m retired doesn’t mean that I’ve lost my instincts.”
    I met Dave when I was still in the Marines. It was right after I came back from Afghanistan the last time. A young Marine in my company was murdered, and the FBI agent assigned to the case was Dave Thomas. He found the two men who were to blame.
    We became friends, and when he retired the next year and moved to Colorado, we reconnected. In his youth, he was in a rock band that cut one album and had some momentary fame. When the band broke up, he went to college and then joined the FBI. In retirement, he wanted to get back into the music business and became a booking agent.
    “Jake,”