I loved this outfit, but now, it was fake. I was a girl pretending she was a sub. The outfit was cliché and so not classy.
Not proper attire for a Highland Park wife.
A wife who had cheated on her husband.
"Oh, God," I said as we pulled up to the entrance of my building. I was relieved that Jason was at the door. Mr. Jennings, the other doorman, would stand too close to me. Even with his bad eyesight, he would feel my guilt, and an hour later, the whole building would know. Mrs. McIntyre in 12B came home looking like a well-fucked slut.
"Mrs. McIntyre, welcome back."
"Thank you, Jason." I squeezed his hand before letting it go. "Good night."
"Good night."
I rode up the elevator and thankfully made it into my apartment without seeing another living soul.
I kicked off my heels and shoved them out of the way. I unbuttoned my skirt and pushed it down my legs; I pulled my t-shirt over my head but stopped when the smell hit me. The smell of sweat, sex, and Harrison surrounded me.
My phone rang, but I ignored it. I crumpled to the floor. I was coming down hard from subspace, and it was going to hurt.
Harrison had wanted to take care of me.
I should have let him, but I couldn't.
I had done this to him, to us. I gave in, and now, I had cheated on my husband. The irony was I wasn't concerned about disrespecting Paul; I had disrespected Harrison.
He touched me, and I had asked him to, beg him to.
Then I walked away from him.
I pulled the rest of my clothes off and slid into bed. I placed my shirt on my pillow, laid my head down on it, and cried.
I woke up a few hours later with a newfound clarity. My body relaxed, sated from being touched properly. God, it felt good and bad at the same time. The spanking by Harrison's hand hurt in the best way possible. I could feel his hands on me, the residual of being spanked by someone who knew what they are doing.
He held up his end of our little partnership. He said if I ever needed a release, he would be there for me, no sex, but a body needs what a body needs.
I smiled, remembering his theory about BDSM not having to be about sex. Was he rethinking his theory this morning? I wanted to call him and ask him. I wanted to hear his voice; I wanted to tell him he did nothing wrong; he did everything right.
I couldn't. The way I left him, I knew this morning he would blame himself. My words would not take away the guilt.
I was surprised I didn't feel the same.
My marriage was over.
I knew that now. Paul helped me retrieve parts of me, but he couldn't make me whole.
It was never about the money or the travel for me. It wasn't about being married. Paul offered me a way out of a situation, and our marriage was a four-year thank you.
Being with Harrison last night made me realize how much being a sub was part of my DNA. I enjoyed wearing clothes to please someone else. I enjoyed giving up control of my body, to free my mind. I missed that moment right before going into subspace when you questioned everything, and then you let go, and you get all the answers you could ever want and need.
I knew what I wanted now.
Even if it wasn't with Harrison, I knew my life would not be complete until I returned to the type of person I was. Being with Harrison while married to Paul was disrespectful and unfair to them.
Denying my true nature was disrespectful, unfair, and inexcusable to me.
I wasn't going to do that to myself anymore.
I packed a few things and booked a ticket online for the first flight to New York.
I had some unfinished business to take care of.
I didn't want to waste another minute not living the life I was meant to have.
Thirteen
Harrison
I wanted to run after her last night but didn't know what I would say once I found her. The next morning, I figured it would come to me. I'd see it in her eyes how badly I fucked things up.
I waited until a respectable hour and drove to her apartment, my head a mess. What happened last night confused me.
I gave her what she needed. It wasn't until I found myself coming in my pants that I realized I was the one out of control. I was supposed to protect her. I took advantage of her.
I wasn't careful. It was out of character. I was always careful. I was precise and calculated, and I threw all that, along with our friendship, out the window for a few moments.
What made it worse, touching her, feeling her slip into subspace from my touch, and watching her explode from my caress was a thing of beauty.
I loved beautiful things.
I pulled into the building driveway and rolled down my window.
The doorman I met before, Jason, poked his head in.
"Hey, Mr. Crawford. What can I do for you this morning?" he asked, his tone neutral. Did he know about last night? I shook my head, how could he. She wouldn't have discussed it with the doorman.
I chuckled at myself.
"Jason, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'm here to see Mrs. McIntyre." His eyes looked off to the road behind me, and his face scrunched up.
"Is she expecting you?" he asked.
"No, please just let her know I'm here. See if she will come down."
He stood up, turned his back, and spoke into a two-way radio. I couldn't hear what he said, but a minute late, he leaned back in my car.
"She's not in. Want to leave a message?" The guy fidgeted. He was lying.
"I know she's here. Let me go up and talk to her. She was upset last night and . . ."
He leaned into my car a little further.
"She isn't in. She left early this morning. James put her into a car for DFW."
It was my turn to fidget.
"DFW," I said. Why would she be running off to the airport? Did I run her out of town?
I sighed and nodded.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled to the stream of text messages I had yet to delete.
I turned back to Jason.
"What time did she leave?" I asked.
"Six a.m."
It was nine a.m.
"Thanks." I waved at Jason and headed out of the parking lot. I made it a few blocks before pulling over and sending her a text message.
Harrison: Checking in. Give me a call.
It was a passive-aggressive pussy message.
I threw the phone on the floor of the passenger side and steered the car back on the road. I ended up in front of Justin's office ten minutes later.
I found the guys in the workroom. Justin stood with his arms crossed, his chin in his hand as he watched Seth work on a model of a home.
"Why do the angles seem off?" Justin asked, pointing at something in the backyard of the model.
"I know. I can't figure it out," Seth answered and stepped back. They both looked up at me when I entered.
"What the hell happened to you?" Seth said with genuine concern in his tone. I must look like shit because usually, he would be giving me shit.
"She's gone." I plopped into the closest chair. I flicked the fence on the model.
Seth pushed it out of my reach and sat down.
"Who?"
I narrowed my eyes and grunted. He could be dense sometimes.
"Brooklyn." I leaned over and ran my hands over my face. "I fucked up last night, and this morning, she left."
"You hooked up with Brooklyn last night?" Seth asked, with an expression of disbelief.
"No. Fuck."
Seth scooted back a few paces.
A good idea. I needed to break something, and he was closest to me.
I wish I had fucked her. What I did was much worse.
"What happened last night?" Justin asked.
I wanted to tell them, to get their advice, but I didn't need advice either. I knew what I did was wrong—messing with a married woman—no matter how much I wanted her was wrong. It wasn't fair to her. Hell, it wasn't fair to me. She de
served so much better.
"Never mind. It's nothing. I'll deal with it." I stood up and headed for the door.
"Harrison," Justin spoke, and I stopped. "She went to New York. She said she had to handle some things, but she would be in touch. She asked me to keep an eye on the house."
"You talked to her?" I asked.
"Yeah. She called me this morning from the airport."
"What did she tell you?"
"I just told you."
"No." I tried to control my anger. "What did she tell you about last night?"
"Nothing." He held his hands up. "I swear. I mean I knew she was upset about something, but I didn't push her. If she wanted to tell me, she would have."
"Seriously, man. We are brothers. What happened?" Seth asked.
I sat back down at the table. Justin closed the door and sat on the other side of me.
"After I found out she was a sub, I told her if she ever needed . . . a release, strictly platonic, I would keep her safe. I would protect her. I wouldn't cross any lines." I looked up and then back down, hit by their disapproving eyes. "I know. It was a stupid idea."
"Really stupid," Justin said.
"I know," I yelled. I slammed my hand on the table. I took a breath and continued. "She showed up last night. She was wound way too tight. She needed something. She came to me. What was I supposed to do?"
"So you did what exactly?" Seth asked.
"I took her into a room. I tied her to a bench and spanked her." I stared at my hands. I could feel her skin on my palm. "She subbed out, and I thought it was over, but then I took it too far."
"You fucked her?" Seth said.
Justin hit him on the shoulder, and he rubbed it.
"Not exactly." I blushed thinking about her screaming my name.
"We don't need to know the details, but it went too far?" Justin said.
"She asked me to." I looked up and saw what I expected, disbelief. "She begged for it, and I could have been the stand-up guy—"
"Like you said you would—" Justin interjected.
"I know. You don't have to remind me I fucked up. I know I fucked up.” I rubbed my face. “She'll never trust me again."
"What does it matter? She's not yours. She's married," Seth said.
I stood up, and the chair went sliding back behind me.
Seth stood up with his hands in front of him.
"I'm not trying to be an asshole. I'm just stating the truth." Seth stood his ground.
"Fuck the truth." I stepped to him.
He stepped to me.
"Enough," Justin yelled.
We both continued to stare each other down. Justin stepped between us and pushed me toward the door. "Let's go to my office."
I followed Justin but kept my eye on Seth as I walked out the door. The little prick was getting to me. This whole situation was getting to me.
I relaxed when we were safe behind Justin's office door. I flopped on the couch near the huge picture window overlooking the courtyard. I designed the desk in his office and the built-in bookshelves, too. I wondered if he bought them because we were friends or if he actually liked them.
"What are you doing?" Justin broke the silence.
"What? Seth and I—"
"I'm not talking about you and Seth." Justin sat on the edge of his desk.
"I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know why I let her get to me like this, but you know what it feels like when you meet the person you know was created especially for you."
"Yeah, no, I don't."
"Well, neither did I before I met Brooklyn."
"Why is she so different?" he asked.
I looked up as if it was the stupidest question in the word.
"Because she tests my control."
"But she's not your sub."
I opened my mouth.
He held up his hand before I could speak.
"She’s not your girlfriend." Justin ran a hand through his platinum blond hair and looked out the window. "She's not your wife."
I growled again and squeezed my eyes shut.
"She didn't just ask me to keep an eye on her house."
I opened my eyes.
“She asked me to keep an eye on you, too,” Justin said.
"I'm asking you.” I ignored the pleading in my voice. “As my best friend and the person who knows me the best, what should I do?"
"You in love with her?"
"Yes."
"Dude, why don't you take a minute to think about it?" He laughed.
I joined him. It was ridiculous. I was all messed up. But I did. No point in denying it now. If I wasn't in love with her, why bother to put myself through all this shit. "I'm fucked."
"Yeah, but"—he pauses—"maybe she feels the same. You should tell her."
"What?"
"Tell her how you feel. What's the worst that can happen?"
"She . . ."
I thought for a minute. She could tell me to fuck off. Well, she's married. I have to do that anyway.
"Even if she feels the same way, she won't leave her husband," I said.
"Why not?"
"Because he saved her."
"Well, maybe she needs you to remind her she doesn't need saving anymore."
I left Justin's office out the back. I didn't want to run into Seth. I wasn't ready to apologize. We behaved liked children sometimes, but I didn't care at this point. I had more important matters to deal with.
I either needed to tell Brooklyn I was in love with her or I needed to let her go. I needed to get her to answer my calls and text messages first.
Brooklyn
I landed in New York around noon and headed straight for my favorite hotel in Manhattan. The lobby in this historical place had the most amazing ambiance. It made me feel warm and cozy every time I walked into it. I wanted to create rooms that evoked this type of emotion.
I was all over the place emotionally. I would never be able to create until I could figure out my feelings, but one thing was clear. I shouldn't be married to Paul McIntyre any longer.
When I settled in my room, I called him.
"Yeah," he answered his phone on the first ring.
"Hi. Where are you?" I asked.
"At the airport, on my way to Boston,” he answered.
I nodded.
"How long will you be in Boston?"
"A couple of days, then New York for a week." His annoyed tone hurt my heart.
"Oh, you'll be in New York?" I asked.
"That's what I said, Brooke. Listen, I'll be home at the end of next week."
"I'm in New York." I said.
"What? Why?"
"I wanted to get out of Texas for a minute."
"What about the house?" he asked.
"Everything's on schedule. They won't miss me for a few days."
He sighed.
I cringed. I closed my eyes and waited for him to start in on the lecture.
When he remained silent, I spoke. "I need to talk to you. It's important."
"Where are you staying?" he asked.
"Stanhope Hotel."
"I should have guessed." He sighed again. "I'll see you on Friday."
I hung up the phone, and the tears fell.
My entire world had turned upside down, and I had been living with it for four years. I was exhausted and done. I had pretended for years, and it left me drained. Instead of sobbing into my pillow, I pulled myself up and shuffled into the bathroom. The dark wood made me feel warm, and it contrasted beautifully with the stark white tub. I turned on the water to fill the tub and stripped off my clothes.
I had winced from my sore ass all day.
I turned my back to the full-length mirror on the far wall. The welts from Harrison's hands were faint but visible. They brought a smile to my tear-stained face.
It was both of us; we allowed something so beautiful to happen between us while neither of us was in a position to give in to what we truly wanted. My Dom to his sub.
I
slid in the tub. The hot water seep into my bones. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes and continued to cry. Soft, silent tears in tribute to the end of my marriage. Tears for the years I wasted denying my true nature.
When Paul tried to play Dom with me the other day, I wondered if I would have been more receptive before meeting Harrison. Would I have allowed him to dominate me? I knew he wasn't a true Dom, but could I have taught him?
Was I giving up on him and our marriage because it was what I wanted or because of Harrison?
I didn't know the answer, but I needed to figure it out . . . before Friday.
Paul arrived at the hotel on the Upper East Side. I arranged to have dinner served in our room in the formal dining area. The staff set up a beautiful china place settings. Wine chilled in a bucket and preparation for the steak and lobster meal sat on a cart.
The scene was a little too romantic. Not an appropriate setting to tell your husband you were leaving him.
When he walked in, the staff went to work. The waiter lit the candles, and the chef fired up the burners. He moved with efficiency.
I had instructed them both to exit the room once dinner was served.
"What is all of this?" Paul asked.
"Thought you might be hungry." I motioned toward the table.
"I am." He ran a hand down my side and skimmed over the smooth material of my white silk wrap dress. "You look nice."
I touched my eyes. I thought they looked puffy after my emotional outbursts of the last couple of days.
He kissed me on the neck, and I leaned into it. It made me feel weird. I had affection for this man because we had been through a lot. I hoped our breakup would be as much of a relief to him as it was to me.
Only one way to find out.
We enjoyed dinner. Paul sat at the head of the table.
I sat on his right.
He asked me about the house.
I gave him an update on the progress; the house was his, too. He had spent a lot of money on the design. The conversation seemed strange, considering we would never live in it together.
"What's your next trip?" I asked, sipping my second glass of wine.
Salvage Him (Highland Park Chronicles Book 1) Page 10