Essence of Time (Stewart Realty)

by Crowe, Liz

  “You’re so damn beautiful.” He whispered, as he leaned in and kissed her, gently, softly, not demanding anything. She let the stress and fear of her life slide away as she pulled him back with her to the wall. “I can’t, Suzanne, please don’t…” he moaned as she shut him up by plunging her tongue into his mouth, tasting the delicious perfection of the man she’d been lusting after since the second she saw him. She ran her hands down his firm chest, cupped the hard bulge under his zipper. Her programming took hold. Mitchell’s voice invaded her brain. “You’re fucking him. I know you are.” The words he used more and more as his obsession grew in his mind.

  “I’m s-s-sorry.” She yanked her hands off Blake, held her arms, tried to make herself small. The look in his eyes frightened her. Anger was not something she ever wanted to see in their green depths. “I’ll go.” She tried to walk past him but he sidestepped and blocked her way. The familiar terror nearly choked her as she stepped back.

  “Suzanne,” his voice was low, calm, and immediately soothing. She took a breath. Blake lifted her shirt again, went down on his knees and pressed his lips to the angry purple mark the fridge door handle had left on her skin. The sensation of his hand sliding up her back, along her bare skin brought a moan to her lips and moisture between her thighs. For the first time in god-knew how long, she wanted a man, badly. She pulled him to his feet, wrapped her arms around his neck and allowed herself another amazing kiss. “I won’t ever hurt you. I promise.” He muttered as he nibbled his way down her neck. She leaned back on a stack of boxes, fisted her hands in his hair and let it all happen. Let herself be a woman, happy with a man, for a brief moment.

  He grunted as she unzipped him, fisted his hard flesh. She turned, let him lift her skirt, plunge his fingers into her. “Dear Jesus,” he muttered, as he rubbed her clit making her back arch more. She propped her hands on the wall, shaking with need and urgency.

  “Blake. Please. I’m begging you. I have wanted to feel you inside me from the minute I…oh god yes!” She sighed as he slid her soaking panties aside and slipped inside her, going deep with one long luscious thrust. He gripped her with one hand, slid the other around to tease her clit, rubbing and fucking her bringing on a climax so intense she had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming his name. He shuddered, leaned over her, got serious with his rhythm then gripped both her hips as she pressed back, her body still in the throes of her own orgasm.

  “I’m gonna come Suzanne. Can I…”

  “Yes.” She hissed. “I want to feel you.” He groaned, thrust once, and again, then she felt him release hot and perfect inside her still spasming body. His hips kept moving, his breath coming in gasps. He pulled her up, cradled her against him maintaining their connection, kissing her neck and shoulders. “Oh Blake,” she bit her lip as tears feel. He slipped out of her and turned her around.

  “Don’t ever be sorry we did that. “ He stared hard at her, slanted his mouth over hers, making her dizzy before breaking away. “There is so much more I want to do for you, with you, I… Oh hell,” He kissed her again, pressing her against the wall. She smiled into his lips but then reality smacked her between the eyes. She jerked herself away, smoothed her skirt, her face burning and her legs shaking with a bizarre combination of remorse, desire and fear. But to his credit, he wouldn’t let her go, held her tight, whispering in her ear.

  “I’ll fix this. I promise. You don’t have to be afraid of him.”

  She wiped her eyes and pushed him away. “It’s not your fight Blake. You can’t fix anything. Only I can do that.”

  “But…” The earnestness in his eyes made her want to sob, to throw things. Anything to make him understand that this was her mess and she’d just dragged him into it. She would never forgive herself. “You don’t have to live like this. You can’t.”

  She put a finger over his lips, then, unable to resist, leaned into to taste him once more. As she lost herself once more in his embrace, she made a mental promise: she would leave Mitchell. She had to now. A tickle of fear made her shiver. The man might well kill her in the process. But she didn’t care. One way or another she would no longer live the lie that had become her life. Blake gripped her face, burrowed into her soul a little further with his lips and tongue, with his strong arms and firm chest and raw need.

  The sunlight streamed in her bedroom window. Suzanne rolled over, winced as old bruises made themselves known, and sat up; hoping to escape to the shower before Mitchell woke. Her husband hadn’t gotten in until late, having taken the “scut shift,” as he called it. He had more or less passed out on his side of the bed only a few hours earlier.

  Relaxing under the stream of hot water, she acknowledged the visions of Blake that had filled her dreams. The sound of her name made her groan and tense up. Michell strode in, still in scrubs, a small blue card in his hand. The all glass shower door and sides hid nothing, including the dark fury in his eyes. “What the fuck is this Suzanne?” He held it up.

  She squinted at it. “It’s birth control Mitchell. You’re a doctor; surely you know that.”

  “I thought we weren’t doing this. I thought we wanted a baby.” She winced. She had promised him that, back when she started at Big House. The sick bargain she’d made with him and his meddling mother made her even angrier at herself. How in the hell had she gotten here, to this place, under the thumb of this controlling crazy man? All his warning signs were hidden beneath layers of seemingly innocuous attention. He’d wanted to be around her, with her, all the time. It was flattering, fun, and he had no shortage of talents with her body, at first. He worshipped her. And now she was paying the price.

  “What else are you lying about, you bitch?” His voice was tight again, a clear warning signal. She tried to ignore it. Summoning thoughts of Blake, of how he would be different, and show her how to love and be herself again, she raised her eyes to meet Mitchell’s. Her entire body shook. This was it. Her moment. The old Suzanne was back and she no longer gave a shit what Mitchell thought or even did to her. He could no longer touch her true self.

  The shower rattled against the marble tile wall when he yanked it open. She flinched, started to cower then caught herself. You don’t care anymore Suzanne, remember? He won’t do any more than bat you around, make you wear long sleeves to hide marks or take a week off to let your black eye heal. Besides, his words hurt worse and had marked her soul already. Bruises and black eyes healed but the words never stopped echoing through her mind. The clear, bright light of determination to get as far away from him as she could gave her strength. That, and thoughts of Blake. She straightened up, turned off the water and reached for a towel. How odd, to think normal couples could argue without it ending in violence. She wondered if she even knew how to do that anymore.

  “Who is he, you slut?” Mitchell prowled the large bathroom still fondling the small card of pills. “God dammit, I know you’re fucking that guy. Maybe both of them. Maybe getting a little ass action for Suzanne? Hmm?” She watched him, too numb to acknowledge how mad he was. Thoughts of what she had done the day before, in a supply closet, with a man too young for her, roiled through her. She clamped down on it, reminded herself what Mitchell said no longer mattered. “That’s why you need these isn’t it? So you don’t get knocked up by one of those brewery assholes and pass that shit off as mine?” She rinsed off silently. “God damn it! I should never have let you work. I knew it was going to be trouble. Fucking cunt.”

  He whirled on her, his eyes wild and terrifying. She tensed then forced herself to think of Blake. Something in her brain clicked, and she squared her shoulders. The bright light of pure anger fueled her words. Anger at herself for being such a wimp for so long, anger at her life, anger at her friends for letting her make excuses, and even anger at Blake for forcing her hand. But force it he had, because he wanted her and she felt the same way about him.

  “Yes, Mitchell. You’re right.” He frowned, stopped staring at the birth control pills, and then met her eyes.
She gasped at the coldness there. Terror dimmed her vision for a fraction of a second, and then everything snapped into crystal-clear focus. She felt a sudden lightening in her chest. She was so sick of all this shit; sick of all of the pretending. “You are an abusive asshole, Mitchell. I want a divorce.”

  He moved so quickly, she barely saw him come toward her, but she sure as hell felt it and screamed when his fist connected with her nose, then again, before the room went black.

  Something kept tapping her shoulder. She tried to bush it away but it wouldn’t stop. Was she late for a meeting? Where was she? Where was…? Her eyes flew open and she immediately regretted it. Pain suffused every blessed nook and cranny of her body. She hurt in places she didn’t even know she had. Groaning she looked over at the kind-faced nurse, who was doing the tap-tapping on her shoulder.

  “Sorry honey. I need to wake you. Make sure you don’t sleep through the next vitals check. Your CAT scan was negative for concussion but you took a pretty good beating. So the doctors say we needed to wake you up.”

  She groaned and tried to pull herself into a ball, to escape the capital-P pain that oozed out of every pore. “Where…who…how… Could I have some water,” she croaked. After sipping from the straw put to her lips she sighed, and tried to swallow, found even that too hard for words. The nurse patted her arm.

  “I’m upping your morphine hon. You’re gonna need it. You have a few visitors. Want to see anyone?” She shook her head, tears flowing unbidden.

  She shifted a little on the bed. “Why do I hurt down there? I mean…, “ she blushed. “In my, you know…”

  “Well you are on a catheter for the time being. The rest I’ll let the doctor tell you.” The nurse’s face was angry. But there was a knock at the door before she could speak again. A young woman in a doctor’s coat peeked in. Jack and Evan were right on her heels.

  “Hi Suzanne.” The woman chirped. Suzanne winced at the sight of her friends. “Umm, these guys won’t leave me alone. Say they want to be with you when we talk about what happened.”

  She nodded, her throat thick with emotion. “Where’s Blake?” She whispered. She wanted him more than anything. That scared her even more than the pain that thrummed through her body with every heartbeat.

  Jack kissed her forehead, his familiar deep blue eyes cloudy with fury. Evan patted her leg, looked all around the room, anywhere but at her face. “I must be a vision,” she muttered. The two men looked at each other.

  “Blake is here—out there. I’ll get him in a minute.” Evan muttered.

  The doctor looked at her vital signs, took a seat at the bedside, touched Suzanne’s hand and sighed. “We had to reset your shoulder. It had been wrenched out of its socket. You have multiple contusions all over your torso, three broken ribs, a ruptured spleen that we removed in surgery.” Suzanne gulped. The woman continued, “We put about twenty stiches in your face, over one eye and across your lip. Luckily, I guess, the cuts were made with a clean edge—of glass we think.” The doctor looked up as Jack jumped out of his chair and stood at the window.

  “Yes. What else?” Suzanne’s voice was dull to her ears.

  “Your windpipe was nearly crushed. That will just take time to heal. You have a broken ankle, from a blunt force trauma.”

  “Okay. And why do I feel like I’ve just given birth to an elephant?”

  Evan stood and walked out. Suzanne stared at the doctor, whose face had gone flat and angry. Blake stood in the door then, fury marring his beautiful face. She ignored him. “Well?” She demanded.

  “You were raped multiple times while you were unconscious which caused tissue damage. We believe the same glass that was used on your face was applied to your exterior labial lips. Several shards were found inside your vagina, and one essentially perforated your cervix. You were lucky you didn’t feel any of it.”

  Suzanne blinked once. “I’m going to…” The doctor put the bucket under her mouth just in time. “Oh my god that hurts…” She sobbed. Blake rushed to her side, held her close, rocking her back and forth. “I wasn’t out. I felt it. I remember it now.” She shook, and realized Blake was trembling as he held her.

  Jack put a hand on his shoulder, patted it, looked at them both, then walked out without a word. The doctor stood. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Suzanne. We had to do pretty radical surgery to save your life. You had nearly bled to death by the time Jack found you and called 911.” Suzanne sucked in deep lungful of Blake’s scent trying to ignore what she knew was coming. “I am ninety nine percent certain you won’t be able to bear children.” The doctor stared at her. “That guy needs to go to jail. Please tell me you are pressing charges. I have the police in the hallway ready to take your statement.”

  But, the room faded, and the last thing she remembered was Blake whispering in her ear, “It’s okay, my love. I’m going to fix it. I will always fix it. Rest.”

  Chapter Four

  Blake shoved the hospital room door open, his chest heaving and head pounding. He’d held her until she eased into a morphine-induced sleep, stood over her about a minute longer than he could actually stand the sight of her stitched up face. By the time he walked out he had one thing on his mind.

  Justice.

  He ran straight into a brick wall made of Evan and his friend, Jack.

  “Excuse me.” He tried to maneuver past them.

  Evan put a hand on his arm.

  “Hold on there, cowboy.” Jack said, instantly pissing him off.

  “I’m not your cowboy.” He stared at the man who signed his paychecks. “Take your hand off me. I need to get out of here.” A strange calm had settled over him. Focus, purpose, and moving forward were all he knew and these assholes were in his way.

  “Don’t do anything stupid.” Evan’s eyes were dark.

  Jack interrupted, stepped right between them. Blake frowned at the guy but he kept talking seemingly unaware that he was about to get pounded. “What he means to say, cowboy, is that you do not need to be confronting Mitchell. At least not alone.” Blake let his brain process that these men posed no threat. They wanted the best for Suzanne, just as he did. But fury had blinded him. Everything he saw was tinted red. “Seriously. Let’s sit and talk a minute. Figure out how to handle…” Blake threw off their clutching hands and their mealy-mouthed bullshit words.

  “Sorry guys. But in case you didn’t notice he nearly beat her to death.” Blake shoved both hands in his pockets; tried to get a grip on his anger. “I don’t think we need to discuss anything.”

  The two men exchanged a glance. “Yes, we know that Blake.” Evan’s calm talking-to-an-insane-person tone of voice grated on his already shredded nerves. All he saw was her; all he heard were her sobs. It permeated his very soul. He was self-realized enough to acknowledge that he tended to go overboard as a caretaker. He needed to be needed, loved being relied upon, and responded at times with an unnecessary outpouring of action. But this was different. He loved this woman. He needed to do something other than stand around and tsk-tsk like these be-suited fuckwads in front of him right now.

  “You don’t know her like we do,” Jack’s hand gripped his shoulder. Blake acknowledged the power in his voice and touch. But he shrugged it off.

  “No. I don’t. But neither of you feel about her the way I do. And if you do, that’s a problem we’ll have to deal with later. In the meantime, you’ll excuse me I have something to take care of.” He shoved between them, let the whooshing sound of his own fury drown out Evan’s voice calling his name.

  He tore into the brewery, found her employment file and sent a prayer of thanks to the gods of small, trusting businesses before jumping back in his truck and heading to Barton Hills, Ann Arbor’s one “exclusive,” old-money neighborhood. He had no idea what he was going to do once he came face-to-face with the man who’d beaten his own wife, cut her inside and out, yet still walked around free. And if he isn’t home, then what, genius? He frowned, and smacked the steering wheel as he waited out a r
ed light. The pain in his palm centered him.

  He checked the scrap of paper once more with the address, then whistled at the sight of the huge Italianate mansion that matched it. He screeched to a stop in front, leapt out and marched to the door, red tinting the edges of his vision. He hit the doorbell, pounded on the heavy wood until he heard a man’s voice. He barely let the door swing open before he helped it along with his foot, sending the asshole behind it flying backwards to land on his butt. Blake stepped into the cool, dim foyer, and exacted his retribution without mercy.

  ****

  One Week Later

  Suzanne groaned and limped back to the bed. The hospital door opened revealing Jack and Evan, all smiles, pushing a wheelchair. “I don’t need that.” She pouted, wincing as she stood. In spite of all the physical aches and pains she sported, what hurt worst was definitely her heart. After hearing about Blake’s stunt with Mitchell she had flatly refused to see him. Or talk about him. Or let anyone mention him in her presence. Her friends, most especially Jack, had gone on about it, bragging as if he had been the one to beat her husband so badly he was only a few floors down from her in this very hospital. She shivered at the concept. She wanted to handle this her way, not lower herself to his bullshit behavior. Blake had no right to do that. None. But her eyes kept tearing up at the thought of him. How badly she wanted to see him, to be held by him. She sucked in a breath.