Knotted

by Pam Godwin

  Her nails scratch against the counter, her breaths loud and fitful. “I can’t have sex from behind.”

  “Every position, Conor.”

  A shuddering sob escapes her lips. “I think… Maybe…” She gulps for air. “There’s medicine I can take for the anxiety. That would be better.”

  “Medication is addictive and unnecessary. Lift your arms.”

  She crosses them, hugging her waist.

  I step back just enough to let my hand fly. The hard smack on her ass sends her up on her toes. Her hands drop to the counter, and she releases a half-cry, half-moan.

  “Arms up.” I spank her again. “I’d love to spend all night reddening your ass.”

  A deep, reluctant groan sounds in the back of her throat, pulsing a surge of blood to my cock. She loves when I spank her, so much so she’ll risk a panic attack just to feel the bite of my palm.

  But she still hasn’t lifted her arms.

  “I’ll take your disobedience as a sign you’re not ready.” I back away from her.

  “Wait.” She spins around, pinching the bridge of her nose and whispering under her breath, “Fucking hell and damn. Just…” Her hand lowers, and her eyes latch onto mine. “Don’t leave me.”

  A crack rips through my chest. “You think that’s what I’m going to do?”

  She lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know.”

  The tightness around her mouth suggests there’s more she’s not saying.

  I close the distance, grip her hips, and hoist her onto the counter.

  “Let’s break it down.” I wedge between her legs and give her the full force of my eyes. “Talk.”

  “Always with the damn talking.” She hovers her hands above my shoulders before flattening them on my chest. “You’re just so imposing. Forceful. Larger than life. You give me this crazy, buzzing, full-body rush all the time, and my brain just goes splat.” She narrows her eyes. “Don’t let that go to your head.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “I’ve spent every second with you for the past ten days, and I keep thinking this buzzing, hyper-aware feeling I get with you is going to wear off. But it doesn’t. It just keeps growing stronger and louder and…”

  “And?”

  “I’m terrified of it. Of this.” She gestures between us. “I don’t know what you’re hiding. I don’t know if you’re going to break my heart again. I haven’t even tried to find a place to live, and that’s just…stupid. Then there’s the whole spanking thing. Jesus, Jake. Why do I even like that? After Dalton…” Her eyebrows knit together. “I should be throat punching you every time you lay a hand on me.”

  “Thank you for being honest with me.” I cup her jaw and kiss her lips. “I love you.”

  “I love you back.” She touches a finger to my mouth and lingers along my whiskers. “That scares me, too.”

  “After tonight, there’ll be no more secrets between us. And you already have a place to live. If you’re not able to forgive me for the hell I put you through, I’ll move into Jarret’s wing. The Cassidy wing is yours, no matter what.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to—”

  “About the buzzing feeling…” I remove my hat and set it aside. Then I angle my head to drag my nose along her neck. “Did you feel it when we were younger?”

  “Yes.” Her voice shivers.

  “How about three years ago? In the barn?”

  “Definitely.”

  “And you didn’t even know it was me.” I scrape my teeth against her throat. “You might be stuck with the buzzing.” I straighten and brush her hair from her face. “You feel it now?”

  “Not so much here.” She touches her nose. “Or here.” She holds up an elbow. “But pretty much everywhere else.” She glances at my twitching mouth and hikes up an eyebrow. “You’re letting this go to your head.”

  “Maybe.” I grin. “With regard to the spanking, I know you liked that when we were younger.”

  “I did?”

  “I swatted your ass constantly. Then you’d love up on me, all hot and bothered.”

  “Oh. Yeah, I guess I did.”

  “Tell me why you like it.”

  She considers me for a moment, her gaze slipping up and down my body and making it impossible to keep my dick in check.

  “You’re strong. Really big.” She tilts her head back to look up at me, as if illustrating her point. “A powerhouse of manly muscle and testosterone. Not just your build. It’s your disposition. Your deep voice. Your hands.”

  She clutches one of my arms and runs her fingers through mine. I hold still, hanging on her words, loving the way her mind puzzles things out.

  “The parts of you that overpower me,” she says, “are the same parts that are so soft and affectionate and tender. That’s the attraction. The appeal. I love that I can let my guard down and relinquish control to a man who fires up my ass and takes care of me at the same time. You might be pushy as all hell, but I know if I tell you to stop, you will. That means, when you spank me and bind my wrists, it’s one-hundred-percent my choice. There’s power in that.”

  “That’s why you watch that foreign film, freezing and replaying the rape scene over and over. You’re not trying to control that woman’s pain. You want to control your own.”

  “I guess… Yeah, you’re right.”

  “What else?”

  “I love your…” She closes her eyes and groans. “This is going to sound so greedy.”

  “I won’t ever use our talks against you, Conor.”

  “I know.” She gives me her gaze, blinking with vulnerability. “When you do things to me, the kinky things, I love your attention. That signal-minded focus. The way you’re so into me. It’s such a turn-on.” With a sigh, she tucks her fingertips under my belt, holding on. “You make a mess of my insides, Jake Holsten.”

  “I’m about to make a bigger mess. The next few hours are going to be rough.” I grip her chin and imprison her eyes. “I know that talking about the ravine feels impossible, but you’re strong enough. You already survived it, and here you are, despite it all.” I harden my voice with conviction. “You’re ready, Conor.”

  A muscle quivers in her cheek, and she squares her shoulders. Then she slides off the counter, gives me her back, and raises her arms, following my initial command.

  My blood sings in awe. No one does courage like Conor Cassidy.

  “You know what I find so remarkable about you?” I lift off her shirt and unclasp the bra. “Lower your arms.”

  “Hm?” She drops her hands to the counter.

  “Through the rises and falls…” I feather the backs of my fingers down her bare spine. “Through the ups and downs…” Leaning over her shoulder, I touch my lips to her neck. “You never let the shit in your life define who you are.”

  “I went through some pretty horrific redefining moments.”

  Remorse pinches hard in my gut. “But you’re still you. You absorbed the good and bad, and the core of you endured. You never broke.”

  “Give it time.” She laughs nervously. “The night’s not over yet.”

  I spin her to face me and fasten my mouth to hers. With my hands caressing her breasts, I kiss her until her muscles loosen and her knees buckle. Then I step back.

  “Go to the bedroom. Remove the rest of your clothes.” My groin tightens. “Lie face down on the bed and wait for me.”

  As she willingly walks toward a long night of terrifying memories, my stomach knots with trepidation.

  They’re not just her memories. They’re mine, too.

  I failed her that night. Under no circumstances can I fail her again.

  Can a soul be delivered from hell?

  That’s where mine resides, dying a blistering death in the torture of Conor’s tears.

  We’ve been at this for an hour, and I’ve only succeeded in triggering back-to-back anxiety attacks.

  Tying her wrists with rope to the headboard shoved her straight into hyperventilation. Covering h
er back with my weight spiraled her into another sobbing, breathless breakdown.

  While prolonged exposure to the triggers benefits her in the long run, it doesn’t help us tonight. She’s not using her voice or addressing her emotions. She’s just trying to keep her lungs filled with air.

  I’m starting to convince myself she doesn’t need to do this. But I know that’s panic talking. It’s killing me to see her like this.

  “Conor. Look at me.” Stretched out beside her on the bed, I tuck her tear-drenched hair behind her ear. “Tell me what those men did to you.”

  Her gaze darts to the rope on her wrists. Her face scrunches in agony, and a pained keening sound erupts from her throat.

  I wrap my arms around her and kiss the track of tears along her cheek. I could endure her misery if I knew it was helping her, but she seems to be retreating deeper inside herself.

  Her memories aren’t completely repressed. Fragments of them surface in strobe-like bursts of words. It’s as if her mind is protecting itself by disassociating from the complete picture.

  When I bound her naked, face down, and covered her back with my body, I hoped it would rewrite the script in a safe environment.

  But maybe she doesn’t need that night rewritten. What she needs is to get in touch with her feelings about it and bear witness to it.

  I’m going about this the wrong way.

  “Hang on, girl.” I drop a kiss on her lips and reach for the knots on her wrists, untying her.

  “You’re giving up on me?” She lifts her damp face, tracking my movements.

  “No. Never.” I release her hands from the rope and guide her off the bed. “We’re trying something different.”

  I yank off my shirt, slip it over her head, and straighten it around her legs. Then I unbuckle my belt and slide the leather strap free.

  “Hold this.” I fold the belt in half and press the ends against her palm. “Like that.”

  “What are you doing?”

  Unzipping my jeans, I let them slide midway down my ass and kneel on the bed with my back to her.

  “I’m giving you permission to be angry.” I turn my neck and find her eyes over my shoulder. “I’m empowering you to let go of every emotion, thought, and memory you’re suppressing. Channel it all through that strap and onto my back.”

  “What?” She gasps. “No. I’m not going to—”

  “Hit me, Conor!” I shout in a tone that makes her jump. “Let it out.”

  She paces behind me, twitching the belt and breathing heavily.

  “I’m right here.” I stretch my arms out to the sides. “I want everything you’re holding in, no matter how ugly or painful. Every bruise, fracture, ache, tear, scratch, and torment. What’s yours is mine. Give it to me. Beat it into me. Do it!”

  Her hitched sob penetrates my ears and grips my heart.

  Facing away from her, I sit on my heels on the edge of the mattress, hands braced on my thighs and back straight.

  Then I wait her out.

  Five minutes.

  Ten minutes.

  She’s not going to do it without motivation.

  I draw in a breath and release the first painful shove on my exhale. “I fucked those women at the bar. All the girls we went to school with. Shannon, Tina, Courtney—”

  The strap whips across my back with a stinging burn, and she cries out, a seething, gut-wrenching sound. “Damn you, Jake.”

  I slide my tongue across my lips, tasting her rage. “I fucked you in a barn and didn’t tell you it was me. I let you believe you were forgettable.”

  More strikes, one right after another. She has a strong arm, but it’s just surface pain. She’s not breaking skin.

  “I left you in the ravine.” I close my eyes against the acidic memory. “You had just been raped and sodomized, and you begged me not to leave you. I did it anyway, too occupied by my own needs.”

  Her fury explodes, unfettered and shrieking from deep in her chest. I soak in her pain and knot it with my own as she drives the belt against my back.

  Every bite on my skin burns hot with her trust, branding me, possessing me. She would never raise a hand to another person. She hits me because I commanded her to do it, because she knows I’ll protect her in the fire of her anger.

  I keep talking, keep spurring her with reminders of my deceit, omissions, and manipulations.

  Until her shattered whisper cuts me off.

  “The first one pushed me into the dirt, and he… He…” She swings the strap, pelting my ribs. “He forced himself inside my b-b-butt. He raped me there, and it… God, it hurt. So fucking bad.” Her voice breaks with tears, and she hits me again. “I lost my virginity back there, before I lost it the other way, and I fucking hate him for that. I wish I would’ve been the one to kill him, because I hate him so much for hurting me. It was excruciating, and I bled, and he wouldn’t stop. The pain was so deep…” She releases a soul-crushing cry. “It was so deep I felt it cramping in my belly.” She falls still. “Then the second one climbed on top of me.”

  Levi Tibbs. As she describes the trauma he inflicted on her, my eyes burn. My chest aches, and the world seems to slow beneath my fuming breaths.

  She drops the belt and comes at me with her fists, pummeling my back as she furiously recounts the tragedy of her sixteenth birthday. Inconceivable emotion pours from her lungs, her voice shaking with anger and tears. She doesn’t stop hitting, doesn’t stop shouting, until every horrifying detail singes the air and every pound of rage breaks free.

  I immerse my entire being in her words, in the images they conjure, and relive the brutality of that night with a hot ember charring my throat.

  In that moment, I make the decision to forgive myself. I failed to protect her that night, but I’ve walked through hell since then, doing everything in my power to keep her safe. I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure she’s never harmed again.

  Eventually, her fists open, rubbing over my back as she cries. “I’m so sorry, Jake. I’m sorry—”

  “No sorries.” I twist around and gather her in my arms. “No shame. Do you hear me? You gave us exactly what we needed.”

  I tuck her against me and roll us to our sides, with her back against my chest. Her body sags, arms slack and breaths shredded. I run my fingers through her hair until her eyes drift shut. Then I sit with her in the grief.

  Sometime later, she stirs from the silence. “Jake?”

  “I’m here.” I turn her in my arms and caress her pale face. “How are you feeling?”

  “My heart feels like it’s beating differently. Clearer. Brighter. Like it’s waking after a long hibernation.” She stares up at me with puffy, bloodshot eyes. “I think that might’ve been an enormously healing experience.”

  “For you and me both.”

  “Are you okay? Your back…”

  “I’m good, Conor. Relieved.” I kiss her forehead, her nose, her lips. “We’ll still have some hard days ahead. Grief doesn’t just come and go in a night. But now we know how to work through it.”

  “Okay.” She rests a hand on my cheek. “You’re going to give me answers now, right?”

  “You’re exhausted. We can wait until—”

  “Tonight.” Her eyes plead as she sits up.

  “Tonight, then.”

  “Thank you.” She slides her arms around my shoulders, hugging me while stroking her marks on my back. “Thank you for helping me. For not giving up.”

  I ache to kiss her, but once I start, I won’t be able to stop. The quicker I tell her everything, the faster I’ll be inside her. That’s if she absolves the things I’ve done.

  She’ll forgive me.

  I think she already has.

  Turning my head toward her arm, I ghost my lips along colorful sunsets and horses until her inked skin shivers with goosebumps.

  “I need to get something.” I reluctantly unwrap us and set her on the bed against the pillows. “Stay here.”

  In a few brisk strides, I rea
ch the dresser and remove a large envelope from the bottom drawer. The seal is still intact, which means she hasn’t snooped. Not that she’s had the opportunity. I haven’t let her out of my sight since the first night she returned home.

  “What is that?” She twists her fingers in my t-shirt, where it gathers around her thighs.

  “The deed for the land.” I return to the bed.

  “Julep Ranch?”

  “No. The ten-thousand acres the ranch sits on.” I set the envelope on her lap. “You can read through all the documents later. For now, just focus on the highlighted sections on the pages I marked with tabs.”

  I leave her to pick through the legalese and head to the bathroom to prepare a bath.

  When the tub is filled, I shut off the faucet and turn to find her standing in the doorway.

  “Lorne and I own the land? All of it?” The deed trembles in her hand as she stares down at it. “How? I thought my dad sold it to yours? And this other document?” She shuffles the papers. “It’s a trust signed by my mom. I didn’t know she had anything like this. Is it real?”

  “Yes. I had everything verified by an attorney. Before your mom died, she gave the land to you and Lorne. She put it in your names, and that copy of the deed is documented by the county recorder. She handled everything through the proper channels.”

  “What about your mom? She owned half of the ranch.”

  “She owned half of the cattle business. Not the land. The acreage belongs to you and Lorne and no one else.” I crook my finger, motioning her closer. “Come here.”

  “I’m so confused.” She steps toward me.

  I take the documents from her, set them aside, and test the temperature of the water.

  “Did you read the highlighted clauses in the trust?” Sliding my hands up her thighs, I catch the hem of the shirt and inch it up, up, and off.

  “Yes, but the verbiage is incomprehensible.”

  Naked Conor makes conversation incomprehensible.

  Toned legs, sinuous curves, raveled red hair, perky tits, and goddamn, that freckle… My jeans aren’t big enough for the length of my reaction to her.

  Giving her a bath right now was a terrible idea.

  I scoop her up and lower her into the tub. “I couldn’t make sense of the trust, either. The attorney spelled it out for me. Dunk your head.”