Shattered Bonds: Book Seven of Wicked Play

by Lynda Aicher

  He settled his arm around her and held on, the fruity scent of her hair calling him home. If only…

  “Tell me the story.” There was no demand in her soft words. True to her, it was an opening that he could accept or reject.

  The glow from the upstairs kitchen light cast the room in shadows but not darkness. She wasn’t looking at him, giving him the privacy he needed to repeat Beth’s tale.

  “She was my submissive. Beth,” he started, settling back into the cushions as the story unwove in his mind. “I was thirty-four when I met her. At a BDSM club. She was fragile. Pale with big doe eyes that drew a Dom in. I noticed her right away. Watched her for weeks before I approached her.” From there, the words flowed. He’d never recounted the entire tale to anyone, not even the police.

  Liv gave little sounds along the way, things that let him know she was listening as he recapped how their relationship had grown from club play to private play to her moving in. How that had evolved to her being his full-time sub when it’d started out as Scene play only.

  “Was that what you wanted?” she asked. “A full-time sub?”

  He threaded his fingers through her hair until it fell down in soft, soothing brushes over his palm. “Now, I can look back and say no. But then I didn’t think enough about it. It was what Beth wanted—no, needed. She craved direction and security.” He dipped his fingers through Liv’s hair again, the absent motion so different from the calculated moves he’d had to make with Beth. “She had a dark past with more scars than she told me. She hid so much pain I never knew—” His breath hitched, the shot of remorse kicking him hard.

  She snuggled in closer and rubbed her hand over his ribs until he had his composure back.

  “I never knew how depressed she really was,” he finally got out. “She hid it behind submission and the masochistic acts she craved. I didn’t realize until after that it was all a form of self-punishment for her.” He’d been so blind. Arrogant even in his assumption that he knew her well enough to be her full-time Dom.

  “After what?”

  That part. Yeah. He rubbed his eyes and wished the image of her hanging from the rope would disappear. Weren’t pictures supposed to fade with time? That one never did.

  His throat was raw like the words when he answered. “After she hung herself in our playroom.”

  Liv flinched, going stiff against him. “That playroom?” She pointed behind them.

  “Yeah.”

  Her mouth was gaping when she turned around. “How long ago was this?”

  He could be exact, but he rounded down. “Four years. Almost five.” He rubbed his eyes again as an excuse to avoid her gaze.

  She was shaking her head when he dropped his hand, her brow furrowed with the confusion that was etched into her expression. “So that’s your personal damnation room.” He nodded, even though it wasn’t stated as a question. Her face softened, but thank God it wasn’t with pity. She rubbed his thigh, another soothing touch that spoke without words. “You have to know that’s not healthy for you.”

  He dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling. Of course it wasn’t healthy. Tonight was more than proof of that. “I can’t get myself to leave.” He had to work to find enough saliva to swallow after admitting that.

  She shifted again. A nudge to his thighs had him scooting over without thinking. He didn’t have the energy to protest or question. She straddled his lap, her bottom a firm weight across his thighs before she cupped his jaw and forced him to lift his head.

  Now what? Was this when the pity came? The sorry look for how pathetic he was, or maybe the scorn for being the bastard who’d caused a woman to end her life?

  Refusing to open his eyes was a childish but effective avoidance tactic.

  “You’re a good man, Noah Bakker.”

  His eyes flew open at her soft statement. “What?”

  “Everything you do shows how much you care about people.” He hunted for the falseness in her voice or eyes, only to find sincerity. “You must’ve loved Beth very much. I can’t imagine losing someone like that.” She blinked a few times, swallowed and brushed her fingers over the edge of his hairline. “I can’t tell you to let it go or tell you what to do, but I know this. You need to heal.” She laid her palm over his heart, where it accelerated with her words. “You have so much love to give, but your heart is still broken. Her actions shattered it. But it still beats. You’re still alive. You need to find a way to piece it back together so you’re not afraid to use it again.”

  Damn it. Damn it completely to hell. His eyes stung with an urge to let it all out. To purge the ache and anguish in a well of useless expression that had never helped.

  She leaned in, her lips soft and warm when they touched his. God. His emotions were exposed and bloody and ready to purge all over them. Yet he couldn’t deny the truth of her words when he tried so badly to do so.

  He wanted to be whole for her. Wanted her so fucking much, only…

  His lips moved almost of their own accord to meet her gentle strokes. Her softness tempered his pain and seemed to tear it from him at the same time.

  “You’re still alive, Noah,” she whispered against his lips.

  Every one of her touches scorched him with the truth of her words. She simmered through him, enfolded and somehow held him from the inside out. Her kisses continued, pressing and easy in a contradiction that was her. So exactly like the beautiful woman she was.

  Her long, sweeping kisses played with his tongue to spread her warmth and share her heat when he’d thought he’d never be warm again. He wrapped his arms around her, his barely suppressed emotions leaking from the squeezed creases of his closed eyes. The anguish burst from his chest in a strangled sound that was distorted by her kisses and his unwillingness to set it free.

  His hands fisted on her back, a last stance against a losing battle he no longer wanted to fight. In the next breath he let it all go. The burden, the beliefs, the judgments, the condemnations that had held his walls strong until Liv’s gentle giving had shredded them. They bled from him in the silent tears that rolled down his cheeks to be wiped away by her tender fingers.

  With a last holding press of her lips, she shifted back around to curl up on his lap, legs stretched out on the couch, head nestled into that spot on his shoulder that brought the soft caress of her hair and sweet hints of her shampoo. She hugged the blanket around her, leaving her naked legs exposed before she finally settled.

  He waited for the next volley of questions or advice or whatever she had in her. Waited for long breaths that turned into minutes until his tears dried and he finally accepted she was done.

  He slowly brought his arms around her, almost afraid to hug her too tight for fear she’d leave. She sighed, the warm rush of air over his neck a gentle kiss of trust. Trust he didn’t feel he’d earned, yet she continued to give him.

  The quiet settled in to bring an uneasy sense of peace through him. With Liv on his lap, the past didn’t have the weight it used to. She was warm and here and strong. God, she was so strong. He pressed a kiss to her hair, holding it until the sting retreated from his eyes once again.

  Her breathing evened out, muscles twitching before she relaxed into sleep. And he sat there. In the basement with his past, he wondered long into the night. Beyond the slow lighting of the windows as dawn broke, past the ray of sunlight that cast a beam of light onto the blank TV screen.

  Was it really possible to keep the future he was holding? If he believed in Liv, trusted her as she’d more than done with him, then it might be possible. As long as he was able to let Beth go.

  *

  Liv awoke to the familiar scent of Noah and the comforting press of his arms wrapped around her. It was only when she blinked her eyes open to see the unfamiliar outlines of his basement that the previous night came crashing back to her. Her instant inhale shot a piercing jab of pain to her chest—for him and herself.

  His fingers ghosted over her cheek to brush her hair from he
r face in a touch so gentle she could almost believe nothing had changed. Maybe if she didn’t move they could stay there and pretend it hadn’t.

  “You’re awake.” The deep timbre of his voice rumbled over her to shred her silly fantasy.

  “What time is it?” she croaked around her dry throat.

  “I don’t know. But we should get moving if we want to be at the hospital for Tyler.”

  She bolted up at the reminder. “Crap.” The sun showed brightly through the small windows near the ceiling, proclaiming dawn had long past. She scrambled off his lap and quickly refolded the blanket she’d used. “We’d better hurry.”

  She turned to rush out of the room filled with unspoken questions, only to glance back when she hit the stairs and stopped. He hadn’t moved, not even a finger. She couldn’t do that to him.

  Her feet squished over the carpet as she forced herself to return to the couch. “Noah?” She stood behind him, and he dropped his head back to look up at her. That blank expression of his was back and it hurt to see it, even though she’d expected it. “Are you all right?” He’d bared his soul to her last night, every gory detail that she’d wanted to hear. But at what cost to them?

  He blinked then lifted his head and shoved to a stand. “You can grab the first shower.” He came around the couch, his even look chilling her.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Because I don’t have an answer,” he replied without inflection. He carried on up the stairs, leaving her there to watch his retreat.

  She clasped her hand over her mouth to hold in the bitter moan that wanted to escape. The rush of anguish was swift and telling. She’d pushed him too far, and now they were both struggling for footing in the aftermath.

  There was no going back to the tempered comfort they’d both found in each other, in what they’d had together. For that she wanted to scream. Or cry.

  Instead she sucked in a breath and headed up to shower. His computer keys drummed out his location when she passed by his office. The tapping paused for a second before the consistent pang of the spacebar continued. She hurried up the stairs when there were so many things she wanted to say and didn’t know how.

  Sorry for pushing. Sorry for your pain. Sorry that Beth did such a horrible thing to you. Sorry…wouldn’t cut it. Everything he’d revealed needed to come out in order for him to heal. Only there was no magic answer for how long the healing would take, if ever.

  She adjusted the water to just under scorching and tried to scrub away the ugliness that last night had left on her. She couldn’t let it show, not her sorrow or pain or any of the doubts that threatened to tumble out.

  The motions of getting dressed were done on autopilot. Hair, teeth, makeup were completed while her mind replayed every detail of the previous night, both wishing for a do-over and knowing there was no going back.

  She hastily tossed her stuff into her bags, only to discover she’d accumulated more things at his house than would fit in the two duffel bags she had. When had that happened?

  Leaving it, she hurried back downstairs, gathered her resolve and stuck her head into Noah’s office. “I’m done. The bathroom is yours.”

  He looked up and stared at her until she was ready to back out and run from the house. How had things gotten so broken between them while they’d slept? Should she push again? Ask more questions? Simply be there, or leave altogether?

  “Thank you,” he finally said. So formal. It was worse than before the accident. He was back to the polite courtesies that weren’t wrong, but were far from right.

  She hesitated again, wanting to say more, only to choke on everything that came to mind. “I’ll pack up some food and stuff then.”

  He didn’t object when she fled to the kitchen. She couldn’t stop her awareness of his leaving the office and heading up the stairs. The ceiling creaked overhead to mark his movements before the rush of the water flooded the pipes when he turned on the shower.

  Her hands shook and she fumbled with the dirty containers from last night when she unpacked them from the bag. It kept her busy. Rinsing them out, loading the dishwasher, sorting out more snacks for the potentially long wait ahead of everyone. It was how she functioned.

  One task at a time. One duty to fulfill. One more person to help.

  She was glad she’d been there for Noah last night and there was a spark of happiness that warmed her when she thought of the trust he’d given her to confide so much. However, both were countered by the wretched understanding that no matter how much he’d needed to get it out, his confession also spelled the end of the fragile thing they’d been building.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “He’s awake.”

  Those words had everyone in their corner of the waiting room sighing at once before a bombardment of questions flew at Noah.

  “Does he recognize them?” Cali asked.

  “Is he talking?” That came from Eleanor.

  “Is he—”

  “He’s doing fine.” Noah raised his voice to cut off Carter. A soft smile broke through on Noah’s face, and it eased more of the tension that had collected in Liv during the wait. The doctors had taken Tyler off the drugs around noon, and that’d been four long hours ago. “Tyler is responding to questions. He’s still heavily sedated and has a long way to go, but he’s concerned over Allie’s arm, shocked at Seth’s new haircut and mad that the bed isn’t bigger so they could fit in it with him.”

  There was a round of laughter at that. Those were all excellent signs and another big hurdle that marked another step forward.

  Noah shoved his hands in his pockets and blew out a breath. “Eleanor, Thomas. The doctors asked me to send you back.” The instant flash of fear on Eleanor’s face was unmistakable and a quick reminder that they weren’t done yet. “He wants to talk to you about a few things. I don’t know what,” he rushed on when Thomas opened his mouth. “But I didn’t get the impression it was bad.”

  “Thank you,” Thomas said, rising.

  “Dad?” Kendra’s sister rose, the question open on her face. She’d arrived from Chicago early that morning to sit with her parents.

  He rubbed her back. “Come on.”

  The trio left the room, and Liv started packing up before aborting her tasks to help Cali. “Here,” she said, rushing over. “Let me get your bag.”

  “I fucking hate this,” Jake muttered. His complaint wasn’t strong though. More annoyed than angry. He’d refused to go home after being released. He was clearly uncomfortable and in pain in the wheelchair but stubbornly denied it every time someone asked.

  “What part?” Marcus asked. He and Quinn had insisted on being there now that the media had backed off. Quinn had donned a disguise that had fooled everyone. She looked entirely different with a red wig and clothes better suited for the teenage grunge crowd. “The broken leg, the wheelchair or the weakness?”

  Jake glared at him. “It all sucks.”

  Marcus winked. “Just wanted to clarify that.”

  “Ass.”

  “Dick.”

  “You’re both fucktards,” Rock cut in.

  “Says the cocksucker.” Marcus’s grin alleviated what could’ve been an insult.

  “Guys,” Cali admonished without heat, glancing at the rest of the room. It was hard to be mad when the byplay felt so normal.

  “Oh.” Liv spun around to Noah. “Did you text V yet?” He shook his head, and she pulled out her phone to take care of it. V and Holden were on the road again, but Liv had been keeping them updated.

  “We’ll walk down with you guys,” Quinn said, holding out her hand for Cali’s bag, which Liv handed over. “I need to get back to Blake.”

  The next minutes were consumed with hugs, promises of updates and the general corralling of Jake’s entourage out of the room, him sputtering the whole way. It left Liv with a smile on her face and a sense that, just maybe, things would eventually be all right.

  Rock glanced at his watch. “I need to
get to the club.” He looked to Noah. “What time are you planning on getting there?”

  “Nine or ten.” Noah had his stone impression in place, so it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. After what he’d revealed last night, she was amazed he could still be around that lifestyle at all. It also raised the question of why he still was. Was it another form of self-punishment?

  “Have you looked through the stuff I gave you?” Rock asked.

  “We’ll talk tonight.”

  “Marcus said he’d be in for a bit, too.”

  Carter gave Liv a quick hug then those two left as well. With just her and Noah remaining, the awkward silence that had been with them all morning returned. She busied herself picking up and organizing her bag to go herself. It was all a ruse really, as most of her focus was on the man standing silently at her back. His appraisal tingled over every awareness she had. Her skin hummed with the knowledge and she tried to contain her reaction to him when it was almost impossible.

  When there was nothing left to pack, Liv took a deep breath and turned to him. “Are you heading to your office or hanging out here?”

  His expression didn’t change, so maybe it was her own guilt at avoiding him that had her imagining his disappointment. “Liv?”

  She hung her head. He had the amazing ability to imply and say so much with her name. What she heard was You’re avoiding me. Something’s wrong. It’s about last night, right? He wasn’t wrong on any of it, either.

  Without looking up, she stepped up to him and simply wrapped her arms around his waist to hold him close. The morning spent with him analyzing her every action and her second-guessing everything she said or did had put a spotlight on all the reasons their relationship wouldn’t work.

  Not now. Not yet.

  He didn’t reject her hug though, and a fall of relief and sharp-edged sadness trembled through her when his arms came around to hold her close.