by Lea Griffith
The burn wasn’t sweet; it was more than that. How many times his flogger fell she didn’t know. She felt the coolness of the chains in her hands, felt her body shifting to avoid the blows, and then Tobias would stroke her skin with his palms, ease the sting and kiss away the fire with his lips. Always the sting ended in pleasure.
He knew her body and played it masterfully, giving her enough soft caresses to counteract the pain from the stinging flogger. She craved the thuds of the first flogger, finding that the sting centered her mind and allowed her a deeper insight into what she wanted. As the pain came it looped through her soul and then departed, and through it all was Tobias.
Her rock. Her love. Her Dom.
The tails fell over and over until he was begging her. “Say the word, Ruthie! Don’t let me do this to you,” he pleaded.
She remained silent, her mind shut down to anything but the bite of his flogger and the pleasure of its sting.
“Ease me, Sir,” she finally managed around a mouth seemingly filled with cotton.
She was gone, floating in a space she’d never been before—her body demanded surcease while her heart demanded everything.
He cursed, and she heard it as if from a distance. The flogger dropped to the ground and he grabbed her hips, canting them to the angle he wanted, and then his cock was between her thighs, a heat all its own.
“Say the word, Ruthie!”
He was pleading with her. Her soul insisted she give him what he wanted, but her mind commanded her to remain silent. This was her chance, and if she failed here, he would be lost to her.
“Please, Ruthie, say the word,” he said at her ear. “Don’t let me do this to you.” The same plea again, and it almost broke her.
“Fine,” he ground out. “But I won’t forgive you for this.”
Then he was inside her, his long, thick cock sinking deep, filling her and taking her over with a single thrust. He rode her through it, not stopping, setting a pace that had her crying out with every thrust. He was gentle, then hard, then harder, and it was glorious.
She flew so high she touched the sky, but when he stilled behind her and pulled out without coming, she knew she’d lost him.
It had all been a lesson. Could she handle him? Yes. But he’d shown her he would never accept her submission. He wanted more. Ruthie wasn’t enough.
He uncuffed her hands, and when her body dropped into his arms, he picked her up gently and carried her to his bedroom. She knew the path, counted his steps, and tried to keep her sanity. Her body ached, but it wasn’t painful. Her heart hurt and it was excruciating.
He hadn’t come. He had the last say, and by not giving her his release, he’d shown her what he’d apparently known all along—he didn’t really want Ruthie. Not all of her, anyway.
Her mind was numb, her body depleted. Her overall emotional state wasn’t conducive to figuring this out right now.
Tobias gently laid her facedown on the bed. The silk of his sheets was a taunt to her body so she groaned, because she couldn’t handle any more sensory input at this point.
He murmured nonsensical things to her, and she floated in her subspace, recognizing that he was applying balm to her back and small kisses over his marks, but she couldn’t be bothered with it.
“I wish you hadn’t come here tonight. I wish you hadn’t pushed me, Ruthie,” he said against her neck. He shifted and lay down beside her, careful not to touch her back but running his hands through her hair. The hair he’d pulled earlier.
His hands traced her cheeks, over her lips and the shell of her ear. A tear fell from her eyes because even though she was floating, she knew that when she woke up he would be gone. He wasn’t going to give her what she wanted, and Ruthie wondered what was so broken inside him that he couldn’t see he’d obviously taken her to heaven.
But the darkness tugged at her mind, and her body gave over to it.
“I love you,” she whispered, determined to leave him with those words.
“You shouldn’t,” he promised.
Then Ruthie closed her eyes and slept.
—
She woke up disoriented. The feel of the silk sheets beneath her wasn’t the cotton of her own bed. Somewhere in the house a cuckoo clock sounded. She was in Tobias’s house.
And with the last crow of the cuckoo, the night before came rushing back at her. Her hand splayed out, running over the other side of the bed. He was gone.
So much ecstasy, and she was falling hard now into reality. Her hand bumped into a piece of paper. Her heart clutched in her chest. She didn’t want to read it. She couldn’t read it.
The heavy embossed paper taunted her with its series of raised dots that held the promise of painful words. She sat up, pushing her hair back and telling herself it was just a note. He’d learned Braille for her—had even gone so far as to buy a Braille typewriter so he could leave her little notes.
Dear Ruthie–
You gave me something precious last night. Something I don’t deserve. The simple truth is I cannot take what you’re offering. I need more and I won’t break your sweetness to get it. Stanton will be waiting to pick you up. If you love me as you say you do, you won’t revisit this. Move on with your life as if I don’t exist, and I’ll do the same.
I wish you well.
Tobias
Oh, it was worse than she’d suspected. He’d ended it all. She’d pushed him and he’d withdrawn. The tears fell down her cheeks, her heart roiled in her chest, and her brain splintered. She was the one who couldn’t see, but Tobias was the blind one.
Ruthie ripped the paper into tiny pieces, flinging them away. Then she got out of bed and reached for her coat, which she knew he’d placed within arm’s length. She winced as she pulled it on. Her muscles had been well used, and his marks reminded her of everything she was losing, so she ignored her body’s protests.
It took her minutes to make it to the door, and when she opened it, Stanton was there.
“Miss,” he said politely.
“Hey, Stanton,” she responded softly. She grabbed his arm and let him lead her to the car. Had she sight, she wouldn’t have looked back, because even though she’d left her heart there, she would not let him mock her.
He’d left, and sure as hell was hot, Ruthie was finished giving herself to a man who didn’t want everything she was willing to give.
More, he’d said. Ruthie wondered if he’d ever find it.
“Where to, Miss Copeland?”
“Home, Stanton. Thank you,” she said.
As the car pulled away she didn’t mourn. There’d be time for tears later, but even as she told herself that, the tears fell again, hot and scalding, burning a wicked trace down her cheeks.
She’d get over this. She would.
So it became a mantra, one she repeated until even she began to believe it. She’d have to be in the same space with him in the future, but not for a while. Before she’d become involved with Tobias she’d considered a move to Las Vegas. Ruthie loved the sun, and the sun always shone in Vegas.
She could paint, let the constant sun banish her shadows, and she’d find peace.
Damn it, she would find peace.
Chapter 1
PRESENT DAY
Spring in Atlanta was a precarious creature. The days were hotter than right outside the door to hell, and the nights were so chilly you were forced to cover up what you’d exposed during the day. But the smells were delightful. Ruthie loved the scent of spring.
The rich, loamy fragrance of the grasses and trees and the sweet scent of blooming azaleas and dogwoods were an enticement, and then there were the honeysuckle and jasmine, Ruthie’s favorites. It made her mouth water and her hands clench.
“Stanton? Lower the rear windows, please,” she requested of her driver. He’d been with her brother for seven years in various capacities. He was a sweet man, and Ruthie adored his wife.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, and Ruthie heard the smile in his voice.
Warmth. She craved it.
Every time she returned to Atlanta, the coldness of her circumstance seeped in. It was home, but the city that had once been her refuge was now a bit of a personal hell. Tobias lived here. Ruthie had fled the loving arms of all she knew to escape. The temptation he presented always made her quiver in anticipation and dread. He avoided her and she did the same, but when they ended up in the same room there was electricity over her skin and a niggling reminder—she was his. And even though he’d pushed her away, there was a reckoning coming.
“There’s a party tonight, Miss Copeland. Miss Daly said to come to their apartment and she’ll fill you in,” Stanton told her.
A party? Great. Daly had become a party-throwing beast since she and Jeremiah had managed to find their way back to each other. A very good reason, in Ruthie’s opinion, to celebrate. But Ruthie was tired. Her flight had been easy, but she’d been up nearly twenty-four hours, painting like a woman possessed as the pictures in her mind found a home on canvas. That was her sanctuary.
She’d been five when her brother brought home the watercolors he’d stolen from a local art store. Her sight had been deteriorating rapidly, but there’d been enough left for her to see what she was painting. It had been delightful. Ruthie had been enchanted with creating the pictures in her mind ever since.
She couldn’t discern colors anymore, but her mind remembered everything from her childhood. The colors were premixed to the exacting standards of her memories, and a local artist she co-opted space with in Vegas made sure her paints were mixed and labeled accordingly. Without Vince, she’d have given up her painting. He’d helped her back from the ledge, and she owed him so much for that.
Who would mix her paints now that she was moving back permanently to Atlanta? Maybe she could talk Vince and his partner, Julio, into relocating to her hometown. Five Points was an artists’ haven, and downtown had evolved into quite an eclectic enclave. Vince could continue to sculpt and paint, and Julio could audition for the Atlanta Ballet.
Ruthie laughed to herself. She was planning her friends’ lives as if they were hers. They were free spirits, but she had no idea if they’d even consider moving.
If they wouldn’t relocate, she’d have to have Vince ship her paints. She could do it. She would do it. She had already made arrangements for studio space off Peachtree Street—it was a warehouse space with plenty of windows, allowing the sun to stream in from all angles all day long.
With the sun she could see the shadows. She was completely blind in darkness. Artificial light played tricks on her, but natural sunlight afforded her something as close to sight as she’d ever know again. Painting was her port in the storm, and without it she would be lost. They called her the Blind Painter. Ruthie thought it a silly name, but her painting had made her world-renowned, and she was a rich woman in her own right.
“We’re here, Miss Copeland,” Stanton informed her.
“Are you ever going to call me Ruthie, Stanton?”
“No, ma’am, probably not,” he replied with a small laugh.
She sighed, and then she laughed with him. Her stomach tightened as he put the Rover in park and opened her door, holding her hand as she exited the SUV.
As always, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her to the elevators. The large utility elevators were wide enough to hold a car. They were for the exclusive use of Jeremiah Copeland’s family and friends. You had to have a key to enter and a key to get the behemoth to move.
Ruthie heard the strains of hard-hitting bass-filled music from the club. How The Underground didn’t get shut down for violating noise ordinances she had no idea, though Jeremiah probably paid a hefty sum to keep it that way. She smiled again, a bare curving of her lips. The club taunted her—its presence another reminder of everything she’d almost had.
The elevator started to move, and the sound of the music was lost under the turning of its massive gears. Her mouth was dry, her palms were sweating, and her heart raced. It was always this way. When she stepped off the elevator who would greet her? Daly? Jeremiah?
Or would Tobias be there, as he sometimes was? Knowing her reason for moving home, was she prepared to deal with him yet?
“We’re here. And may I say, I’m really glad you’re home, Miss Copeland,” Stanton whispered in her ear.
“Me too, Stanton. Me too,” she responded, and pasted a bright smile on her face.
There was no sun to lighten her path now, and momentary panic settled in her gut. She shoved it aside and stepped off the elevator, immediately hitting the button to lock that entrance to her apartment.
“Good Lord, woman, you look hot!”
Daly. The woman who’d stolen her brother’s heart, returned it, and come back to reclaim it with a vengeance.
“I do, don’t I?” Ruthie asked with a laugh. It was a long-standing joke between them. Daly complained that even though her vision worked perfectly, she didn’t have half the fashion sense as the woman who couldn’t see what she was wearing.
“Bitch.”
“Yeah, I am,” Ruthie said, and then they both broke into laughter.
Daly’s arms wrapped around Ruthie, and Ruthie enfolded Daly in her embrace.
“Is it for good this time?” her best friend asked softly.
Ruthie didn’t even pretend to wonder what Daly was talking about. “That will depend on your brother.”
“It’s going to be hard, Ruthie. He’s in rare form lately,” Daly warned.
Ruthie snorted. “He’s always in rare form, Daly. But I’ll get what I want or I’ll give up. Either way, I have to resolve this. He took something from me and he needs to give it back or take care of it properly. I’m tired of running.”
“He’s doing a scene tonight,” Daly said in a low voice.
Ruthie winced inside but kept her face blank. “Is he?”
“With Savannah Cavanaugh,” Daly bit out.
Disgust was evident in her friend’s voice. Daly wasn’t a Savannah Cavanaugh fan. For that matter, neither was Ruthie. She’d caused problems for Daly and Jeremiah and ultimately was a woman who always kept you guessing as to her intent. When Jeremiah and Daly had split three years ago, he had played Savannah in the club. It hadn’t lasted, simply because Savannah could never have held Jeremiah’s heart. It already belonged to Daly.
Ruthie had spoken with Savannah once, long before Daly had reentered Jeremiah’s life, and the woman had seemed…broken. It was in her voice, a need and loss she just couldn’t quite disguise. Of course, Ruthie was more adept at picking up the subtle nuances most people hoped remained hidden.
So while Ruthie didn’t like Savannah Cavanaugh, or Savvy as they called her in the club, she didn’t hate her with the vehemence that Daly did. Hearing that she was going to play sub to Tobias’s Dom might just get her there, though.
“He plays frequently?” she asked before she could stop herself.
Daly squeezed her and stepped away, grabbing her hand and leading Ruthie to the couch. “Not often, but you can tell when it’s building up. It’s almost like he cycles, and even when he plays, there’s never really a release for him. It’s on his face, in his eyes. He’s not happy. He seems lost somehow. I’m worried about him.”
Ruthie sat down wearily and rolled her neck. The smell of turpentine drifted to her nose, and it was comforting. No matter how much she scrubbed after a long session painting, the smells of her paints and cleaning materials remained, embedded in her skin much as Tobias was in her heart.
“He had everything and he forced me to leave, Daly. I’m not going to feel bad for him when he had me in his hands and tossed me away,” Ruthie said roughly. Her throat was thick with tears. Already it had begun. “Is Candace here tonight?”
Daly sighed. “She and Finch are down in the club already. Jeremiah is throwing a party for Dante Shaw, a welcome-to-the
-club party.”
“Dante isn’t so bad, Day,” Ruthie told her.
“He’s Dixie Mafia, Ruthie. I want Jeremiah as far away from DM as I can get him. I can’t figure out why he allowed Dante membership.”
Ruthie cocked her head. Worry threaded her friend’s words. “Jeremiah left them behind for you, Daly. He wouldn’t endanger you or what you have together for anything in the world. Dante is part of his past, but he’s not a bad guy. He’s just another big dude with issues. Seems like that’s all that wanders through the doors here.”
Daly laughed, and Ruthie’s heart eased at the sound. “When are we telling Jeremiah?”
“Telling him what?” Ruthie asked.
“That you’re home for good,” Daly said in exasperation.
“I figured the same time I told Tobias would be good. Two birds, one stone. Quick and easy. Or better yet, if you see him first, you tell him. By the way, how are things between Jeremiah and David?”
Daly’s silence had the hair on Ruthie’s arms standing on end. “David’s disappeared.”
Ruthie stood suddenly. “What the hell? I just talked to him yesterday.”
“You did? We haven’t seen him in two months. He won’t return Jeremiah’s calls, Toby can’t find him, and we found out he resigned from the DA’s office three weeks ago. Toby’s searching under rocks, but yeah, your brother will be happy to hear he’s keeping in touch with one of you.”
“He said he was taking a break, not to worry, and he’d call me when he could,” Ruthie said, then bit her lower lip. “Now I’m worried.”
“Look, we’ll tell Jeremiah, and you two can figure out where to go from there. Right now, we need to get you changed. Have I mentioned that I cannot wait to see my brother’s face when he sees you?”
Ruthie growled and Daly snickered.
“I don’t know if I can listen to him with another woman, Daly.” There it was. Ruthie’s greatest fear given voice.
“He’s a Dom, Ruthie. It’s part of who he is. He dominates, women submit, but he never has sex with them. Not in the club, anyway. There’s a line he draws very clearly with each sub he contracts—no sex. It’s dominance and submission. I will tell you, though….The women he dominates always find release. Steel your spine, Ruthie. You came here to get your man back. Let’s do this.” Daly’s words were both reminder and an attempt at cheerleading.