Why is this rearing its head now?
I ponder what to do while we make our way to the dining room to eat, and we sit side by side. Mila grips my thigh between bites, and her hand is warm and mine.
But she can’t make the craving go away.
It’s planted in my head, and it won’t leave me alone.
I feed my wife dessert while hiding my struggle. I laugh at her jokes, but I don’t feel the amusement. I’m empty inside for this moment, because all I can do is crave.
It’s eating at me.
Overwhelming me.
It makes no sense.
It makes no sense.
Long after Mila is sleeping, tucked safely into our bed, I find my way to my study.
It’s the middle of the night, and I can’t think around my need to use.
It comes in waves, big waves.
I dump the rest of the pill bottle into my hand, and chew them up, swallowing the bitterness without flinching.
I feel instant relief, as the ground up powder enters my bloodstream through my stomach, and I close my eyes, letting it dull the need.
The need is a monster, and I just made a blood offering.
It will be quiet now, for a little while.
I fall asleep on the sofa in my study.
15
Chapter Fourteen
Mila
I wake with a stretch, the sun on my face, and Pax is gone.
I know this because my fingers brush against cool sheets, instead of his warm body.
I glance at the clock. Eight o’clock. He’s at work. He didn’t wake me, that rascal.
I leisurely shower and blow-dry my hair, and then text Maddy.
What time should I come get Zu?
She answers immediately. Can I bring her home after lunch?
Ok, I answer.
She’s probably taking her shoe shopping again.
My stomach growls and I decide the baby needs to eat. I make my way down the hall to the kitchen, but on my way, I pass Pax’s study, and there is movement inside.
Pausing in the doorway, I see Natasha hovering above Pax, giving him a glass of water and pills.
“What the hell?”
I didn’t mean to sound so sharp, but seriously.
They both look up at me and Pax’s eyes are bloodshot.
“I’m sorry, babe. I couldn’t sleep last night and I fell asleep in here. Natasha just brought me some aspirin.”
“Why couldn’t you sleep?” I ask curiously, practically nudging past Natasha to examine him. I put my hand on his forehead. “You don’t have a fever, but you look rough.”
“I don’t know,’ he tells me, but he’s troubled. I can see it in his hazel eyes and they are so green right now. That’s what happens when he’s troubled. They’re green as moss, like a murky pond, hiding things in their depths.
“Natasha, can you excuse us for a minute? I ask.
“Of course,” she exits immediately.
“What’s happening?” I ask my husband, sitting next to him. “You’re sleeping in your study, you’re late for work.” I glance at the bar, and there is a scotch bottle out, and a used tumbler. “And you seem to be drinking a lot.”
“I’m just stressed, babe,” he tells me and he is so earnest, so genuine, but even still… there’s something. I feel it.
“No lies,” I tell him. “You promised me that once. You promised never to lie to me again. Remember?”
“Of course,” he answers sharply. “Of course I do.”
“Then why are you lying?” I ask simply.
His face contorts and his hand clenches in his lap. A vein pulses in his temple, the one that pops out when he’s furious.
“I’m not lying,” he snaps, and he’s suddenly so angry. “Why would you accuse me of something like that?”
His sudden anger seems out of proportion for the current situation. I stare at him, hesitant. I don’t know what to say.
“You feel different,” I say finally. “I don’t know how to explain it. You’re edgy right now. Like a caged lion.”
I wait, and he sighs.
“My knee hurts,” he tells me finally. Reluctantly. “It needs surgery.”
I gasp, and stare at him, and he nods.
“It’s ok. I just didn’t want to worry you until you were out of the woods with the baby. I don’t want you to worry. It’ll just be quick surgery and they’ll fix me up.”
“And in the meantime, you’re in excruciating pain?” I guess. He looks away.
“A bit.”
“Pax! Oh my God. This was so unnecessary. You didn’t have to keep this from me. I swear to God, sometimes you’re protective to a fault. You need to make an appointment today for surgery. No more delays. I’m fine. Do it.”
He stares at me, searching my face, and then he finally nods.
“If you’re sure.”
“Oh my God,” I swear. “Do it.”
“Ok.” He’s sheepish now, and I’m glad.
“Seriously. I can’t believe you did this.”
“Calm down,” he tells me, standing. He’s wobbly, and his knee gives out. He tries again, this time successful.
“Are you even supposed to be walking on it?” I eye it doubtfully.
He doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.
“Call today,” I tell him firmly.
“I will.”
He dresses and heads to work, and I have breakfast.
When Natasha comes to clear my dishes, she pauses.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about his knee,” she apologizes. “But he didn’t want you to know.”
My head snaps up at this.
“You knew?”
She nods. “Yeah. He’s been having trouble sleeping, and I’ve caught him up and around the house at night. He’s been in a lot of pain. But he didn’t want to worry you.”
Natasha knew.
For some reason, this bothers me. He told Natasha, our housekeeper, but not me? That seems very, very wrong. Very, very unlike him.
“Well, thank you for taking care of him,” I finally say limply. She nods again, pleased with herself.
“Of course. I took care of his grandfather, and I’m happy to take care of Mr. Tate, as well.”
Except taking care of Mr. Tate is my job. But I don’t point that out.
Instead, I fiddle around the house, messing around in my new studio, trying to arrange my supplies, but my agitation over the situation blocks my creativity. I can’t seem to focus on drawing or painting.
When Maddy comes in, she brings the mail, and hands it to Natasha, who whisks it away for sorting. There is a small box addressed to Pax on top, but it’s gone before I see what it is.
My daughter distracts me anyway.
“Mama!” she shrieks, throwing herself into my arms and holding out her foot. “Look at my new boots!”
“I knew it,” I roll my eyes at my sister. “Mad, I seriously am running out of room to put her shoes.”
“In this house?” she’s doubtful. “You should make her a walk-in closet out of a room you don’t use. That’s every girl’s dream.”
I chuckle. “Maybe it’s your dream.”
“It’s every girl’s dream,” she assures me. “You should do it. You’d be a super-hero to her.”
“I’m a super-hero to her already,” I tell her. “Until she turns thirteen or so.”
We visit for a while, and Maddy finally stares at me. “What’s wrong with you? You should be on Cloud Nine since you can get up and around now.”
I pause, and consider, and finally tell her my concerns about Natasha.
“I don’t have any grounds for it,” I finish up finally. “I just feel uncomfortable with her around my husband. I feel like… I don’t know.”
Maddy nods seriously. “I’ve honestly had a bad feeling about her all along,” she says and thank God for sisters who always understand. “I really have. There’s something… I can’t put my finger on it. But what woma
n her age wants to be the housekeeper to an old man like Pax’s grandfather? I mean, she doted on him. I wonder if there was something there?”
I shudder at that. “Surely not.” But then I think on it. “Maybe she wanted his money?”
Maddy nods. “Maybe. And who has his money now?”
I’m silent. Pax does. We do.
“Son of a bitch,” I finally mutter. Maddy nods again.
“Money brings problems with it,” she says, and I have to agree.
“But we could be wrong about her,” I muse aloud.
“We could be,” my sister agrees. “But I don’t think so. We have instincts for a reason. To use them.”
“We can’t fire her,” I tell her. “We have to keep her on staff for five years.”
“But you could move her away from you,” Maddy suggests. “Just think about it.”
“I will.”
And I will. I hate to be unfair, and I hope I’m not being unfair right now. But my life is my life, and no one will protect it but me.
At this moment, a text comes in from Pax.
I love you.
I smile and text him back. I love you, too.
16
Chapter Fifteen
Pax
I sit at my desk, and finally, I look up my doctor’s number.
I speak with the nurse.
“I’d like to schedule the surgery for my knee please.”
“When looks good for you, Mr. Tate?”
“The earlier, the better. It’s causing a bit of pain.”
As in, excruciating, debilitating pain.
She’s silent as she looks through the schedule.
“Well, Dr. Talbot is on vacation for the next two weeks, but Dr. Otham could do the surgery if you’d like?”
“Uh. I don’t know Dr. Otham,” I tell her.
“I assure you, he’s quite good. He could fit you in next week.”
“But if I wait one more week after that, I can have my regular doctor?”
She checks.
“Yes. Dr. Talbot can do it the week he returns.”
“Let’s do that.”
“Ok.” She puts me on the calendar, and I put it on mine. When I hang on, I count the days.
Eighteen days.
I call her back.
“Can I have some muscle relaxers to help with the pain in the meantime?”
She pauses. “Muscle relaxers won’t help with this, Mr. Tate.” The hell they won’t. I want to tell her I’ve been taking them, but don’t. “And I’m not sure, given your history, that Dr. Talbot will want to prescribe you anything stronger. I’ll check with him and get back to you.”
“Don’t bother.”
I hang up on her. My history? Why the fuck had I been so honest in filling out my medical history when I became a patient? They’re just using my honesty against me, and now I’m stuck with pain.
The pain swells as the minutes pass, and eventually, it’s all I can think about. Rubbing it doesn’t help. I’m drowning in an ocean of misery. The hair at the back of my neck is damp with trying to control it. It’s not working.
Finally, with shaking hands, I pull out the empty pill bottle from where I’d stuck it in my desk. Why I hadn’t thrown it away, I don’t know.
I examine the label.
Two refills remaining.
I wonder if Natasha would mind?
I text her.
She answers immediately. Of course not! Go right ahead. I can pick them up, if you want.
That would be great, I tell her. Can you drop them off with Sasha?
Because I need them now.
Fuck their “with your history” bullshit. It’s been five years since I’ve used anything at all. They don’t know shit about me.
I can’t focus well on work, but I try.
A couple hours later, Sasha comes in with the pills, and she brings me a giant gel ice-pack, too.
“Natasha suggested it,” she tells me when I look at it strangely. “I have another one in the freezer when this one gets warm. Just yell at me.”
“Thanks,” I tell her, my fingers wrapping around the new pill bottle. They are more precious than gold to me right now.
I am antsy for her to leave, and when she does, I swallow four pills, after chewing them. It makes them hit my bloodstream faster, and God, when they do… sweet relief.
It doesn’t take the pain away completely, but it takes the edge off and makes it bearable.
An hour later, Mila texts.
Did you call the doctor?
Yes, babe. Surgery in a couple of weeks.
Thank God! She answers. I love you.
It’s only been an hour, but I take another pill.
I’ve got to pace myself, I know, but they help. They really do. They seem to make my mind fuzzy, too, and for some reason, right now, I like that. It also distracts me from the pain.
I put the bottle away, and don’t even look at it again until I leave for the day.
I take another pill in the car.
That leave twenty-four in the bottle. And then one more refill of thirty pills.
I make a mental note.
This blown-out knee business is no-joke.
I notice that Roger isn’t taking me toward home, and I ask him about it.
“Oh, sorry sir. Your wife instructed me to take you to her instead.”
“And where is she?” I feel stupid having to ask.
“She’s waiting for you for dinner.”
“So, it’s a surprise, then?” I’m wry now. My wife loves random surprises.
“Yes, sir.”
I sit back and wait, and it’s not too terribly long before we’re pulling through the gates of a park on the outside of town. The car glides silently along the quiet street until we stop in front of a glistening lake.
There are Japanese lanterns hung from here to the water, where a fancy tent is set up, and my wife waits by the doors. I know she did all of this herself. It’s not like her to ask the staff. So she and Maddy must’ve worked all afternoon.
Not only that, but she looks stunning in a black cocktail dress, simple and snug. It fits her perfectly. Her hair cascades down her back, and I can see her smile from here.
I’m already grinning as I walk down the softly lit path, and when I reach my wife, I kiss her hard.
“Welcome to dinner,” she tells me softly, and my hands glide up under her dress to her perfect ass.
“Ah-ah-ah. Not yet. First, I feed you.”
She pulls away, and I examine the tent. Silk drapes everything, and cushions cover the floor. It looks like something out of a middle-eastern harem, fancy and expensive. It’s inviting, and all I really want to do is lay my wife down on the silk and fuck her.
But.
I don’t.
Instead, I sit on the cushions and eat with her.
A magnificent picnic is laid in front of us, and I try not to show the pain I’m feeling from getting down on the ground. I don’t want her to know the extent of it.
Hanging lanterns with candles in them surround us, and the whole thing is something out of a movie.
“Where did you get this idea?” I ask her as I bite into a hot buttered roll.
“A book I’m reading,” she answers. “Do you like it?”
“Yes.” I glance over her shoulder and there is a bed-shaped area behind her. “I can’t help but notice there is a bed here.”
“Um-hmm,” she nods. “We have to have dessert, don’t we?”
My heart swells three sizes. “You know me well.”
“I know that while you tolerate chocolate cake, you’d much rather lick me for dessert,” she agrees. “I do know you.”
I can’t eat my dinner fast enough knowing what awaits me. I’m not even worried that a passerby will hear the noise coming from the tent. To be fair, I’ve never worried much about what others might think.
I stand up carefully while Mila is still eating. I want her attention to be focused elsewhere, rather t
han on my troubles. I manage, and while I’m at it, I untie the silk cord holding open the door. It closes, and we have instant privacy.
Stepping carefully, I head to the bed area.
Mila follows, and when I’m on my back, she smiles, stripping her dress off.
She’s not wearing a bra or underwear.
I suck in my breath and stare at her and she is so beautiful that my gut hurts with it.
“I’m going to blindfold you now,” she says sweetly, pulling a black satin scarf out of a cushion.
I raise an eyebrow. “So I can’t see you? Dislike.”
She smiles. “Oh, you’ll like. Trust me.”
“I have no doubt.”
Obediently, I tie the scarf around my eyes.
“Can you see?” Mila’s voice is low, next to my ear, and I can feel her nipples grazing my arm. I reach out to the cup them, and she pulls away.
“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you? Lie still, babe.”
She ties my feet—each foot to something. And then my hands—above my head.
“Hmm. What do you have planned for me?” I ask. “Will I be gagged next?
She chuckles. “No. I need your mouth free and clear.”
She straddles my hips, and the moistness between her legs is next to my skin. It’s enough to spring my dick to life, and it pushes against her, hot and hard.
“Awww, you like me,” she points out with a laugh.
“Let me show you how much,” I suggest. She laughs again.
“In good time. For now, I have something for you to suck.”
She presses her full breasts against my mouth, and eagerly, I pull her nipples in, sucking at the pinkness, licking, lapping, then sucking again. It’s just how she likes it, and even though I’m the one who is bound, she’s the one who is moaning.
“You like?” I ask against her lips, and my voice is husky. I want her already. My wife knows just what to do to make me crazy.
“Oh, I do,” she assures me. “But you’re not finished yet. You have to work for your dinner.”
She straddles my face, and her muskiness is all around me, and I breathe it in. She’s wet and warm and God, she’s delicious. I lick at her, making circles with my tongue before I plunge it back inside of her. I fuck her with it, over and over, licking, sucking, fucking. Even though I can’t see, I know she’s limp. I can feel it.
My Peace (The Beautifully Broken series Book 5) Page 9