by E. K. Blair
“W-When will you be back?”
Leaning in to rest my forehead against hers, I whisper, “I don’t know.”
She then begins to quietly weep with her hands on my cheeks.
“You love me, right?”
“Yes,” she responds.
“I need you to know that when I come back, we won’t be staying. We’ll have to leave the country. It’s not something that’s negotiable.”
“What about our life? Our family and friends?”
“There won’t be a life if we stay.”
Her body trembles while she clings to me, muffling her cries against my shoulder.
“I don’t have much time,” I tell her softly, trying not to upset her more.
“What does that mean?”
“I’m leaving now—tonight.”
She pulls away, and with broken, tear-filled eyes, she tells me, “You have to give me something. Some assurance that you’re going to be okay, that you’re going to come back.”
“There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for our family. I will always protect what’s mine. I will be back.”
And with that, she kisses me with urgency, pulling herself on top of my lap. She tastes like salt as she cries through her loving affection, gripping tightly on to me.
I band my arms around her, reminding, “I love this family more than life.”
“I’m so s-scared. I d-don’t even know what to think right now,” she whimpers, and I wipe her tears.
“I know, hun. I know, and I’m sorry. I never wanted to drag you into this. But I have to go.”
“No. Wait,” she clips out. “Maybe I can help you. If you just tell me whatever trouble you’re in, maybe there’s a way out. Something I can do to hel—”
“I promise you, I’ve calculated everything. Remember what I told you: we argued, and I left.”
We have one last kiss when I get the call on the untraceable cell I purchased, letting me know the car is here.
And then I’m gone as the car makes its way to the charter that will take me to Scotland, undetected and off the grid.
I’M A SELFISH woman for what I’m about to do, but I can’t stop myself. All my luggage is packed in the trunk, but before driving to the airport, I need to say goodbye. I know my words hurt him last night when he came to see me. The more I spoke, the angrier he became and eventually stormed out. But I can’t be left with that. I can’t have that be our last interaction. I know I’m only thinking of myself right now, but I simply have to see him one last time.
Pulling up to the gate, I push the call button.
“Go home, Nina,” his voice says.
“Declan, please. I’m going home. I’m heading to the airport now, I just want to say goodbye. Can you please give me that?”
There’s no response, only silence. I wait, and when I’m about to shift to reverse, the gates begin to open. Releasing a sigh of gratitude, I start the drive up the winding road. After I park the car, I take another long look at the house. I try not to think too much about the could-have-been’s because they’re just never-be’s. I still find it odd that the shrubs that line the house are scarce in areas. Big, gaping holes when everything else is pristine, even under all the snow.
“It’s freezing out here,” Declan calls out to me from the front door where he stands.
“The shrubs look sad,” I tell him.
“The shrubs?”
“You’re missing a lot of them. Did they die?”
“You could say that,” he responds. “Can we get out of the cold?”
Giving him a weak smile, I walk over and enter his home. Declan closes the door and moves past me, and I follow, but today he leads us into the kitchen.
“I was just making some coffee,” he says as he pulls the kettle off the stove. “I think the old housekeeper left some tea in the pantry if you’d like a cup.”
His politeness is unexpected, catching me off guard.
“Umm, okay. Yeah, that would be nice,” I say, stumbling nervously over my words.
I walk around the large center island, and take a seat on one of the barstools. I watch him move about the kitchen, pouring the boiling water into the French press, and then the rest in a teacup for me.
Looking around, I take in the surroundings. The kitchen is tucked away from the openness of the house. It’s an eat-in kitchen with a large, farm-style table that sits in front of three, floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the beautiful grounds. The room is brightly lit from the snow outside, and the windows are slightly fogged over.
“Here you go,” he says, and I quickly turn back around to the cup of tea he’s set in front of me.
I stare down, watching the ribbons of steam float up and disappear. I’m reminded of the many mornings I would sit at the bar in Declan’s loft, sipping on tea while watching him cook breakfast. He always looked so sexy in his long pajama pants and white t-shirt that hugged his broad chest. I could watch this man infinitely and never tire.
The memory of what used to be pangs in my chest as I sit here, and when I look up, I see him standing in front of me on the opposite side of the island.
“Declan,” I say on a faint whisper. I let his name linger in the air between us for a moment. “I’m so sorry.”
Setting his coffee down, he braces his hands on the granite countertop, letting his head drop. I give him silence, and let it grow as I keep my eyes pinned to the most amazing man I’ve ever known. His soul knows no boundaries of beauty.
When he finally raises his head and looks at me, I tell him, “If I could go back, I’d do it all differently.”
“You can’t go back, Nina. And what’s done is done.”
“I know,” I admit with defeat.
“I wish I could go back too, but you can’t turn your back on the choices you willingly make, and in that moment, I chose you.”
“Do you regret that?” I ask on words that ache.
Before he can answer, his cell phone rings, distracting him from me.
“I have to take this,” he says, and I nod as he steps out of the room to answer the call.
I swallow hard past the emotion lodged in my throat. Leaving the tea, I go stand in front of the windows. The chill from the glass makes me shiver as I watch the snow drifting down weightlessly to the ground. Looking over to the left, I can get just a hint of a glimpse of the grotto, and decide to get a better look from another window in the house.
Slipping off my coat, I lay it over one of the kitchen chairs and make my way out into the main hall of the house. I can hear Declan’s voice coming from the library. I wander down the grand hall toward the glass atrium when I pass a set of stairs. With curiosity, I begin to climb the steps that lead to the second floor. With my hand still on the banister, I look up to see the stairs continue to a third floor.
I explore, opening doors and walking down the various corridors that lead to bedrooms, bathrooms, and sitting areas. Everything on this level has been remodeled and finished in greys and stark whites. I then see a massive set of white double doors with intricate carvings in the painted wood. The handles are like ice in my hand when I open the doors to what I discover is Declan’s room.
My loss is overwhelming as I look at the large bed that sits in the center of the room. I’ll never know the feeling of being wrapped up in those sheets. Declan’s right: you can’t turn your back on the choices you make, and sadly, I made all the wrong ones and lost him in the process.
I take a step into what feels like forbidden territory and look around the room. Its many windows brighten the space that’s painted in a hue of dark grey, which contrasts the white crown moldings, and the fluffy, white down that lies atop the large, black leather, chesterfield sleigh bed. There’s a sitting area off to the side with two black armchairs and a chaise, all leather chesterfield as well.
Mindlessly, I walk across the plush carpet and over to the bed. I allow my fingertips to ghost along the white fabric as I mourn the loss of what was once within my reach.
“What are you doing in here?” His words are clipped and irritated.
I look at him over my shoulder before I turn to face him. My mouth opens to speak, but I can’t find my words.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” he tells me.
“I just . . . ”
“Just what?” he questions as he starts to slowly make his way over to me in purposeful strides.
“I don’t know. I just needed to see this. Your home, this bed . . . you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, Declan. You,” I say. “I miss you.”
“You don’t miss me.”
“Every day. I do. I miss you every single day.”
His jaw ticks, and with darkening eyes, he says, “You miss what I no longer am.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why? Too much responsibility for you to bear? You want to ignore the fact that your lies altered my life in the most unforgiving way?” His voice grows coarser with each word spoken. “You want to stand there and be forgiven for what you did? Like you’re some sort of victim in this?”
“I don’t expect forgiveness.”
“More lies,” he grits through clenched teeth as his hands fist at his sides.
“No.”
“Then why do you keep saying you’re sorry over and over again?”
He grabs ahold of my shoulders, and my voice stutters, “I-I don’t know, b-but I don’t expect for you to forgive me for what I’ve done.”
“Then why say it?”
“M-maybe . . . I don’t know . . . Maybe hope.”
“Hope? For what, Nina? For me? For us?”
“Maybe,” I tremble as my emotions grow with his anger.
“You want hope where hope doesn’t exist.”
Fighting against the sadness is doomed when my chin begins to quiver as I say, “I’ll always hope for you.”
“After all this, you want me?”
I nod.
“Then tell me,” he demands with intent.
My words come easily. “I want you, Declan.”
His hands drop from my shoulders and land on his belt. With punishing, black eyes boring down on me, I hear the light clinking of metal as he undoes the buckle. My pulse explodes in a rush of hammering beats that knock hard against my ribs in anticipation. But at the same time, my panicked heart flutters when he yanks the belt out from the loops of his slacks.
I stand here, unmoving, and simply watch him. He takes the back of his hand and runs it down my cheek to my neck and then my shoulder. In a flash quick move, he jerks me around, crossing his forearm over my chest, and pinning my back to his front. My hands grip the sides of his thighs, balancing myself on shaky legs.
“Tell me to stop. Tell me to take my hands off you,” he says with his lips pressed to the shell of my ear.
“No.”
Fast hands yank my arms behind me, and he binds the belt above my elbows. His restraint is unrelenting, pinching my shoulder blades together. I gasp at the sting of the leather biting into my flesh, and then yelp out when my feet are suddenly kicked out from under me, and I fall hard on my knees. But before I can cry out against the burning pain that’s radiating up my thighs, Declan grabs my hair and shoves my head facedown into the bed, making it hard to breathe.
You’ve heard of the theory of atonement, right? Making a restitution to mend what’s been broken. I was willing to be whatever vessel Declan needed me to be so that he could deal with his pain. This was my punishment, my meager attempt to right the wrongs, but what came next would test my limits of love for him. How far would I let his destruction go? At what point would I draw the line? Did I even have limits when it came to Declan? It was in that moment, bound and on my knees, that I would soon find out.
Gasping for air, I scream out when he twists my hair in his hand, ripping open the scab on my scalp. My body tenses as he violently grunts with each movement; he’s so different from all the other times in the past. I sense it all around me, the putrid hate.
He lifts off of me and shoves my pants and panties down to my knees, and my heart freezes in terror when he spreads my ass cheeks open and spits on me.
Oh God, no!
His hand grips my shoulder for leverage, and every muscle inside of me constricts when he brutally forces his cock in my ass, ripping me in the most grotesque way. I shriek in sheer agony, my cries bouncing off the walls as he growls with each abusive thrust.
I do everything I can to wrench my body away and fight him, but he’s taken away my strength and power. I’m at his mercy, and he’s a dark rage of unholy wrath as he takes the one part of me I never wanted to give.
Gone is Declan’s control, the awareness of how far he’s pushing me.
My screams are muffled when he lays a fierce hand on the back of my head, shoving my face further into the mattress. I wail and gasp, thrashing my body against his merciless pounding. The next thing I know, he shoves his hand into my mouth, all four fingers, prying my jaw open and pulling against my cheek. The fire that sears my flesh and the corner of my mouth is ruthless. It’s his way of shutting me up because every attempt I make to scream or cry results in gagging on my own saliva.
Stop! God, please, no! Stop!
With my head turned to the side, drool running out of my mouth and down my cheek, I dart my eyes to look up at Declan, and what I see scares the shit out of me. He’s completely depraved, a wild beast attacking me, and the pain multiplies as he shreds me. My body ricochets back and forth as he continues to pound into me. Each thrust is painful, unwanted, and takes me right back to the basement I spent so many years in being raped and molested. My mind can’t even process what’s happening as a blanket of darkness consumes me.
I close my eyes, praying for this to end, and the next thing I know, I’m taken back to the only other time this has happened. I’m twelve years old, bleeding for the first time, and Carl’s pissed because Pike can’t get hard to fuck me in the ass. I’m naked, and Carl has my face shoved down on the cold concrete floor. His grunting fills the basement as he rapes me from behind. Blood rolls off my back from the lashings he gave me with his belt. His fat belly slaps against my hips as he rips me open, splitting the tender flesh.
My screams go unanswered.
My body begins to heave and convulse when I come into the present. No longer is Carl raping me, but Declan. The voices in my head are screaming for him to stop as he continues to sodomize me, but it’s all I have since he has my jaw wrested open, gagging me, and making it impossible for me to fight back.
“Shut it off, Elizabeth.”
My eyes pop open when I hear Pike, and he’s here. Tears fall when I look into his consoling eyes. He’s right here with me, on his knees beside me. He runs his fingers through my ratty hair and attempts to soothe me.
“Just look at me, okay? I’m here with you. You’re not alone, but I need you to turn off your feelings right now.”
I fight to relax my body while Pike continues to talk to me and stroke my hair. And soon enough, in a matter of seconds, my muscles slacken and my breathing slows. My eyes are locked to my savior.
“That’s it. No one can hurt you if you can’t feel,” he reminds me. “I’m here with you, Elizabeth. Just keep your eyes on me. It’ll be over soon.”
I nod at his words and trust in them. I keep my focus and never let my eyes stray from his as Declan forces his domination on me. In mere moments, he flexes above me, filling me with his cum. His body hunches over mine as he groans out in pleasure. Or is it anger? Then I notice his hand is no longer shoved in my mouth, but instead, holding my hand.
Why is he doing this?
My head fills with a haze of swirling thoughts and memories that are unrecognizable. I’m dizzy in the wake of what just happened as my head lies in a puddle of saliva, tears, and snot. The mixture, the evidence of my fight, coats the side of my face and cakes in my hair.
“You’re okay,” Pike assures me . . . and then . . . he’s gone.
I do
n’t even get a chance to grieve his loss when Declan pulls his cock out of my ass. I wince against the pain when he does this, but I’m frozen, bent over his bed, unable to move from the shock. I can feel the delicate tissues swell in a blistering heat of rawness.
“Jesus Christ,” I hear him pant from behind me, and he quickly releases his belt from my arms.
I remain in place as I listen to his footsteps, followed by the click of the door closing, and it’s then I finally take in a breath of air. My body slides off the bed and onto the floor where I lie with my pants and underwear still shoved down around my knees.
Destroyed.
Humiliated.
And in a sick way . . . loved.
CHILLS WRACK MY clammy body as I lie here on the floor of Declan’s room. The room that was supposed to be ours, housing our bond and love for one another.
It was never supposed to be this.
But it is.
My thoughts are scattered and confused.
What just happened?
My body trembles in the aftershocks of the trauma it just endured and the memories of my childhood. I fight the vomit that sours the back of my throat as my gut bubbles in disgust.
But you want to know the most fucked up thought running through my head right now?
Here it is . . .
I still ache for him. For his love, his touch, his breath upon my skin.
And then I think about him holding my hand. He held my hand. It’s nothing new for him—he’s always held my hand when we orgasmed. It’s his one tender gesture that would remind me, that no matter how rough he chose to be with me, that I could trust in his comfort to always be aware of me and take care of me.
Does he still feel that way?
Bracing my hands on the floor, I push myself up to sit, and my ass stings as I shift. Biting against the pain that shoots through me, I stumble up to my feet. I reach down and pull my pants up. Wobbly on my feet, I walk over to the en suite bathroom, and when I flick on the light, I get a glimpse of my ashen face.