“Like your father left you?”
“Touché. You’re angry that your parents left you—”
“I’m not! I’m not mad at them.”
She searched his face, but he seemed to honestly believe he didn’t harbor any anger at them. “Mama died when I was sixteen years old. I was furious with her for the next two years. I could barely speak about her without grinding my teeth to dust and cursing. Only the kindness of one of my teachers kept me in school long enough to graduate. I was too angry, too wound up, and I hated everything and everyone. Any sideways look or half-sneered orphan comment and I was all over the smart-mouthed jerk like a berserker.”
“Why were you angry with her?”
“Because she left me to finish school on my own. Because she let some random guy she didn’t know knock her up and ruin her life. Because she was gone all the time and worked herself literally to death. Because we never had anything of our own, even though she did the best she could. But mostly because I loved her, and she left me.”
“Yeah.” He swallowed hard and looked into her eyes. “I get that.”
“You have a lot of pent-up anger inside of you. Sometimes you let it out on property.” She tipped her head at the destroyed cabinet. “That’s not the best way to release the anger, but at least no one was hurt. What’s not okay is when you use that anger to hurt the people around you, especially the ones who love you the most.”
“It has to go somewhere or it tears me up inside even worse than I already am.”
She nodded and dared lay a hand on his arm. “Absolutely. Release the anger. But I think I might know a better way to help you do that.”
“What does it involve?”
“Honestly?” She waited until he looked fully into her eyes, his arm tensing beneath her fingers. “Pain.”
“Does the thought of pain scare you?”
Kelsey watched him, her intent gaze missing nothing. Every twitch or inhale or gasp. The harder he tried to keep her out, the deeper she bored into him. You scare me. How deeply you’ve already reached in my life. “You wouldn’t ask that question if you knew how much pain I’ve been in since the accident.”
“You’ve experienced pain from a trauma, but pain can be a good thing. It can tell you that you’re still alive. It can save your life, by telling you to move away from whatever’s hurting you. Used for discipline, it can also teach you not to do something again.”
He snorted and shook his head. “I hardly believe beating me is going to make things better.”
“How do you know?”
He stared at her incredulously. “No one wants to be hurt. Or beaten.”
“Wrong.” She smiled, as if she had a dirty little secret she couldn’t wait to whisper to him. “Some people need that pain to feel alive. Some people get off on pain better than any foreplay or full-on sex. I think you could use pain to release your anger and find some peace.”
Peace. He ducked his head, shaking his hair down into his face. Not to hide the scars this time, but to hide his eyes so she wouldn’t see how much she’d affected him. He could afford private islands, jets, dozens of mansions and the most ostentatious diamonds in the world, but he couldn’t buy a moment of peace from the turmoil shredding his mind. He couldn’t remember what it was like to have stillness inside. To not have the pressure of doubts and fears and regrets and rage thundering inside him.
“If you’re interested in trying it out, come to my room tonight after ten o’clock. We’ll use the same rules before.”
“Humbug,” he whispered, risking a furtive glance at her through his hair.
“You be the grouchy billionaire who hates Christmas.” Her eyes were so deep, piercing him to the bone, and her voice changed. Not the light, gentle or amused young woman any longer, but the heavy, thinly veiled threat of the Mistress. He couldn’t help but gasp at the intensity. He’d never seen someone be able to flip a switch like that and suddenly become more. More intense, more powerful, more compelling. “And I’ll be the Mistress. If you knock on my door, be prepared to give me the respect as a dominant, and I’ll give you all the pain you can take. Regardless, clean up that mess before Gordon sees it.”
Kelsey quietly shut the door behind her. With a sigh, Harvey let his defenses down, relaxing his muscles. He ached, stiff and sore as if she’d already beaten him.
Shaking his head, he went in search of a broom. She’d already beaten him—mentally. What kind of moron would he be to go traipsing down to her room tonight and pound on the door? Asking to be whipped or spanked or whatever the fuck she might be planning. Crazy. Stupid.
No way in hell.
Chapter Sixteen
Kelsey sat on her bed and attempted to read—but not even her favorite author could hold her interest. Every other sentence, she’d pause and gaze at the door, listening hard for a footstep outside. Honestly, she had no idea if Harvey would come to her room. She’d tried to prick his ego enough that he might take her invitation as a dare, without deliberately misleading him. Balancing the job Gordon had hired her to do with her personal feelings was getting harder each time she talked to Harvey.
He’d been through so much already. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him.
Alone in her room, she analyzed everything she’d said and done with him already. If she were completely honest with herself, she felt far more emotional attachment than appropriate for a client. Even Gordon felt more like the father she never had instead of a “client”. The way he loved Harvey so much touched her heart. She might be on the outside of their family dynamic, but Harvey clearly loved him just as much.
But she had a feeling he was doing his darnedest to screw that up too.
Bad things happened when the client and professional Domme got too emotionally attached. She’d seen it happen before, herself included. The last thing she needed was a crazy stalker with the wealth and privilege to make her life extremely uncomfortable.
Although her heart kept whispering that Lilly had found her billionaire submissive, and planned to marry him.
Muttering a curse, she tossed the eReader aside and got ready for bed. At nearly eleven o’clock, he wasn’t going to come. She should have known. For all his blustering and dramatics, at heart he was still a scared little boy. Some men never grew up, and she sure wasn’t going to play mommy for a spoiled little brat. Not my kink. Not my turn-on.
She flipped off the overhead light but left the old-fashioned Christmas lights on for a colorful night light. She hadn’t dressed for a full-blown scene. Hell, she hadn’t even tried for remotely sexy. In flannel pajama bottoms and a black tank, she climbed into bed. Mentally and physically prepared for a scene, she’d have to work to get her adrenaline levels down enough to sleep. She closed her eyes and concentrated on tensing and relaxing each muscle group one by one. Keeping her eyes closed, she deliberately slowed her breathing, measuring each inhale and exhale to a steady count.
But with her eyes closed, all she could see was his beautiful ravaged face, his eyes flaring with surprise or narrowed with his fury. He raged from high to low and back with brutal ferocity. Would his passion burn as high? Had he enjoyed the fantasy she’d given him—or had he merely gone through the motions to complete their bargain? If he could turn all that rage into burning passion…
Groaning, she rolled over and pressed her hot cheeks against the cold cotton pillowcase.
She almost didn’t hear the light tap at the door. Her eyes flew open and she lifted her head, but she didn’t immediately call out. One. Two. Three. “Yes?”
“It’s me,” Harvey snapped in a surly tone. “Mistress.”
She didn’t take offense. Whether he knew it or not, this was a survival tactic for him. He was scared and unsure. He didn’t want to look foolish or reveal how afraid he was, so he came in with guns blazing for no other reason than to be sure he got off the first shot.
“You said after ten.” A hint of panic sharpened his voice at the thought she might simply send him away. “You didn’t specify a cut-off time.”
She waited, letting the silence build until he remembered.
“Mistress?”
“You’re right. I never gave you a distinct cut-off time. You may come in, Harvey.”
He pushed the door open and strode into the room like a junkyard dog looking for a fight, but drew up short and stared at her bed. Normally an open-mouthed stare meant she’d blown the client’s mind with a fantastic outfit, but that couldn’t be what made Harvey jerk to a halt. She didn’t even have any of the toys laid out on the bed like she normally did before a scene. She hadn’t wanted to scare him off too quickly.
“What’s wrong?”
He finally managed to avert his face, but he came no closer to her. “I hate Christmas decorations.”
“Oh.” She waited a few moments, reading his body language. He tugged at the neck of his sweater, his face flushed. No doubt he was boiling in that wool, but he kept it on. Why? For propriety’s sake, or did he have scars to hide on his torso as well? He was interested enough in what she offered to risk embarrassment by coming to her room, but that was only the first step of a million. “Consider it part of the punishment, then.”
He whipped his head up to meet her gaze. “You won’t turn them off?”
“Why should I? They provide a colorful night light. Plus it reminds me of my childhood. It’s romantic. When I was a teenager, I always dreamed about lying on the floor with my boyfriend and staring up from underneath the tree to see the dancing lights. Of course we never had a full-sized tree and I certainly didn’t have a regular boyfriend, but I still think about that girlie dream sometimes.”
He tipped his head to the side, studying her. “Are you sharing little sentimental bits of your life to make me like you more? Is that part of your plan?”
Coolly, she climbed out of bed and walked over to the duffel bag she’d set out on the chair in the reading nook before the window. She reached into the bag and pulled out a crop, studying it like she was surprised to find it there. “Excuse me for offering a bit of mutual human compassion and sharing. I won’t gift you with insight to my personality or past again unless you beg me.”
“I…” She didn’t look at him, but sensed his intensity arrowing in on what she held in her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.”
Still not looking at him, she delved back into the bag and rummaged around, making a show of it. “When you apologize to a dominant, it’s nice to give them their title.”
“I’m sorry, Mistress.”
His voice was still strangled, but he managed to get the words out without choking on them. She pulled out a foot-long paddle, thick and wide and heavy in her hand. It was her favorite toy for its up-close-and-personal aspect combined with its pain deliverance. With the toys in either hand, she turned and faced him, keeping her manner detached and calm. “Which do you think you deserve the most?”
“Uh.” Wide-eyed, he looked from one to the other. “Neither.”
She arched a brow at him. “Then why did you come to my room tonight? You must have made an accidental detour on your way to the kitchen.” She started to put the toys back in the bag. “Be on your way then, and I’ll go back to bed.”
“Wait.” She paused, keeping her face neutral so she didn’t sway him one way or the other. “Do you…” He growled beneath his breath and dragged a hand through his shaggy hair. “Do you really think it’ll help me?”
“I’ve seen it help others,” she replied gently. “If it does nothing for you, say your safeword and we’re over and done. At least you’ll know.”
“At least I’ll know,” he repeated softly. He sighed and then focused on her, his face hardening with determination. “Which one will hurt the most?”
“I can hurt you really good with either,” Kelsey said, with the closest thing he’d seen to a wicked smirk on her face. “But I’d have to say the paddle is my favorite. It gives a nice, heavy thud with deep impact. The crop stings and cuts without the thud.”
His heart pounded heavily, a slow, ponderous beat rather than the overly excited frantic pitter-patter. Would she strike him slow, a rhythmic beating? He could almost hear the huge bass drum in his head, timed to those swats. “The paddle.”
She nodded slowly. “And what do you want me to do with it?”
Evidently she wasn’t going to make this easy for him. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t make his mouth work.
“I’m all about formal consent, Harvey. I’m never going to do something a sub isn’t into.”
“I’m not a sub.” Even to his ears it sounded unsure. “I’m curious. That’s all. If you can help me…”
“I can.” She gazed at him levelly, radiating a confidence he found fascinating. He’d known all kinds of women in his life, but so few of them were unforgettable. When Kelsey left his house and went on to school or wherever Maxwell had said she was going, Harvey would still see her face and hear her voice in this house. “But you have to ask me.”
“I want—”
She cleared her throat in a low rumble, almost a growl.
“Mistress,” he said hurriedly, and she nodded, “I want you to…to hurt me,” he said in a rush. “So I can see if it helps with everything else.” She waited, not moving or even breathing that he could see. What else did she want? Probably something polite and appropriately “submissive”, even though the word stuck in his craw. “Please.”
She turned away and he almost cursed out loud, but she merely sat on the edge of her bed with the paddle across her lap. “Online scenes are easy, but physical scenes are more difficult to set up. I usually have a potential sub fill out a list of dos and don’ts. Things you will do, eagerly in fact, or things you’re interested in but a little scared, and things you absolutely will not attempt. Do you have a problem taking off your clothes?”
He shrugged. “As long as you don’t have a problem with scars.”
“I don’t.”
She waited, the silence growing heavy. Finally he realized she waited for him to act without her having to tell him. He grabbed the bottom of his sweater, but hesitated, checking her face. No one but doctors, nurses and Maxwell had seen the extent of his mementos of the fiery crash. It could be much worse, but it sure wasn’t pretty either. But if she couldn’t stomach a few ugly scars, then she wasn’t going to be able to deal with the rest of his issues. With a heavy sigh, he tugged the sweater over his head and tossed it on the nearby chair.
The scars on his left cheek were only the tip of the iceberg. The angry red tissue ran like a river down his neck and shoulder, and his biceps had received enough damage that it was actually smaller than his other. “I’m lucky to have kept the arm.” He held it up, twisting it side to side so she got the full view. “It was trapped in the burning wreckage. By some miracle, they finally got me out. Almost lost the arm on site, and then the extensive burns got infected. I don’t think Maxwell left the hospital for days at a time until we knew one way or the other.”
“So much pain,” she whispered. He might have been mistaken, but the confident Mistress’s voice quivered. “No wonder you’re still battling so much anxiety.”
“And depression and PTSD and my complete inability to process grief.” He forced a cheerful voice despite the laundry list of his faults. “But I still have my arm and the scars are a badge of honor that I survived, right? Yeah, they spun that bullshit yarn for me at the hospital. Didn’t work then either. Nothing has worked to help me get over…this.” He waved his hand at the scars, but also his head and his chest. The whole package.
“We’ll see what we can do about that. Take off whatever you’re comfortable with. I love punishing a naked sub, b
ut you don’t have to strip down to your skin if you’re not comfortable.”
He shrugged like it didn’t matter to him one way or another, but his fingers trembled as he unzipped his pants. He didn’t have scars on his lower body, so that wasn’t bothering him. He dropped his pants, trying to figure out why his heart thudded louder and heavier. He toed off his shoes and kicked off his pants. Then it hit him. A half-stiff cock filled his briefs.
It took him a moment to register what that meant. She hasn’t laid a finger on me or even undressed, and I’m aroused.
Embarrassed, he left his underwear on. No need to draw attention to his condition. Let alone think about the scene she’d given him in the library. Fuck. That damned cotton was going to tear soon if he wasn’t careful.
“That’s enough.” A hint of amusement made him tense up, but her smile was appreciative and she ran her gaze over him. “How can you be so thin when you eat like a racehorse?”
Absently, he ran a hand over his ribs, feeling each individual bump. “The doctors say it’s a temporary metabolic response to my high levels of anxiety. I don’t typically sleep much either.”
“Unless you imagine you’re in the library, right?” Her tone rumbled with sensual velvet notes that made his dick give an eager twitch. “You slept very well indeed after that little fantasy.”
His face burned and she laughed delightedly. Usually laughter set his teeth on edge and the rage boil to the explosion point, but with Kelsey, it was different. Maybe it was her smile, the way her eyes still lingered on his body with appreciation, not disgust or ridicule. She dragged her gaze back up to his face, her voice husky. “I’ve always liked a man with a lot of body hair. You’ve got a nice mat on your chest, and I love that fur on your thighs. I could have all kinds of fun tugging on that hair.”
He opened his mouth, but didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t help but picture her lying beside him, her hand wandering where she willed as she lightly tugged on his hairs.
The Billionaire's Christmas Bargain: Billionaires in Bondage, Book 3 Page 13