Savage Hearts (Club Volare)

by Cox, Chloe

  Silently Cate obeyed.

  She walked naked through his house, up the stairs, to his bedroom. There she followed Soren to the bed, watched him sit. Watched him wait.

  “Over my knees,” he said. “Ass in the air.”

  It was the voice. She didn’t hesitate, not even when it was awkward, when she almost lost her balance. He grabbed her, readjusted her as he saw fit, like she was weightless.

  He held her down, his forearm across her back, her ass high, her feet off the ground.

  And then he struck her.

  Cate didn’t really know what to compare it to. There wasn’t anything, in the end, no reference point for the sting that spread across her flesh and turned to pleasure. She didn’t know how to understand it, and each blow drained away more and more of what was left of her mental capacity, until all she was left with was this dizzying, delirious symphony of pain that turned into pleasure and back again.

  She was past being upset or afraid, past feeling like a victim or broken or anything at all. There was nothing in the universe beyond what Soren was doing to her, and she let herself float blissfully, freely away.

  And when she was free, he rolled her over onto the bed, spread her legs, and entered her without preamble, fucking her with desperation, with need, with determination. He moved inside her like it was the last thing he would ever do, mercilessly, biting her when she scratched down his back, leaving his mark.

  When he shouted for her to come, she did, until she had nothing left.

  chapter 14

  Soren knew something was wrong before he was even awake. It was the wrongness that jolted him awake, the knowledge that something was not, definitely not, as it should be.

  Cate was gone.

  He didn’t even need to look to know she wasn’t anywhere in the house. He could feel it. Still, he did a search j n win>-1">ust to make sure. He found Desi in the living room, happily gnawing on a rawhide bone, which meant that Cate had let the dog in and probably played with him for a while before leaving so abruptly.

  Yeah, that made sense.

  Of course it did, kind of. In that crazy, damaged way, it wasn’t totally out of line. The previous night had been what Cate liked to call “beyond,” and it had been about more than the sex, even if neither of them had said it. She would have turned tail and run away if he’d made her say it, though she would have said it.

  They’d gotten close, last night. Closer than Soren had been to anyone in a long time. And now he had to be very, very careful.

  Cate’s skittishness both saddened him and calmed him, in a twisted way. If she was that far away from falling for him, so much the better. But she needed to know that she could let him in—let people in—let him see her, all of her, faults and weirdness and everything, and it would be ok. She’d started to do that, last night. He wanted her to finish.

  And he knew just how to do that.

  He got out his phone. No new calls. Imagine that.

  He texted her.

  “Give me your address.”

  And then he waited.

  Ten minutes and nothing. He knew her, though. She was never without her phone. She never missed anything. She’d seen it.

  “That was an order.”

  Still nothing. Soren sighed, made himself some cereal. She was freaked out, having shown him that much of herself, having opened up even a little bit. He couldn’t let it go or she might retreat even more, decide she couldn’t bear it when she was right on the edge of something. All he wanted to do was show her that there was nothing to be afraid of, that the parts of herself she kept hidden were fucking beautiful, that she was not even close to broken. And then if she wanted to tell him to fuck off, well, he’d have to take it.

  He waited a little longer. And then:

  “Cate. Trust me.”

  So when his phone rang, he wasn’t surprised. He was, how s. H>

  “Where are you?” Soren said.

  “What?” Declan’s voice came through. “I’m at home. Don’t worry about that, though. Worry about what that asshole lawyer Cheedham is saying about you.”

  “What are you talking about, Dec?”

  “Have you been online? Molly says it’ll be in the papers tomorrow, on the networks tonight.”

  “Dude, I don’t have time for this,” Soren said. “Just tell me already so I can deal with it.”

  There was a pause. If even Declan didn’t want to give it to him straight, that was not a good sign.

  “The newest piece of bullshit is that you plied your women with drugs,” Declan said. “That consent wasn’t…”

  “I fucking know what it means,” Soren said softly.

  He should have known this was coming. He did know. He knew, deep down, that Sonya would screw him, that she’d sell whatever story brought her the most money, no matter how untrue it was. No matter how much it hurt him or anyone else. No matter how much she knew he wasn’t willing to tell the truth to defend himself.

  “You’ve gotta deal with this, bro,” Declan said.

  Soren looked down at his phone. There was a text notification in the corner—Cate.

  “Later,” Soren said. “I have something more important going on.”

  “You what?” Declan said just as Soren hung up.

  The text was what he’d known it would be.

  An address.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Cate sent the text, and then waited for the freak-out to arrive shortly thereafter.

  Right on time.

  She’d woken up anxious, like her mind had just been waiting for its chance to yell at her while her body got what it wanted. Her eyes flew open, saw Soren’s naked body next to hers, remembered everything about the previous night, and thought, Oh holy shit, this is real.

  Not real as in ‘that actually happened.’ That was obvious, and, frankly, magnificent. Real as in meaningful. Real as in ‘no longer this strange vacation from real life in which I can play sh I and, fraat being another version of myself.’ Real as in real.

  She needed to get out. She needed to get some air. She needed to get some perspective.

  So she snuck out.

  Cate wasn’t proud of that. She hadn’t been able to leave Desi without saying goodbye, and then she’d walked right out on Soren, having called her car service and found some entirely too big sweatpants to wear home. The car service guy was a consummate professional—he didn’t say anything at all about the giant sweatpants, sweatshirt, and evening bag combination.

  Cate, on the other hand, was about two minutes away from losing it. She hadn’t taken off Soren’s sweatshirt since she’d gotten home. For some reason she just couldn’t, not any more than she could shake the words he’d said to her the previous night. She had been so angry, so spooked, because he had been right—how stupid was that?

  But she’d reacted to the danger of it, and her reaction…it hadn’t been wrong, necessarily. Well, she didn’t know. The truth was that everything felt different around Soren. He distorted everything, just by his presence, his influence. He intoxicated her, and that intoxication made her believe in things that couldn’t be.

  She had to remember that it wasn’t real.

  She just didn’t know what that meant anymore.

  And then he’d started texting her. Cate had, for the first time in her professional life, hidden away both of her phones, professional and personal. That was how much she needed to be alone with her thoughts.

  Except that of course she cracked and checked to see if Soren had called. And then, of course, she’d only lasted a little while longer after that, and when he’d told her to trust him…

  So now she was waiting for Soren Andersson to show up at her house.

  Which was making her lose her mind.

  Her house. Her home. The only place where she was entirely her goofy, sometimes silly, sometimes stupid self. After she’d left Jason, she’d taken a weird pleasure in displaying some of the hobbies and pastimes that he used to mock or use against her. Usually Ja
son would be kind of subtle about it, because he was that good—he’d dismiss her objection to something he’d done or said by reminding her that life wasn’t like one of those romance novels she was so childishly obsessed with. After that she’d hidden the romance novels. Now that she had her own place, they were out and proud on her bookshelf.

  And so it went with most of the things that brought her happiness.

  Honestly, in retrospect, looking back at that relationship, she did feel like an idiot. Who else would stay with someone like that? Long after he’d ceased to be charming, long after he’d stopped bothering to try wear his own mask of decency? When it had become clear that he saw her prof s sato bessional success as some sort of mortal insult?

  Regardless, most of those things were now on easy display in her home, because it was her home. It was private. It was very, very private. Nobody came to her house, not ever.

  Except, apparently, Soren.

  The bell rang.

  Cate jumped. She was practically running for the door, as terrified as she was, not wanting him to wait. It made no sense, none at all, except that his sweatshirt still smelled like him, and so maybe she was already a little bit under his influence.

  She opened the door to find him leaning against the doorframe, his hair falling over his sunglasses, his jeans riding low on his hips, hands in his pockets. Just a t-shirt and ripped jeans, and the man was chiseled sex. For a second her body took over and she forgot to be anxious.

  For a second.

  “I expected something bigger,” he said.

  “I bought it with cash, quickly, when I left my ex,” she said. “I liked the privacy and the view. I don’t need much space.”

  She was babbling. Kind of. There wasn’t much editing going on in her brain, that was for sure.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “It makes me very…” She couldn’t say it. Scared? It sounded stupid, even to her. She was a grown woman with a house. This was beyond silly.

  And yet she was twisting the ends of his sweatshirt in her hands, making it ride up her thighs. Her bare thighs.

  Soren looked down. He took a deep breath, and looked back up. Then he took his sunglasses off and pinned her with those ice-blue eyes.

  “If you want me to, I will leave,” he said. “But you have to ask me.”

  Cate couldn’t say anything.

  Soren could.

  He smiled.

  “You’re uncomfortable with me here,” he said, crossing his arms. “Nah, more than that. It scares the crap out of you. But you can’t tell me to leave, can you?”

  Cate couldn’t say anything.

  “Can you?” he said again.

  Cate couldn’t say anything.

  n>“You know why?” he asked.

  Cate tried to swallow. “Goddammit,” she managed. “Just tell me.”

  “Because,” Soren said, walking past her into her home, his hand sweeping over stomach through his own sweatshirt and making her falter, “you want me to see all this. You’re just too chicken to show me yourself.”

  Soren pulled her away from the door and closed it behind her. He kept a firm grip on her wrist and a lingering glance on her legs.

  “This psychobabble is starting to piss me off,” she said.

  “No,” he said. “It pisses you off that I’m right.”

  Damn him.

  “It pisses me off that you pull this stuff and then distract me with sex so I can’t even think straight.”

  Soren laughed out loud. “I distract you?”

  “Right now. You’re touching me. You can’t touch me like that. It makes me crazy.” She looked up at him. “It’s not fair.”

  Soren took a deep, deep breath, and Cate watched his chest expand with rapt attention. Even his abs were visible through that thin material. He brushed his thumb along the inside of her wrist and then, with a frustrated exhalation, he let her go.

  “You need to see that nothing bad happens,” he muttered. “You need to have one damn experience where you let someone in and they don’t hurt you with it.”

  “Stop talking about what I need!”

  “Quiet,” he said, eyes flashing. “Tell me I’m wrong, Cate. Look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll leave. Otherwise I am here as your Dom and you had better behave yourself. Am I clear?”

  The voice.

  Cate felt Soren’s voice reverberate through her body, chasing away some of her anxiety, her terror at being exposed in such an intimate way. She railed against it, knowing it was that influence again, that Soren intoxication effect, but to no avail.

  Soren touched her cheek and she instinctively turned toward his touch. He said, “Am. I. Clear?”

  Cate’s stomach fluttered and she felt herself close to something. Relief. Was it relief?

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “You ran out on me this morning,” he said softly. “That’s not happening again. You redeemed yourself by giving me your address so promptly, so I haven’t decided if you’re going to get punished yet.”

  Cate blinked.

  “Punished?”

  “You heard me.”

  Cate’s mind whirled at the implications of that word. It meant something different coming from Soren, in this context. It wasn’t a threat; it was more of a promise of…honesty? Of commitment to these roles they played? She knew she had her safeword, and yet her whole body tensed at the idea of punishment for a grown woman. For her.

  She felt dampness between her legs. Wow.

  Soren slid his hand over her hip to the back of her ass, pushing her toward the entrance to the living room. As he pushed her ahead, he said, “I like you wearing my clothes. Now get your ass in there and prepare to give me a tour.”

  Then he gave her a slap that sent another shiver straight to her core.

  Cate tried to think through the usual Soren buzz that dominated her thoughts and feelings. A tour? What did that even mean? She looked around her living room, a big, open space with arched doorways and a direct entrance to the massive deck, and tried to figure out what that could mean.

  There were her books, her embarrassing books that she loved, and, when she thought about it, didn’t find embarrassing at all. Except, of course, that she did. There were truly a lot of self-help books in there, romance novels, whole shelves on hobbies and interests she never got to pursue. Really, she was a book hoarder. She had a problem.

  Then there was the knitting. A whole little corner devoted to it, complete with a comfy chair and a truly awesome pile of yarn. She didn’t want to explain knitting groups and yarn bombs to anyone who wasn’t…well, it was hard to explain. Yes, she did enjoy temporarily adorning public items with fitted knitted covers made in concert with her internet friends who were also strangely obsessed with knitting. What, that was weird?

  And then there were the board games.

  Really, looking around, what filled her with dread was not that any of it was stupid or silly or whatever. It was that it was all so boring. So uninteresting. Out in public she was this famous badass lawyer who regularly destroyed the opposition like some latter-day Valkyrie, and in here she was just…Cate.

  She was starting to panic.

  “Cate,” Soren said. His voice brought her back, but just barely. She was pulling at the sweatshirt again.

  He looked at the knitting pile. “You knit?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. Her voice sounded tight, high.

  Soren walked over and started flipping through her scrapbook, the one where she kept photos of her group’s most impressive yarn bombs. She felt her stomach clench. Jason had mocked this to high heaven.

  “This is invasive as hell, Soren,” she said.

  “Yup,” he said.

  When Soren looked up, he was chuckling.

  “These are fucking great,” he said. “See? I’m laughing. The stone statue has been moved by your awesomeness. You did all these yourself?”

/>   “I…” She didn’t know what to say. He looked delighted. “There’s a group of us.”

  “How do you even do this?” he said. “These are the three dancing pigs on Canyon Drive, right? How did you get goddamn onesies on them?”

  For the first time in what felt like ages, Cate smiled. “Trade secret.”

  “And the books, you read them?”

  “I try. I always say I will. Some of them.”

  “Which ones?”

  “Look, none of this is very interesting,” she said, shaking her head. She was standing in the middle of her own living room, feeling out of place. Soren looked at her.

  “Bullshit,” he said. “It’s all interesting to me.”

  Cate didn’t know what to say.

  Soren sat down on her large, comfy couch, the one facing the fireplace, and spread his arms out wide.

  “Come here,” he said.

  Cate obeyed. It was comforting to be given Dom orders right now. She wasn’t going to analyze that too much. She’d take what she could get.

  When she got within range Soren took her hand and pulled her on top of him, situating her so that she straddled his lap, facing him. Cate sighed. This…this she knew. This she could handle. Happily.

  “Right there,” Soren said, and fit her hips just over his, his hands slipping under her sweatshirt to find her bare waist.

  Cate put her hands on his shoulders. She felt like she was beginning to turn to jelly.

  “You said something last night,” Soren said. “About me not telling you anything about my life.”

  “Did I?”

  It was getting hard to think again.

  He grinned.

  “You did,” Soren said. “Call it male machismo, but I take notice when a lady says she has to be the brave one.”

  “You do?” Cate said. “I’ll have to file that one away.”

  “Watch it,” he said, and reached up suddenly to grab her bare breast.

  Cate let out a tiny little sound of surprise, and then a sigh when she felt the bulge in his pants.

  “You’re not wearing a bra,” he said roughly.