He took a breath and went to the bed. He stood a while, flexing and clenching his fists. Looking at the man in the bed made him feel so empty. This wasn’t his dad, not anymore. Not since six years ago, soon after he’d started pre-med.
He looked around and found a chair then pulled it up next to the bed. The noise at last attracted the attention of the skeletal figure in the bed. Drool hung from his chin and his eyes were rheumy and sightless. Though the nurses must clean his face each morning, crusts had already collected on his eyelids and lips.
His father. His world, until that day. The stroke had taken his father’s mind if not his body. The family, him included, had waited in turns for weeks, praying at first that he’d survive, then praying the brain damage might not be as bad as the tests indicated. All for nothing.
No matter the positive spin people tried to put on this, he’d never been able to see the point in life if you didn’t even know it was passing you by. This was the man who used to carry him on his shoulders, and who gave him bear hugs when he needed comfort. If he’d so much as nicked his finger, his mother had sent him to Dad. As if she couldn’t put on a Band-aid.
Jude smiled weakly. He saw through it now – her plan had been to let his father be involved in his son’s world. As a surgeon, his days had been filled with work. The good memories still crowded in though – waking at night to a gentle kiss on his forehead and a smile, sitting on the floor with him laughing as his armies of toy soldiers got flattened by their basset hounds galloping through, buying popsicles at the beach.
But the brilliant surgeon had become a husk.
The ache in his stomach intensified but he reached over and took his father’s thin hand. What to say? He always went through the news when he visited…no matter how gruesome or strange or how bland. His years in Europe had meant telling some hair-raising tales of traffic on the autobahns as well as sexy stories of the European girlfriend who’d dumped him for a German accountant, of all things.
When he’d begun this story-telling routine it had been in the hope that somewhere inside, his father understood. He knew better now but the habit remained. He took a breath and began to speak.
The start of his story went fast – the early days of summer at the beach and how his friend, Fredrick, had given him the mansion to renovate. When he reached the time when he’d found Sabrina and Q in the yard that night, hunting ghosts, his throat tightened. But he went on, describing Sabrina’s antics and smart-ass replies, and Q’s quiet, no-nonsense, yet amused, way of handling her. He stopped talking. Was feeling like throwing up when you thought of a girl, or girls, a good or a bad sign? He shifted on the chair.
Diagnostically, he was doing a shit job. This was not the result of a stomach ulcer. When you hear hoofbeats, think horses. He’d been avoiding his true emotions all along. But what could he do? He was trapped in limbo – in the land of not knowing which way to turn without disappointing himself, his father, his mother, and wrecking his life in general.
In the quiet, the flick of a book’s pages and crack of its spine carried from somewhere outside.
The wind gusted and a swirl of bright fabric curled across the door opening. The perfume was familiar. His mother? The toe of a red shoe, a woman’s shoe, made its appearance in the doorway. Yes, his mother. Ever the polite one who held you and listened to your grievances without criticizing – she was saying, hey, I’m here, without intruding too much.
He bent his head and held his father’s hand tighter. He couldn’t tell her, not face to face. Every time he’d gone home to say hello, or had met her for lunch, he’d stayed silent about the girls. This big bad Dom was a chicken.
He’d never shied away from telling his mother of past girlfriends, but he’d kept his kinkier activities to himself. This time though, the risk was there. Two girlfriends…two lovers, was not average, not acceptable in polite society. Maybe it wasn’t even normal but he wasn’t going to broadcast it to all and sundry. Somehow though, he needed to tell her. Would she be disgusted? He desperately hoped not. His mother was his bedrock – the one he’d relied on when the world went nuts.
He cleared his throat and went on.
The summer rolled past in his head, given life by his words, made all bright and shiny and wonderful. Though the reconstruction of the mansion played a part, it was the women who came to life as he spoke.
His voice strengthened as he told of the days on the beach, of Q’s nasty boyfriend sent packing, of the way the girls’ hair shone in the sunlight and their legs… No, not that. He stopped and began again with the time of the séance and how Sabrina had fooled him and Q, but then she’d laughed and they’d figured it out, and she’d made a run for it…
He stopped again. Damn. They’d had a lot of sex. Kinky sex. And a lot of crazy fun too. He’d just censor things. So he told of Sabrina painting him, but not of tying the girls up and beating Q until she nearly orgasmed from that alone, or of making rough love afterward. The ghost episode got a mention, but not the spanking. All in all, he found himself telling of how he’d slowly and inexorably fallen in love with Sabrina and Q.
By the end, his eyes were wet. He wiped them, squeezed his father’s hand and walked to the door. She was there, of course. In a pretty floral dress with her blonde hair in a chignon. Though her hair was streaked with grey, it was clear from which side of the family he’d gotten his hair and eye color.
He sat on the bench beside her and kissed her cheek. “Hi, Mom.” Then he waited. If she hadn’t heard him…hell, could he say all that again?
“Oh, Jude.” She brushed back a straying lock of hair from his forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me? You love them, don’t you?”
He dipped his head then looked her in the eye. “Yes. I do. But they both live in New Jersey.”
“And so?” She waited, fingering the book on her lap.
Though he searched there seemed no anger or criticism in her tone or expression. “You don’t mind?”
She sighed. “Well, it would have been nice if you’d found some girl next door to fall in love with, but you’ve never fit in any mold, Jude. You were always the one who stole the cookies before they were cool, or fell out of the tree and broke your arm. And playing cops and robbers, you were the one who forgot to untie the girls, but…I suppose that prepared me.”
“Um…” Trust mom to bring that up.
“So.” She patted his leg. “No, I don’t mind if you have an extra girlfriend. It’s unusual, but really dear, you’d have to be a serial killer to get me worried…or want to run for president. When are you going back to speak to them?” She raised her eyebrows.
“I may not have said this before, but Mom, you must be the most awesome mother ever.” It didn’t help him much though, not with his career to keep in mind. “Going back though, I don’t know. How can I? There are other difficulties and by now they may have forgotten me.”
“Hush! Never. No girl could ever forget my boy. And other difficulties? Jude, for the last two months, whenever I’ve met with you, I’ve seen your pain and I’ve been meaning to speak to you.” She sat up straighter, and took his hand. “Be honest with me, please. Do you wish to continue with this medical career?” When he opened his mouth to reply, she held up a finger. “Because, it’s clear that you hate it.”
“Uh. How the hell…how did you know?”
“I’m your mother. And don’t swear. It looks bad. Why then, are you continuing to torture yourself?”
What a question. But, freed of all expectations from her, he saw it. “Dad. He always wanted this.”
When she shook her head, shock hit him. “No. He did not. Do you think your father an ogre?”
An ogre? “No. Of course not.”
“Good. Then why would you think he would want you to study medicine when your heart lies elsewhere?”
That floored him. The world stood still while he unscrambled his thoughts. His only words seemed inadequate. “I don’t know.”
“Now we’re getting som
ewhere,” she said brightly. “I will not have you this unhappy. Go say goodbye to your father, then I am taking you home, and we are going to talk and figure this out, even if it takes all night.”
If only it were that simple. No matter what she thought, the chances were that Sabrina and Q would toss him out on the street if he tried to ease his way back into a relationship.
“Stop frowning at me!” She slapped his thigh then rose to her feet. “Be positive. We will sort this out. Come.”
He stared after her. And maybe it wasn’t just hair color that he’d inherited. He stood. If freed from this medical career that had been dragging at his soul, he wasn’t giving up. If she or Q gave him the slightest chink of an opening, he’d use it. If there was one thing he was good at, it was persuading women.
Chapter 18
Q
The throbbing of the dungeon’s music seemed to control the swish of the flogger against her back. Stretched tight against the St. Andrew’s cross, Q wondered if this asshole was ever going to get on with things. Enough fucking warm up, already. It wasn’t the rye she’d downed before she left the house either. This idiot was just clueless. She tossed her head in annoyance, forgetting there was no longer a sweep of hair to work with. At least it didn’t get in the way. Neither did her tiny boy-shorts or the X’s of black tape over her nipples.
He came to check on her again. With a disdainful flick of her eyes, she met his dark gaze. The uncertainty she saw there completed the mood-kill.
“Are you okay? Was it too hard?”
Never send a boy to do a man’s job. She glared at him. “Sorry, I hadn’t realized you started yet.”
There was a chuckle from someone just out of her field of vision. “You’re new at this.” An unfamiliar man’s voice.
The young man smiled wanly and nodded. “My submissive likes sensual play, but not pain. I’m not even quite sure how to get a flick out of this thing. Q volunteered to be my guinea pig.”
She’d been playing at the club a lot lately. Tonight it was hard to decide if it was helping her forget or forcing her to remember.
“May I?” The flogger changed hands, and a man walked into her line of sight. Not much taller than her, he was stocky and well-muscled. He looked a little rough around the edges, but it might have just been in comparison to the kid. He raised his brows at her.
“You’re a pretty little thing. What’s your name?”
The look she gave him would have turned a lesser man to stone. “Like he said, it’s Q. Just the letter. And no, it doesn’t stand for anything.”
He didn’t even blink. “I’m Lee, in case you care. Do you want me to take over?”
“If you know one end of that thing from the other, it will be an improvement,” she growled, low enough that her words didn’t carry to the young man. He might be useless but even in her nastiest mood, she didn’t feel the need to knife innocents with insults.
Lee backed up a few paces and shook out the falls of the flogger. “How much can you take?”
“Whatever you can manage to deliver... Lee.” The sarcasm with which she delivered his name made it an insult.
He smiled pleasantly and proceeded to beat her.
***
The screams he drew from her won him Q’s grudging respect. They talked a bit and Lee told her he had a single-tail back at his place, and a selection of canes. Q wanted to check them out and figured tonight was as good a night as any. When he took her down, she tucked her cold, numb hands under her arms. The changing rooms first then she could have more pain.
“O-M-G! Q!” The riot of red curls and buxom figure made Ivy easy to pick out, even in the club’s gloom. “Honey, what did you do with your hair? New piercings too?”
She nodded to Ivy as she brushed past. Her friend followed. Even hammered, Q couldn’t bring herself to be rude. Ivy had helped her hold it together when Nico had disposed of her. At the time, she hadn’t had anyone else in her life who’d have understood it all. She turned, and concentrated on not slurring.
“Hey, Ivy. Yeah. Just the bridge of my nose, the bull ring and my tongue. I’m trying to decide what to do next. I’m looking to get a brand or some cutting done.”
Her friend smiled and squeezed her arm. The kindness set Q’s teeth on edge. “I love the blue hair. Where’d you get it done?”
“I did it myself.” She’d hacked it off with a knife about five minutes before she left the house, but that sounded crazy even to her drunk self so she didn’t add that bit. Was that enough? Was this little tete-a-tete done yet? Her body started to rock a little to the beat of the metal blasting from the sound system.
The aggressive feeling was coming back. She needed to get out of there. “I gotta go, Ivy. I’ve got a guy waiting.”
“Yeah, about that, Q...” She walked her to the changing room and sat on a bench while Q found her clothes and struggled into them.
Tight leather pants were a bad idea when one was drunk. She hissed as she drew them up her thighs, feeling every welt individually.
“That Lee guy is new. You hadn’t met him before tonight, right?”
“You the morality police all of a sudden, Ivy? Don’t judge me. I have no intentions of fucking him yet. I just want to see what he can do.” Internally she was grumbling. This conversation and the entire situation was pissing her off and she was losing her endorphin buzz.
“Q. No, no,” she backpedaled. “Play with him if you want to. I just wanted to warn you that he’s getting a reputation for playing too hard. For pushing limits to scary places. A few subs I’ve talked to lately have said he ignored their safewords the first few times. Maybe leaving with him now isn’t the best idea?”
“Why is now an issue?”
“Just a friendly warning, Q. I’m worried about you. This isn’t the Q I know. The fact that he’s new to the scene here means there’s no one to vouch that he’s safe, and early reports about him aren’t good.”
She’d rattled that off fast, like she had to get it off her chest in case she was stopped. Ivy hated confrontation.
Q exchanged stares with her. “Thanks for the concern, Ivy, but I need this tonight. If he lands me in the hospital, feel free to tell me ‘I told you so.’”
Ivy bit her lip. The Rubanesque submissive looked disconcerted. “At least let me be your safe call then.”
“Fuck! You just don’t give up, do you?” Q grumbled.
“Or call Sabrina if you don’t want to use me. Is she home?”
It was like being stabbed in the chest. She caught her breath. A string of profanity escaped, actually making Ivy recoil. “Leave Sabrina the fuck out of this.”
Big brown eyes came to mind – sad ones. Sabrina was always sad when she talked to Q lately, perhaps because Q had a hard time talking back to her. Her throat felt swollen and she fought down tears. She’d promised Sabrina their experiment wouldn’t fuck up their friendship, but seeing her and not being able to hold her was hell on earth. Sabrina didn’t want her like that. She wanted a vague, happy, shopping-buddy love. The type of love Q felt was tearing her heart out.
It had been two months but, if anything, it was getting worse instead of better. At first, she thought living almost on top of each other in the small apartment would get them back together – that maybe Sabrina would come to her senses. But Sabrina didn’t want her. Eventually even Q had to admit all the things she’d thought she’d seen there, between them, had been pathetic delusions on her part. It was impossible to move on and forget her when they even shared toothpaste.
Lee didn’t look pleased about giving Ivy his full name and address, but her friend stood her ground under his intimidating glare. When the exchange was complete, he turned away from Ivy without wasting breath on pleasantries.
As Q grabbed her jacket at the coat check, she avoided making eye contact with several regulars she knew. She hoped no one else would talk to her. Cross walked in. He was so quiet, she always forgot how huge and dangerous he used to seem – like a Titan drop
ped into the mortal world.
Cross nodded at her, unsmiling.
She nodded back as he checked the coats of the two new girls he’d brought along. He was in the zone – which, for Cross, meant even less talking. Not that he was the type of guy to prattle. The girls were hot and cowered behind him a little. Fresh meat.
“Yours?” Q asked as she passed him.
“I wish,” Cross murmured back.
She stifled a laugh until she remembered that the last time they’d been talking about... She blocked memories of Sabrina and focused on the low level of pain her body was feeding her.
Lee gestured Q out the door ahead of him. It felt more like a prison guard keeping an eye on an inmate, rather than something gallant or gentlemanly. It was a continual struggle not to compare Lee to Jude. Jude would have opened the car door for her. Jude would have teased her, flirted, and made jokes on the ride. But Jude had cast her off. How had she ever believed that he’d had feelings for her? Easy. She’d wanted to be fooled. Happy in her own little delusion, she had probably missed any number of hints that she was temporary in his life. Like the fact that he’d actually said so.
By the time they pulled into the driveway of the farmhouse where Lee lived, it was starting to feel more like a business transaction than a date. She wanted pain – he wanted to hurt her. Q had negotiated there would be no touching and no sex, and he said he was fine with that, for now. He’d mentioned that he didn’t believe in fucking brats he hadn’t mastered – whatever the hell that meant. The flask he’d had in the glove compartment mellowed her out. He didn’t look at her much. Some Doms she’d played with were like that though. They thought paying too much attention to a sub gave them too much power. She missed the way Jude looked at her – like she was eye candy.
The decor was Spartan. There was no pretence of normalcy once you passed the kitchen. In the living room, a huge double St. Andrew’s cross was bolted to the wall. The coffee table had built-in restraints. Cuffs dangled from ropes that were O-ringed to the ceiling, along with some other things Q couldn’t identify. With no neighbors close by, there was no one to hear her scream. A loud instinct screamed to get out while she still could. Lee went to the kitchen and made that pesky instinct another drink. It was quiet after that.
The Dom with a Safeword (Badass Brats #1) Page 25