by Abby Wood
Her legs trembled, and she reached for the nearest person.
A twenty-something year old woman peered at her. "Miss? Are you all right?"
She managed to nod. "Y-yes, I'm fine."
Forgetting about ordering her coffee, she walked back outside. Joan had already left on her ride. She clenched her teeth. This had to end. Nathan would not distract her from her work.
Carpool Dolls remained her first focus, and she had others depending on her to keep them in business. Nathan diverted her from what was important. She walked along the sidewalk, going to meet her next client.
Each step took her closer to Nathan. She knew without a doubt, she'd see him tonight. Self-hatred swept through her knowing deep inside her soul, she looked forward to him coming for her.
Her weakness where he was concerned terrified her. She inhaled a shuddering breath. Guilt over denying him what he needed killed any joy she'd received from hearing his deep, calming voice. She'd seen the panic before he'd left, when he thought he'd controlled the situation.
Even all through the night and today, he'd called her out of fear, not control. He'd put her first, before any meeting. She'd disturbed his work schedule.
God, he's going to be livid with me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Nathan refused to call Addison again throughout the day. He'd gone straight to her house from the Portland airport, and found her house dark and locked. Instead of feeling relief, believing she'd followed his directions and waited for him at his house, the anger that'd festered the last twenty-four hours had him speeding across the bridge until he whipped into his garage.
He left his bag in the car and marched into the house. Inside his kitchen it dawned on him that there were no lights on inside, no sound, no movement. White, hot fury unleashed and he picked up one of the chairs at the table and lifted it above his head.
"Nathan…don't," Addison said.
She flipped on the switch, bathing the room in light. He dropped the chair, jumped over the piece of furniture where it clattered at his feet, and strode straight toward her.
He stopped her from backing away from him. Unable to check himself, he hooked her neck, holding her in place. He soaked in every detail about her.
Her eyes, free from makeup. Her bottom lip wet and swollen as if she'd raked her teeth over the sensitive skin all night the way she tended to do when worried. The tendril of hair on the back of his hand was damp. His chest tightened and he dragged her to his chest.
"Addy," he murmured.
She fell against him sobbing. He stood there, holding her tightly, until even that wasn't enough, and he had to pick her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist. He accepted her kisses, finally capturing her mouth.
"I'm sor—" She spoke against his lips. "Sorry. So sor—"
He walked with her two steps, and couldn't wait. He took her to the floor, and dragged off her clothes, rarely leaving her mouth as he showed her what he wanted to do to her with his tongue. Without explaining, he stripped her of her jeans. Then he wrestled with his pants with one hand, refusing to take his weight off her, least she escaped.
In seconds, he'd sunk deep into her pussy. The relief and power of possessing her more phenomenal than anything he'd ever experienced. She belonged underneath him, surrounding him, sucking the life from him.
Addy came instantly. Her body seized, squeezing his cock. He violently thrust into her, wanting to shed the turmoil she'd caused him. The worry that she'd disappeared from his life as quickly as she'd entered fled. Together, he could make sure she stayed.
His toes curled. Pleasure rolled from his lower back, between his buttocks, and nailed his balls as he shot his come deep inside of her. A savage groan ripped from his throat. He had her, and she wasn't going anywhere.
Even through the aftershocks of his orgasm, he continued stroking her from the inside, taking the spasms as her sex accepted more and painfully climaxed around him again. He held himself above her, their bodies entwined, and stared at her until he was sure he hadn't dreamed up the moment. She'd come back.
"You're not leaving me." He stroked the hair off her forehead and held her to the floor. "It'll get easier. You'll understand. Just give us time."
Her eyes, bright and lazy, gazed up at him. He felt her nod under his palm. He sucked in his breath. "Okay," he whispered.
He withdrew from her body, helped her stand, and carried her through the house to the bedroom. He laid her on the bed, and crawled in beside her, scooping her into his arms.
The emotions he'd gone through in the past twenty-four hours still circled inside of him. Uptight and unable to sleep, he lay there holding Addison. He could've lost her.
For him, he couldn't go fast enough where she was concerned, yet he'd pushed her. He'd scared her. He'd taken too much from her already, and she wasn't ready. Just like Professor Frank advised him, he had to go slow or lose her.
It wasn't fair to put his darkness on someone who walked in sunshine. He had no right to ask her to carry that burden. If he had to rid himself of the pain without her, he'd at least save her.
When her body relaxed, he slipped out of bed and changed out of his clothes. Instead of going back to bed, he dressed in a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt. He carried his sneakers from the closet around the end of the bed.
At the door, Addison called his name. He froze. "Go back to sleep."
She sat up and turned on the bedside lamp. "Where are you going?"
"Out." He dropped the shoes, and shoved his feet into them.
"But, where?" She gazed at the clock. "It's after midnight."
"I'll be back before you have to go to work," he said, tying his shoes.
Addison pulled the blanket over her body and hugged her waist. He shut the lamp off, kissed her forehead, and whispered, "Go to sleep."
"Nathan—"
He placed his fingers over her mouth. "I need to go out."
She grabbed his wrist. He jerked his arm to his side, because even her touch tempted him, and walked out of the room before she could stop him. One word, and he would've stayed and let her take his anger, his lack of control, his fear over losing her.
But tonight, Addison could take no more. She walked on eggshells, so afraid she'd lost part of herself because she stayed with him. He couldn't let her accept any more of his darkness. She'd discover in time whether her needs outweighed what her head told her was right, and while he waited, he'd carry the darkness away from her.
He hit the garage door button and slid onto his Harley. Forgoing his helmet, he drove away from the hillside home and out into the night.
Addison remained safe, locked inside his house, warm in his bed, where no one could hurt her. He'd realized while in Los Angeles that what they had together was more powerful than either of them realized. He sped through the back roads, winding his way into downtown.
Despite his seeing a need in her to be a submissive, Addison was fragile. He could break her in a bad way, and that's the last thing he wanted to do. Not this way. She couldn't lose herself for him, because he wasn't worthy.
Past China town, the billiards room, and the homeless shelter that closed at ten o'clock sharp, he spotted what he was looking for. His thighs tightened on the motorcycle. It wouldn't be long now, and he'd be all right.
He could go back to Addison and give her time to get used to him.
The woman stood under the street light, nonchalant, smoking a cigarette, and open for business. He hopped the sidewalk and stopped alongside her, and motioned for her to get on.
She threw her smoke, hiked her already short skirt, and slid on behind him. He left the corner, squealing the back tire. In five minutes, he'd purge himself with a woman who'd be happy to take the hundred dollars in his pocket, and wouldn't say a word about the bruises he'd leave her with when he finished.
The warehouse district, half converted to townhouses on the west side, and abandoned buildings on the east gave him privacy. Professor Fr
ank warned him that once he'd climbed to the top; his behavior could bring him down. His money would disappear. His associates would fade away.
None of that mattered. He'd no sooner give away a part of himself than turn into those men and women who used their money as a high.
His euphoria came from watching someone plead. He lived off delivering pain.
To touch people with his hand, and know they hurt on the outside a smidgeon of what he felt on the inside pleased him. He grew stronger, tougher, and became a survivor.
He shut off the engine and waited for the woman to climb off the motorcycle. Then he rolled the bike into the open doorway of the vacant building. Without a light on, he left the headlight, shining into the room. He'd have twenty minutes before the battery drained, and he'd be stuck.
What he had to do would take ten minutes.
"Strip." He took his gloves off and tossed them on the seat.
"Twenty bucks a blow job, mister." She undid the buttons on her shirt. "You wanna fuck me, it'll cost you fifty."
He removed the Jackson from his pocket and held it in the beam of the light. "My call. You either want it, or you walk away now."
She chewed her lip. Her overdone face coated in makeup disgusted him. The filth rolling off her body, whether imagined or real, rolled his stomach. She was just another whore, trying to survive.
And to his preference, not one thing about the woman reminded him of Addison.
"I'll take it, but you wear a condom," She shimmied out of her skirt.
He wouldn't need protection. He'd never stick his dick in a dirty hole.
Stripped of her clothes, she planted her hands on her hips, bored out of her mind. He approached her silently, studying her. He was right. She'd willingly die for the kind of pain he could give her.
He backhanded her across the face, laying her out. He waited as she scrambled to her knees. Her face lifted, an almost smile lit her mouth.
He could spot a woman who loved pain with no problem. This one would beg him for more before she blacked out.
Not letting her open her mouth, he hauled her to her feet by her hair. Once she had her balance, he removed his belt. Doubling the leather, he snapped her legs.
She hopped on one foot, but remained in front of him. He hit her harder, walking around not giving her a chance to think of anything but the snap of his belt, the pain he was giving her. He'd make her earn every cent.
He brought the leather down the length of her back, and brought her to her knees on the concrete floor. Her grunt of pain echoed in the room. He planted his shoe on her sprawled hand, holding her in place.
"You get off on this," he muttered, putting more weight on her hand.
She trembled, almost jerking out of his hold. He waited for his cock to harden, to feel the rush of satisfaction, to warm and push away the cold pulsing in his veins.
Nothing happened.
He yanked her head back at the same time he whipped the top of her thighs. The buckle hitting bare flesh elicited a scream. The fear mingled with desire on her face revolted him.
He stepped back, confused over why he wasn't feeling anything. He'd used many women over the years, since he was fifteen when he needed to relieve himself. He'd degraded, he'd hurt, and he'd taken women when they were out of their head, floating on the endorphins he created for them.
Satisfaction refused to come, and he blamed the woman. He opened his fist and latched on to her arm, pulling her up, leaving bruises on her too skinny limb.
She panted, glazed eyed, and mumbling, no begging. He slapped her again, watching the fluttered gaze. He spit on the ground and stepped back.
He threaded his belt through the loops of his jeans and turned away from the woman. Then he removed another hundred dollars from his pocket and tossed it to the floor with the other one he gave her.
"No…please." The woman reached for him. "More."
He tilted her chin and forced himself to stroke his thumb along her cheek. "Get a hotel room. Take the night off."
"More…" She cried, falling forward and curling on the cold, hard floor.
He walked to the bike, started the engine, and rode out the door. There was only one reason why after all these years he couldn't find the place that made him whole.
Addison.
He'd tried to protect her, and in return, she'd made it impossible for him to take his darkness out on someone else. A whore wouldn't do. He wanted Addison, but he wanted her completely.
He wanted to break her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
After a restless night, Addison paced the kitchen with her cup of coffee. She'd been up two hours and gotten ready for work. At eight o'clock in the morning, Nathan still wasn't at home, and she'd called in sick to work.
In four years of running Carpool Dolls, she'd never taken a day off. If she had appointments, she planned them for the afternoons, and made sure she was there in the morning to prep the dolls.
It was Joan's second day working, but she'd called Gee to cover for her. She trusted her girls to see to business, and trained them herself. But, she had no excuse for not going in.
She brought the mug to her lips and her stomach somersaulted. Unable to drink, she poured the contents in the sink and put the cup in the dishwasher.
When Nathan came home, they were going to talk. She couldn't go on wondering what was going on with him, and what his thoughts were toward their relationship. He expected her to stay with him, and to hand all her thoughts and needs to him. But what about him?
What was he doing half the night away from her that he couldn't tell her?
She hated secrets. Her whole life, she'd lived a lie and hid the truth, until Nathan demanded she hand everything over to him.
Why couldn't he trust her with his secrets?
She held on to the counter and closed her eyes against the agony of wondering if he had another woman he was seeing or if the pull from the streets called him back. He seemed to miss the danger and rules he grew up with at times. He'd often thumb his nose at how simple life was for him, when she knew being homeless created the person he'd become.
He claimed nobody, but his brother and Professor Frank. She blew out her breath. In fact, he worshiped Professor Frank in a way that mystified her. Yet, he wouldn't answer any of her questions.
She knew he kept in contact with his mentor. Even at his age, he seemed to need the respect and guidance. She never questioned why, but now she wondered if this Professor Frank was doing more harm than good.
The phone rang. She jolted and lunged for the handset on the counter. "Hello?"
"Uh…is Rafferty, Nate Rafferty available?" said a man.
"I'm sorry. He's away from the phone right now." She searched the drawers until she found a pen and a new envelope. "Can I take a message and have him call you back."
"Sure. This is Curt Stewart. He can reach me…"
She pressed the phone to her chest. Then worried her father could hear her heart pounding against her breastbone, she put the receiver back on her ear. "I'll make sure he gets the message," she whispered, barely able to get the words out.
Her father chuckled. "No hurry. I'll catch him at his office later if he's busy right now."
Her breathe came fast and forceful. "Okay."
"Bye now," he said.
"Bye." She disconnected the call and let the phone fall from her hands.
She sank to the floor and leaned against the cabinet, drawing her knees to her chest. Her father knew where she was. She couldn't stay here.
Maybe not today, but tomorrow or next week, Nathan would let her identity slip. He was business associates with her father. The truth would come out, and she was helpless to stop her father from knowing exactly who she was, and who her mother was.
God, she had to think. Her mom was right. She should've gone away to college and stayed away from the Pacific Northwest. No place was safe.
The only thing that stood between Curt Stewart and her was her mother, and now she
was dead and couldn't help her. If her father found out she was living so close to him, sleeping with Nathan, he'd want to hide her from the public, so his name wasn't tarnished. How many times had her mother told her that any contact with her father would end badly?
Her whole life, Addison demanded to know more about her father. Even years later, when she was a teenager, Addison doubted her mother's story and searched on the computer for any information about Curt Stewart and fought with her mother for every little piece of information about him.
Her mother's story never wavered.
In her child-like mind, Addison created a fantasy that someday her father would come and save her from living with her mother. That, for some reason, her mother lied because she still loved Curt Stewart and if she could only get them back together, they'd be a happy family.
But her mother swore that because Addison existed, her father turned against them. Her mother blamed her for losing the love of her life.
And Addison was repeating the cycle with Nathan.
Nathan would allow nothing to come between them. He'd told her many times to trust him and not to worry about their relationship. Yet, what if she got pregnant?
Some day she wanted a husband and kids. At least one.
Their kind of relationship was no place to bring a child into, because she feared turning into her mother. She pressed her face into her knees. She had to get away before it was too late.
A door slammed in the front of the house. She raised her head and held her breath. Nathan!
She jumped to her feet and hurried down the hallway. In the foyer, she came to a stop. Her heart raced. Shocked, she couldn't even move.
A tall man, wearing a flannel shirt half-undone and a pair of jeans so faded, there were holes in the knees. She stared into brown eyes that were checking her out. A slow smile came to the man's whiskered face and he came forward.
She stepped backward into the wall. "Who are you?"
"Are names so important?" He reached out and hooked her waist, pulling her hard against the front of him. "Hell, if I knew we could keep you in the family, I would've come by sooner."