Pierced (Tall, Dark, and Handsome Book 2)

by JA Huss

  “Pierce…” Her voice goes up at the end of my name.

  Off comes the sweater and the shirt underneath.

  And now I’m standing in the middle of the Tuileries Gardens Christmas Market clad only in a pair of black boxer briefs. Oh, my nipples are hating me right now. But it also feels kinda good. Pleasure and pain. Kissing cousins.

  People have noticed. This being Paris, no one seems all that shocked. For the most part they just kind of glance over and move on. A couple of kids do gawk.

  Well, kids, it’s about to get a whole lot more gawk-worthy in about five seconds.

  I put my hands on the waistband of my underwear and go to tug when Myrtle’s hands land on mine.

  “No! Don’t. This is insane.”

  “I know.”

  “This is not going to help anything.”

  “Maybe not. But lying down naked in front of you in the middle of a French park in winter sure would put you above me. Literally. And metaphorically. It would show submission, I’m trying to say. I mean, I think it would.”

  “Jesus. You’re all about the grand gesture, aren’t you?”

  “Is there any other kind?”

  “All the toos. Every last one.”

  “Yeah. I know. Look, if this isn’t what you want, I won’t do it. If it is, I will. I’ll do whatever. I can learn. I swear I can. Because I love you. I love you, Myrtle Astrid Rothschild, lion-taming librarian. I love you and everything that you are. And I don’t need you to be anything for me. You’re everything I could want. And I just want the chance to be that for you. To be what you need. To be what you want. And to think about what that is and serve that before I serve myself. I swear. Please, just give me the chance to start over.”

  “Monsieur! Monsieur!”

  Two gendarmes are making their way toward me.

  “Please, Myrtle. Just give me a chance. Because the cops are coming over here and before I get hauled off to jail, I’d just like to know if I should plan on it being the last cage anyone ever throws me in again. Because I’d really like that to not be the case.”

  And then… a Christmas miracle happens.

  She bows her head, covers her face with her hands, and I hear her say, “I love you.”

  “Monsieur!”

  “What did you say?” I ask

  “What?” she says.

  “Monsieur!” They’re about five meters away now.

  “Did you just say you love me?”

  “Love you? No. I said, ‘I can’t believe you.’”

  My shoulders drop. “Oh. I thought you said—”

  “No, no, no, no, monsieur!” The cops are on me now. One is grabbing up my discarded clothes while the other takes me by the arm and starts to pull me away.

  “I’m staying at La Réserve!” I shout to her. “I’m checked in under Anastasia Steele!”

  “Why?”

  “Mona said that now that I’m kind of famous, I should start keeping a low profile!”

  “Great job!”

  “Just please… if I’m not in prison later, come find me! I think we should keep talking!”

  And as one of the gendarmes throws my coat over me and the other leads me to a waiting police car, I look back at her over my shoulder, and I can’t be sure, but I think I see her smile.

  Or it may be a grimace as she spots the tree branch that hits me in the face seconds later as I’m staring back at her rather than watching where I’m walking.

  Could go either way.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE - MYRTLE

  You know those moments that stop time and you have a bazillion thoughts running through your head and somehow a whole other lifetime happens in the span of two or three seconds?

  I’m having one of those as I watch Pierce be led away by the police.

  I’m seeing weird things. Old things. My mother in the library, reading to my class that first year we moved onto campus. And the girl sitting next to me telling me her name and I just looked at her. Like… what was I supposed to do with that information? I mean, the obvious answer is tell her my name back and say, “Let’s be friends!” But I didn’t understand that back then. No one gave me a rule book and wouldn’t life be so much easier if it came with a fucking rule book?

  But there are no spare moments to ponder that because I’m back in time. That first summer I went to stay with my father, he gave me a kitten. Not an exotic one or anything. Just a plain old kitten. He said I could train it and take it home with me. But I said, “It doesn’t want to be trained and I don’t want to train it.” So it didn’t come home with me. It stayed with him.

  And then that first day I met the man who would later become my dom and I just kinda went along with it. Too afraid to respond, I guess. That was always my problem. It wasn’t that I was scared. Not the way people think, anyway.

  I just don’t know how to respond when these small things that have big-event potential happen unexpectedly, so my default reaction is to say nothing, or reject the offer, or just… play along. Let fate sort it out.

  But something happens as Pierce waits for the police to open the door and shove him inside.

  He’s talking, I can see that much. And then one of the gendarmes—a young woman probably not much older than Eden—throws her head back and laughs.

  And Pierce laughs. And then he’s talking again, and then they’re all laughing.

  None of them are looking back at me, so it’s not me they’re laughing at. In fact, I don’t think they’re laughing at anyone. I think Pierce just said something really funny. Or blurted out something really inappropriate.

  Just being… Pierce. He’s always just being Pierce. So comfortable in his own shoes. So sure of himself. So damn funny, and ridiculous, and over the top.

  Pierce walks through life telling everyone to take him or leave him.

  And sure, some people leave him, but that never sets him back. He just… goes for it. Every single time. One hundred percent.

  So even though he didn’t come to Paris to see me, when that moment came and he saw his opportunity, he didn’t settle for the default option.

  I realize I’m still in that altered state where time has stopped and the world is on pause. Because I log every one of their faces. Eyes bright. Happy and in the moment. Laughing. Probably thinking this guy isn’t worth the paperwork.

  I hold my breath, hoping that they’ll just let him get dressed and tell him to be on his way.

  But the spell breaks, everyone is moving, the door opens, the woman places her hand on his head so he doesn’t hit it when he gets in the back seat, and less than a minute later he’s… gone.

  Just gone.

  Just as quick as he appeared, he disappears.

  I realize then that I did it again.

  I just let fate sort it out.

  And this is what happens when you do nothing. When you choose the default option.

  You get stuck with a default life.

  You don’t make a friend that first year of school. You don’t take a kitten home from your summer vacation. You end up being something you’re not. And you let the only man who matters to you get hauled off in a police car for just being himself.

  And himself is actually a genuine, caring, funny, quirky man who lets you drip candle wax on his balls, and puts up with your weird bullshit, and lives every day like it’s just another opportunity for a grand gesture.

  He is the polar opposite of you and you love it.

  It’s this realization, this witnessing of Pierce just being Pierce that wakes me up. Makes me yell, “Wait!”

  But I am a lifetime of eternal moments too late.

  Because he’s gone.

  I think time stops again because I don’t know how I even get to the police station they took Pierce to. I don’t even remember pulling out my phone to find the nearest one or getting into a cab.

  I just know that I’m standing outside when he comes through the doors hours later, shrugging on his coat with one hand while simultaneous
ly shuffling his phone into the other as he looks down at the screen.

  He’s so busy with that phone, he walks past me.

  And for a second I think, Well, there you have it.

  I am the wallflower after all.

  But then I hear myself say, “Hey.”

  Which makes him turn. Confused. “Myrtle?” he says. “What are you doing here?”

  “I bailed you out.”

  “Oh,” he says. “That was you? I thought it was Derek, but I should’ve known better. He was laughing when I called him earlier. Like burbling giggles. I figured I’d be in here all week.” Then he looks at me, serious, and says, “But I should’ve known it was you. Because you have always had my back. No matter what scheme I have cooking, or what ridiculous antics I get into. You’ve always been there through every single ‘too.’ Of course it was you who got me out of a cage. Thank you.”

  I shrug. “Turns out… there’s room for improvement. So this is me. Improving. I said I never lied to you and that’s true. But I’m going to lie to you now and apologize for this.” I wave my hand at the police station. “Because I should’ve lied the first time and I didn’t. So… it’s all my fault. ”

  “What?” He runs his fingers through his mussed-up hair. He looks uncharacteristically frazzled. His collar is crooked under his sweater, his shirt untucked, his normal clean-shaven jaw showing a hint of a shadow. “What are you talking about?”

  “I said some things that… I actually love the idea of a New Year’s kiss. And I think candles are good for more than just dripping hot wax.”

  He looks thoroughly confused. “You do?”

  I nod. “And…” I hesitate. The same way I did when that girl told me her name in the library. But it’s a do—or-die moment for me. So I press on. “And you know what?”

  He smiles at me. “What?”

  “I did say I love you.” I nod my head in some random direction. “Back there at the market.”

  “You did?” I nod. “But… oh. I see. You just told me you’re going to lie to me, so…”

  “So, yeah. I didn’t say it. But I should’ve. So I’m going to erase that moment and ask for a do-over. That’s what this is. Myrtle’s do-over. And so… I love you. I love you, Pierce Constantine Chevalier. I absolutely do. You’re a lot, yes. You’re too much for most, in fact, but you’re just the right amount of everything for me.”

  My heart is beating irrationally fast again but I don’t care. In fact, I decide to embrace it.

  I decide to embrace him. Literally. I step forward, wrap my arms around his waist, press my lips into his neck and just… sigh. Like I’ve been away from home for a long, long time but now I’m back.

  We stay like that for a few moments. Just enjoying this new thing we are.

  Himself. Herself.

  I smile at that.

  Because that’s when I realize.

  I’ve been Pierce-d.

  EPILOGUE - MONSIEUR CHEVALIER

  I like to win. Always have. Probably always will. Winning makes my blood pump. Gets my motor revving. Keeps me feeling sharp.

  I know who I am.

  But there is no part of me that feels like I “won” with Myrtle.

  I mean, she is a prize. One that I’m lucky to have standing by my side here on the sidewalk of Rue Amelot in Paris’s Eleventh Arrondissement at almost midnight on New Year’s Eve. But I don’t feel like a winner in the way I have traditionally. Because, if I did, that would mean there would have to be a loser. And there isn’t. We both won. I mean, my prize is a little better than hers, but she seems relatively happy being here with me, so I won’t disabuse her of the notion that she’s getting something awesome in this bargain.

  Because it’s not my place to tell her how she should feel.

  We’re leaving tomorrow. Heading back to the TDH. New year, new us.

  Or old us, in some ways. Myrtle’s coming back to her old life. Not her old, old life. And not her old life after that. And not even her old life after her old, old life and her old life after that, but her old life that she had before I screwed it up.

  That train of thought seems unclear. I’m a little nervous right now.

  What I mean is, she’s going back to being my assistant.

  I tried to offer her the job running the Paris office but she said something like, “I was being sarcastic when I said that. Pierce…” And then she sighed. But the sigh sounded different than her usual sigh. There was a smile in it.

  So I asked her what she wants. What she wants. And she said that she wants to revisit what it means to be my direct subordinate. That she feels like that’s the role where she’s most comfortable. Because, she says, she likes knowing that she can be of service but also knowing that she has influence.

  I tried to say, “No, no, no. That’s not right. You should…”

  But I stopped myself. Because telling her what she should do is some non-listening, mansplaining bullshit of the highest order. So I shut up and said, “Great.”

  I made the choice to submit myself to her decision and trust that she’s doing the thing that gives her the greatest satisfaction. It’s the most balanced contract negotiation I think I’ve ever been a part of. In exchange, we have agreed that when we’re not in the office, we’ll continue my… training. I’ll keep learning how to submit to her. Properly.

  Seems like a fair deal.

  As for her current job, I suggested that we bring Eden in full-time again as the director of social media, but Myrtle said she’d never do it, and then went on to describe the phenomenal job Valerie did of helping take care of things while I was in New York. So, when we get back, Valerie will be surprised to find that she now has a private office with a two-thousand-dollar desk chair, an assistant called Bryce, and a fifty-thousand dollar raise. (I’m giving Josh Washington a twenty-one-thousand-dollar raise so he doesn’t get freaked out that people keep getting promoted over him. He did go back and convince DogCo to keep advertising with us, so…)

  And that brings us to now.

  New Year’s in Paris. One of the most romantic places in the world and one of the most romantic times to be in that place. For someone like Myrtle, who has previously claimed to be inured to the idea of romance, it might be uncomfortable. But she’s coming around. As we both now know, confronting things that make you uncomfortable can sometimes make you feel good in a way you didn’t expect.

  So, as the clock strikes midnight, I lean into her and give her the softest kiss on the mouth I think I’ve ever offered anyone. She accepts, nervously. But willingly.

  “How was that?” I ask, pulling away.

  She smiles, her eyes still closed, and says, “I didn’t hate it.”

  “Yeah?” She nods. “Does that mean you’re suddenly going to be into Halloween and all the other holidays too?”

  “No. I still hate holidays. I just like the kissing part. But we can do that any time.”

  Parisian revelers all around us cheer and fire off streamers. We’re not in front of L’arc de Triomphe, or at the Moulin Rouge, or any of the traditional places one might look to find lovers on New Year’s Eve. We’re on a lesser-known street in front of a lesser-known place, about to enjoy a less conventional way of celebrating the new year. Or, at least, it’s less conventional to me.

  Which is why I’m nervous.

  “You ready?” she says.

  I half-nod. “Mm-hm,” I sound out, not at all convincingly.

  “We don’t have to do this,” she says.

  “Yeah, we do.”

  “No, we really don’t.”

  “Yeah, we really do. I paid the guy a shit ton of money to stay open.”

  She sniffs in a laugh and shakes her head. “Grand gesture,” she mutters. “Okay. Then let’s go!” She takes my hand and begins pulling me across the street toward the glowing neon sign.

  And then, totally unexpectedly, I hear a syllable leave my lips.

  “Sac—” I get out before stopping myself.

  “Wha
t?” she says. “What was that?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No, what did you start to say?” She arches an eyebrow.

  “Nothing. I didn’t start to say anything.”

  “You started to say ‘sacapuntas,’ didn’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Yes. You did.”

  “No… I started to say… sock… Puppet.” That’s the best I can come up with?

  “Sock puppet...”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “...Why?”

  I shrug. “Dunno. I hear there’s a great sock puppet show we should check out when we get home.” She eyes me with deep skepticism. “What? I like puppets.”

  She closes her eyes and shakes her head as I now take her by the hand and charge ahead.

  We enter the place and it’s more well-lit than I think I was imagining. It’s not very dungeon-like at all. It’s as sterile-looking as a doctor’s office.

  A massive, hulking fellow called Jean-Luc is waiting for us. The only part of his body that is not covered with tattoos is his face. There is a tiny rose just below his left eye, but comparatively, his face is clean. Everywhere else though… I can only imagine the hours it took.

  He shakes Myrtle’s hand, then mine, and when I glance at his forearm, I see “De douleur, de plaisir.”

  Out of pain, pleasure.

  Yep. That’s what they tell me.

  “Monsieur. Mademoiselle. Bon année,” Jean-Luc says. Then, in English, he adds, “So. What are we doing?”

  I describe to him what it is we want. He looks at me with slight reservation.

  “And this will be your first?” he asks. I nod. He follows up with, “I have to ask… Have you been drinking this evening?”

  “Me? No.” I laugh. “Nope, I’m completely sober.”

  “And this is what you would like…”

  “New Year, new Pierce,” I say. He squints. “Oh. No. That’s not—That’s my name. Pierce.”

  “Ton nom est Pierce…?” I shrug and nod. “Ca c’est drôle,” he says.

  Yeah. I guess it is kind of funny.

  He leads me over to the chair that looks like a dentist’s chair. I take off my coat and settle in. A couple of kids stumble into the shop and Jean-Luc excuses himself for a moment to toss them out and lock the door.