by Lynda Aicher
His fingers returned to her hair, the gentle strokes both calming and tantalizing as the light tingles danced over her scalp before shimmering down her spine. “And Eric is friends with Chris?”
She closed her eyes, absorbing Deklan’s presence. The softness of his old T-shirt, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the hint of laundry soap that didn’t mask the unique scent that was him even without the sandalwood. This was real.
“They’re best friends. They graduated from Harvard together, and Eric came to work with Chris at my father’s company.”
“Your brother didn’t mind him dating his little sister?”
“It didn’t matter what Chris thought.” The depth and truth of the words stunned her for a moment. “Dad was overjoyed at us being a couple and that trumped any objections Chris might have had. Or me, for that matter.”
“Even though he abused you?” Anger roughened the edges of Deklan’s voice and warmed an icy place in her heart.
“No one knows,” she said softly, the embarrassment making her shy away from the words. “Remember, it’s all about image and the one everyone saw of us was of a happy couple. For once in my life, my mom and dad were proud of me. I wasn’t the daughter who chose to go into social work instead of finance or law. Or the one who avoided the parties and they dismissed as eccentric. For once, I was the one they beamed and gushed about.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Confusion marred her brow as she tried to understand.
His lips brushed against her forehead as he answered. “That they were proud of your actions but completely missed the fact that there was this courageous, strong, independent woman who deserved their love, regardless of what you did.”
A gentle kiss landed on her temple. Every time he did that she melted a little inside. It was almost like that spot was for him alone. Each kiss opened a little bit more of her heart, making her believe in love once again. She blinked rapidly at the thought, swallowing back the rising emotions. She couldn’t dare to love Deklan.
But a part of her knew it was already too late.
“What were your parents like?” she asked him, changing the subject.
He made a scoffing sound in his throat before shifting away, his head dropping against the back of the couch. “Exactly opposite of yours.”
“How so?”
“You talk of yachts, nannies and image. Think the other side of the tracks.” His voice was tight and filled with loathing.
She turned then to look at him, wanting to comfort him as he had her. But his eyes were closed, his face shuttered. “Was it that bad?”
“Worse.”
“Is that why you joined the service? To get out?”
A ripple of remorse or maybe shame crossed his face. “Not exactly. But it worked.” He took a deep breath and blew it out, the frown smoothing from his brow. “I’d just turned eighteen, two weeks away from graduating and being out of that shit hole when I came home one night to find my stepdad beating the shit out of my mother.”
She inhaled but stayed quiet, wanting him to continue. There was pain buried under the deadpan tone of resolution that came from someone who’d long ago accepted the events for what they were.
“It was nothing new,” he continued. “But that night I snapped. The bastard wouldn’t stop hitting her and she was letting him and there were my two little sisters huddled in the corner, afraid to move. I reacted.” His hands tightened into fists, the one in her hair tugging just enough to make her wince, but she said nothing. “I almost beat him to death before the cops ripped me off him. My mom had called the police on me. Not the bastard who used her as a punching bag, but me.”
His chest expanded with a deep inhale and he rubbed at his eyes as if that would eliminate the image from his mind. “The court saw the family history, the documented cases of suspected abuse and foster homes and went lenient on me, even though my mother backed my stepdad. I could graduate from high school and join the army or go straight to jail. I picked the first one.”
This time it was her offering comfort. “I’m so sorry.”
Puffing out a laugh, he lifted his head to look at her. “Just goes to show life can suck with or without money.”
She smiled, giving a soft laugh to match his. “Suckiness has no boundaries.” They were both undermining their experiences, but there was no need to dwell on finished history. What was done was done. “What happened to your mom and sisters?”
Another sigh. “She’s still with the asshole. I haven’t spoken to her since I entered the army. But with the money from the service, I was able to get my sisters out. They both live back in Sioux City with good husbands and families.”
“Is that where you’re from? Sioux City?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you ever go back?”
“I try to, but not often enough.”
She sat up, tilting her head back and forth, the cramped muscles stretching but not loosening. She shifted around to set her feet on the floor, the cold surface refreshing against her bare feet. Her elbows dug into her thighs as she leaned forward, kneading the ache in her shoulders. A second later her hands were brushed away to be replaced by his. She moaned in appreciation, leaning into his strong touch.
“I should be doing this to you,” she told him.
“Why?”
“Because I’m the one who took advantage of you last night.” She bit her lip, the shame returning as she thought of her actions. There’s no way she could ever justify what she’d done.
He gave her a rough shake. “We are not going over that again.” His voice was stern, his grip firm on her shoulders.
She squeezed her eyes closed, her lip stinging where her teeth held it, but she nodded. They might not talk about it again, but she’d never forget what she’d done or the shame that came with it. “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“The names on your leg. Are they really people you lost?”
He went still and she turned, searching his face for the answers that hid there. His lips thinned before he gave a tight nod. “They were fellow soldiers who died in the line of duty.” He rubbed absently at the back of his leg, as if talking about it triggered the action.
“But why?”
There was pain in his eyes, his memories flashing almost vividly enough for her to see them too. His voice was rough when he spoke. “It started as a way to honor them. But it was also a reminder of my failures.”
“They’re all male except the last one. Does that mean something?”
The bare whisper of words reached her. “Samantha J. Boyd.” He paused, his jaw working before he continued. “I left the military after her death. Every loss hurt, but hers almost broke me. I failed her, just like my mother.”
“You were telling the truth last night.” His silence was her answer. Her hand shook as she reached to run her fingers along his jaw, the scruff of his beard abrading the tips. He held perfectly still as she touched him, his eyes filled with remembered hurt and...trust. He trusted her enough to share this truth that was so personal. “And I dismissed it.”
His half-grin returned, his dimple appearing with the shift in his mood. “You had other things distracting you last night. My hang-ups weren’t important.”
“But they are,” she insisted. She spun around and straddled his lap. It was suddenly essential that he understood her. She cupped his jaw, forcing him to look at her. “They are just as important as mine. They matter to me. You matter to me.”
She captured his lips in a gentle kiss, needing to feel him but also to hide. She poured her emotions into the brush of moist softness, holding back while aching to dive in. There was so much contradiction in this man. Hard and soft, rough and gentle, strong but fragile. And she wanted every part of him. She shouldn’t, God, she shouldn’t. But she did.
How had this happened?
The trembling started in her shoulders, running in a wave down her arms to her fingertips. She loved him. Da
mn it. No. It couldn’t be.
The crash of realization scared her worse than the thought of being beaten again. She eased back, taking shortened breaths, trying to keep it together. The crook of his neck was the perfect place to escape and she tucked her head there, seeking the safety it offered. He stroked her back, long caresses that teased her breasts against his chest but loosened the constriction in her throat that threatened to cut off her air. The smooth consistency that was him pushed back her panic before it completely formed.
That was Deklan—a pillar of consistency there for her. There for everyone around him. “So who’s there for you?” she asked, her fingers playing over the short stubble of hair at the back of his head. “If you’re there for everyone, who’s there for you?”
His hand hesitated on her back for a second then resumed. “Seth and Jake have been there since we were kids.” No mention of his real family. “What about you? Is that why you ran? Because you had no one who would understand?”
She gulped back the sudden gasp that emerged at the direct hit. He was so right. Even among her family, all of the social acquaintances and superficial friends, she’d been so alone.
“It’s all right,” he murmured, pulling her even closer. “You have friends now. People who care. You have me.”
“How? Why?” The pleading words sounded anxious and pitiful but she needed to know. Her history wouldn’t let her just believe, even if she wanted to.
“How not? Why not?” he countered. He lifted her head, making her shift until she was forced to look at him. The intensity of his eyes made her blink, her chest winding into coils that were too much like hope. “You have to know by now that this, us, is more than a contract. That I care about you as more than a client. That I want more than submission and dominance with you.”
Her pulse raced until her heart rammed against her ribcage. So many thoughts and doubts fled in and out of her mind that she couldn’t capture and hold any of them. Was this possible? Her fingers shook as she dared to trace the edge of his hairline along his forehead, the action giving her something to focus on besides his dark blue eyes.
“I want all of you, Kendra.” He leaned forward until she had no choice but to look back at him. “I meant what I said last night. You own me.”
She shoved away, only he wouldn’t let her run. He held her tight and she shook her head in denial, her doubts crashing forward once again. “It won’t work. It can’t. That doesn’t work in a relationship.”
Annoyance flashed in his eyes under a heavy scowl. “What doesn’t? What we do in the Dungeon? Haven’t I proven to you by now that it can work?”
“That’s there,” she shot back. “It’s separate. It has nothing to do with love and commitment.”
“Doesn’t it? Isn’t that the ultimate in trust? When it’s done right, it’s all about caring and sharing. About giving each other what we both need and want. Isn’t that the very foundation of love?”
Love? Oh, God. He’d said it. She couldn’t breathe. Her chest tightened, the brick pressing down until the pressure was too much, too intense. “No,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It’s all false.”
“How?” he asked, the demand so gentle that she strained to hear it around the roar within her head. “Is this false?”
His lips were hot and insistent when they touched hers. She didn’t want to believe, but he was so warm. Alive. His tongue traced a path over her bottom lip, tempting her mouth open to claim the warmth within. The faint traces of coffee lingered on his tongue, his advance both cautious and demanding, making her want more. The soft bristles of his hair coursed over her palms as she ran her hands up the back of his head, seeking the longer stands on top that she could hold tight and anchor herself to him.
“Tell me, Kendra,” he said against her lips, his mouth teasing hers with each word. The hot, coarse touch of his palm smoothed under her sweatshirt to scorch over her ribs before surrounding her breast. She arched into his hand, her head falling back, his lips trailing wet kisses down the exposed skin of her neck. “Is this false?” His breath tickled the sensitive area just below her ear, the softness countered by the rough scrap of his beard.
Air raced into her lungs, the constrictive vise of fear receding to allow her a gasp of breath. He circled his palm over her nipple, a fire of arousal shooting straight to her aching core. Her hips bucked, her pussy rocking over his hardened shaft. Her low moan rumbled into the quiet and she held his head to her neck, savoring the feel of him. His breath on her skin, the wet trail of his tongue around her ear, the press of his hand on her breast, the length of his erection pressing against her needy sex.
This was so real. Primal.
She didn’t resist when he pulled her sweatshirt over her head, baring her breasts to him. He lifted them until her nipples pointed high and wicked toward his mouth. Her nails dug into his shoulders where she held on to him, her chest heaving with each breath she took.
He stared into her eyes, the desire making his black and endless. “Do you want this? He passed his thumbs over her aching nipples; her inhale at the shot of sensation was husky and harsh. “I’ll stop now, if that’s what you want.” The torture of doing that showed in the low grit of his voice. But she believed him. He would stop if she said to.
Deklan would never force her to do anything she didn’t want to do.
He wasn’t Eric. She knew that. Deklan had proven that repeatedly and still she resisted, letting Eric’s evil spill over to taint this. But it was her choice. She could run again or take the risk and trust the man before her. With everything.
He slid his hands down her sides and started to pull back, but she grabbed ahold, jerking his mouth to hers. “Don’t stop,” she breathed against his lips, her heart breaking open. “Don’t ever stop.” She kissed him, all the passion erupting from her tight hold. Her tongue stroked his, plundered his heated depth and sought everything he offered.
The growl that erupted from his chest vibrated against her lips, raising her desire. His hands dug into her hair and he yanked her away, his breath panting with hers. He closed his eyes and swallowed before locking his gaze with hers. “I want to make love to you. No whips, chains, bonds, toys. None of that. Just you and me.” He ran his hand up her side, the heat trailing behind it. “And this.”
Inside, she turned to mush. He was so passionate, open where he was usually shuttered. And he was offering it all to her. There was only one thing she could say. “Yes.”
She wanted him. No matter how scared she was to move forward, she couldn’t deny her need for him any longer. Fusing her lips to his, she poured everything into that kiss. He returned her hunger, his teeth nipping her lip, his hands rubbing her everywhere, leaving her skin tingling and hot wherever he touched.
“God, Kendra,” he rumbled against her neck. “I’ve wanted you for so fucking long.” He dove his hands beneath the back of her yoga pants to grip her ass, the hard squeeze bucking her hips up, forcing a long, slow moan to pour from her lips. He lifted her up to devour her nipple. He sucked the hard peak between his lips, his teeth worrying the flesh around the loop, his tongue playing with the charm.
The whimper that escaped sounded as impatient as she felt. After waiting so long, she couldn’t get enough of him. Like a person starved, she wanted to touch every inch of him. Feel him under her palms, taste him, bite him. Consume him whole.
He moved to her other breast, teasing and working the tip like he’d done the other. She couldn’t think anymore, didn’t want to for that matter. Thinking would make her stop, let the fear enter, and she didn’t want that. Holding his head to her chest, she ground her hips into his lap, feeling his erection and wanting it all.
Groaning, he pulled away to capture her mouth in another scorching kiss. One she returned until her lips were bruised and they were both gasping for air.
He scooted forward, yanking her tight against him. “Hold on,” he said right before he stood, her legs automatically locking around his waist. “I’ve
waited too long to do this on the couch.”
She had to kiss him again; there was nothing else she could do. His lips were an addiction now, his taste her craving. She loved his strength—the feel of his hands gripping her ass and holding her tight as he walked to the bedroom drove her wild. It didn’t make sense, she should run from so much power, but instead she longed for it.
She pulled back as they entered the cool darkness of the bedroom. The curtains were still drawn over the large window, leaving the space dark and intimate. Glancing back, she spotted the rumpled bed, the covers still askew, reminding her that she’d slept naked next to him last night. And he’d been a gentleman. He could have pushed this then or even this morning and she probably wouldn’t have objected. The fact that he waited until she felt stronger, until she could agree without guilt or pressure meant so much.
It showed how much he really cared about her.
He eased her down, her body sliding along his until her feet touched the ground, not an inch of space separating them. Her arms were wound around his neck and he leaned down to kiss her softly, tender caresses of his swollen lips countered by harder strokes of his tongue that made her toes curl into the cold floor beneath them.
Her hands found their way down his chest to ease under his shirt and she reveled in the feel of his hard muscles beneath her palms. His skin was as warm and smooth as she remembered from last night, and she wanted more. More skin, more him.
Tugging his shirt up, he broke away to help her remove the interference. The instant it was gone, her lips were on his chest, tasting the hard line of his biceps, tracing the outline of his tattoo, grazing the hardened nub of his nipple. His breath hissed between his teeth when she sucked the tip between her lips, working it with her teeth.
“Kendra,” he groaned, his hand weaving into her hair to hold her close. He ground his hips against her, pressing the length of his cock into her lower stomach. “I gotta have you.”