by Lynn Burke
Broken concrete slab for a stoop, chipped white and yellow paint peeled from the curled wooden siding, sagging roofline, and plywood covering a few of the windows … the house should have been condemned.
I heaved a heavy sigh, thinking of my own single family home in a much nicer town. Brand new construction to my specifications. High end everything to make for a greener and more comfortable life. The thought of Becky sharing my personal space sent a queer tingle through my chest. I wanted to share it with her.
How or why I’d come to that conclusion so quickly, I didn’t know. I didn’t believe in love at first—or third—sight, hell, a couple weeks ago I still thought I loved Lacey in her black thigh-highs and silicone breasts. Nothing about Lacey turned me on after meeting Becky. Sweet smile, humble spirit, pure submissive, and all woman.
God. I groaned, but already feeling like a major stalker, gripped my steering wheel to keep from stroking myself through my jeans.
I needed to find a way to get into her life. Fear of Stephen would keep her from meeting with me in public, though, so what option did I have other than to check in on her at work now and then?
“And,” I muttered, “hope to hell something gives.”
Chapter Eight
Becky
Daniel continued to stop by every few days for a coffee and quick chat. At least once a week he showed up around my break time, and I lingered a few minutes to speak with him. I wanted to sit beside him, soak in his peaceful aura to steady my own.
Stephen had been difficult since the night at Chantelle’s. Nothing I did or said pleased him—in bed or out. He ranted and raved about work. Bills. My dry cunt. Called me names and degraded me on video.
I had hoped so hard that a taste of the kink club and seeing how other Doms behaved would have a positive influence on Stephen. Asking Chantelle for advice earned me an earful on leaving and starting over. She also mentioned Daniel both times I’d called her in tears.
As always, I calmed down, reasoned away Stephen’s behavior, and focused on striving to better things for him. Between us. I couldn’t tear my mind from Daniel and his kind, dark eyes, though. I dreamed of him touching me, kissing me, bringing me to climax again.
Emotional exhaustion bruised the skin beneath my eyes more than Stephen ever had. I binged on ice cream and hot fudge. Gained almost five pounds in one week.
Stephen began drinking every night rather than just weekends. Good old Jack Daniels became his best friend as I spiraled into despair. I felt like a fading flower in the forgotten garden of life.
A month after I climaxed for the first time from a mere brush of Daniel’s fingertips, Stephen lost his job and came home on the warpath.
He had called me on the way home, ordered me to take a bottle of JD to the playroom, bend over the spanking bench, and wait for him.
My heart a deadened weight in my chest, I dumped all of the alcohol I could find down the drain, and sat at the kitchen table, hands clenched in my lap. For the first time, I had defied his orders, but with his income gone, we would need to figure out a plan for our future. Flogging me and drinking until he dropped wouldn’t accomplish anything.
The click of the lock jolted me in my chair, and I bit my tongue.
Stephen’s footsteps squeaked the loose floorboards on the stairs.
“I’m in the kitchen,” I called out, my voice betraying my fear.
He stalked through the archway a few seconds later, a thunderous scowl denting his forehead. Eyes red-rimmed let me know he’d already been at the bottle.
“The fuck you doing down here?”
“We need to talk.”
“Talk, talk, talk.” He rolled his eyes and stomped across the kitchen. “That’s all you fucking do is talk!” He grabbed hold of my hair and jerked my head back. Tears sprang to life in my eyes, and I bit my tongue to keep from crying out. “I told you to wait for me upstairs like a good little fucking whore, but no. You had to disobey and piss me off.”
Stephen yanked me off the chair and onto the floor. I landed hard on my knees. “Now, you’re going to pay.”
I grabbed hold of his wrist to keep him from pulling my hair out, and he glanced at the counter where three empty liquor bottles sat.
“The fuck!” he shrieked, pushing my face into the side of the table.
The impact jarred my head, and stars dotted my vision. Tears streamed unbidden, and I slumped onto the floor, my cheek throbbing with my heartbeat, as he walked to the counter.
He upended each bottle, cursing when nothing more than a drip splattered on the countertop. “You fucking bitch!”
I curled into a ball as he pulled back his leg. His boot thumped against my lower back, and I cried out at the pain knifing through me.
“That’s every bottle I had in this damn house!” He kicked again, landing a blow to my left shoulder blade. Another yank on my hair uncurled my body and pulled my head back. “I’m going to the liquor store, and when I’m back, you sure as hell had better be on that fucking bench!”
I whimpered, grabbing at his wrist again, eyes clenched shut.
“If you fucking disobey me, I swear to fucking God…”
He pushed me back to the floor, and I bit back my sobs as he stomped down the hallway.
The front door slammed shut.
Silence rang in my ears. I clenched my jaw against the sobs wanting to break loose.
Enough, a voice whispered in my head. A lone sob escaped, and I pressed my knuckles to my mouth. Enough.
I rolled onto my hands and knees and used the chair I’d been sitting in to pull myself upright. Zings of pain ran down my legs from where Stephen had kicked me, and I could barely move my left arm.
Another sob ripped from my clenched lips as I staggered back the hallway.
The liquor store was less than a mile away, which left me all of about five minutes tops to get the hell out.
Rather than go upstairs to grab a bag, I yanked my purse and coat off the wobbly coat rack by the door and the keys off the nail beside the front door. Without a backward glance, I walked out into the frigid air, coat over my arm. My breath fogged with every fast exhale, and I hurried over the icy walkway of uneven bricks to my car.
Fingers fumbling and hysterical half-laughs, half-sobs bursting from my lips, I finally got the car started and yanked it into reverse.
I backed out onto our street and turned the opposite way Stephen would have gone to the liquor store. My hand clenched the steering wheel, and I leaned forward to see out of the fogging windshield.
A flick turned the defrost on, but it failed to work fast enough. I rubbed my forearm on the windshield, desperate to keep moving. Faster. Take a corner. Another. Speed up. Slow down for stop signs. I hit the highway and laid on the gas, southbound toward Boston.
My old flip phone Stephen had bought for me rang, but I ignored it.
Twenty seconds later, it rang again.
The tears fell, deep, guttural whines passing my lips, and the defrost finally began working. I clutched the steering wheel, my left shoulder and lower back on fire.
Twice more, my cell phone rang.
I forced myself to take deep breaths. Calm the hysteria on the cusp of my brain. All I could think about was Chantelle. I needed Chantelle.
Once reasonably sure I had my emotions under control, I fumbled with my phone. I dialed Chantelle’s cell by memory.
She didn’t answer, and I hit “end.”
The phone rang in my hand. A quick glance showed Stephen tried calling. I waited for voice mail to pick up, then tried Chantelle’s home number. No answer.
More tears slid down my cheeks.
I had been to her condo just the two nights, and wouldn’t for the life of me be able to navigate my way through downtown Boston to find it again. I wasn’t about to show up at her kink club, either.
The memory of the scribbled address on the back of Daniel’s business card burned in my brain. I had memorized his address and the rest of the information on
the card before throwing it in the trash two hours after he’d given it to me a few weeks earlier.
Anytime, he had said.
Brow furrowed and inner lip between my teeth, I waited for Stephen’s latest attempt to reach me to go to voice mail.
I dialed the number imprinted on my brain.
“Cooney.” His deep voice swept over me, and sobs erupted again. “Becky?”
“Y-yes,” I somehow managed, slowing down and moving to the far-right lane.
“Are you okay?”
“Huh uh.”
“What’s wrong? Where are you?” He sounded panicked, and I fought to control myself.
“I-I’m okay. I’m on 93 south.”
“Stephen?”
“He’s…” Another onslaught of tears rose, and I bit my lip.
“You’re okay, Becky.” Daniel sounded calmer, and I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. “You’re going to be just fine. Pull over at the next exit and I’ll come get you.”
“You d-don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
“C-can I come to your place?” The question rushed past my lips. “Chantelle isn’t answering her phone, and I d-don’t want to be alone right now.”
“My address is on the back of my business card.”
“Yes.”
“Think you can find your way here, or do you want me to meet you right off the highway?”
Finding his house wouldn’t be a problem, seeing as how I had used Google Maps on the library’s computer to find out exactly where he lived. I would never admit to being a stalker, though. Not even to Chantelle.
“I’m only one exit away,” I said before a shuddering sigh wracked my body. “I can find my way.”
“I’ll meet you out front.”
“Okay.” I hit the “end” button and turned off the phone before dropping it onto the front seat. The electronic leash deserved to be tossed out the window onto the highway for a date with passing tires, but until I arrived safely at Daniel’s, I couldn’t chance it.
I pulled into his driveway alongside his SUV ten minutes later.
The sight of his hulking form in the lit garage directly in front of me fluttered my stomach.
He motioned me forward into the garage.
Smart, I realized while pulling forward. If by some stupid chance Stephen figured out where I’d gone, he wouldn’t see my car when driving by. I put the Chevy into park, and the garage door slid shut behind me.
Daniel opened my car’s squeaky door, and I grabbed my purse, leaving the cell phone on the seat.
He grasped my elbow and helped me climb from the car. Warm, gentle arms wrapped around me, and I breathed in the scent of citrus and Daniel. I bit the inside of my lip to keep from crying again and rested my unbruised cheek on his hard chest.
Hot breath fanned my forehead, and he kissed my hairline. “Let’s go inside.”
I nodded, and he stepped back, taking my purse in one hand and lacing the fingers of his free hand through mine. Keeping my gaze on the cement floor, I let him lead me through a door.
Cherry cabinets, granite countertops, and sparkling stainless steel appliances met my quick glance around his kitchen.
He sat my purse on the island and lifted my palm to his lips. The softest touch sent a wave of giddiness through me, but a rush of riotous emotions followed in its wake. I bit my lip to keep my tears from falling.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“J-just water. Please.” I wrapped my arms around my midsection, realizing as I did so, that I had never put on my coat—or replaced the bra I had taken off after getting home from work hours earlier. Not that the latter mattered. Daniel had already seen every inch of my skin anyway.
“Here.” He handed me a glass of ice water, and I finally lifted my head.
His brow furrowed as his gaze trailed over the left side of my face.
I lifted a hand and ran my fingertips over the swollen cheekbone. “I-is it bad?”
Lips pursed, he nodded and turned to the freezer. He grabbed a bag of peas and the dishtowel hanging by the sink. “Come on.” He motioned with his head toward the living room. I made note of a formal dining room off to the right at the front of the house while following him across the sprawling openness of the first floor.
“Sit,” he said, his rumbling tone broking no argument.
I lowered myself, trying not to wince from the pain in my back, and he squatted beside my right leg. Eyes full of tenderness and compassion, he gently pressed the dish towel-wrapped peas against my cheek. “Tell me what happened.”
Everything that had happened since that night at Chantelle’s poured from my lips. Every humiliating act disclosed without embarrassment because of the empathy and gentleness Daniel displayed.
His thumb rubbed circles on my knee cap while the other held the ice to my face. A good amount of time passed, but still, I spewed the shit of my life the previous couple of weeks.
I swallowed down the last of my ice water and set the empty glass on the coffee table.
Daniel laid the peas beside my glass and sat beside me, pulling me against his side as my story wound down. Tears long dried and my voice raspy, I closed my eyes and breathed him in between sentences, loving how his peacefulness seeped into my body. Unsure of where to put my hands, I kept them in my lap, fingers clasped to keep from grasping him and holding tight.
“You’re staying here tonight,” Daniel said once I finished. “You can have my room, and I’ll sleep on the couch since I haven’t gotten around to getting a bed for the spare room yet.”
A yawn cracked my jaw. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“No, you won’t.” His firm tone matched the hardness of his chest against my face. “Come on.”
He stood and helped me to my feet.
I grimaced while trying to straighten.
“Your back?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“I’ll draw a hot bath for you to soak in.”
“Sounds heavenly,” I said, smiling for the first time since I could remember.
A huge bed dominated the far wall of his bedroom, and a massive bathroom sprawled behind the door across from it. Tub big enough for the both of us with jets … a pampering I’d never experienced before.
He showed me how to turn the jets on and off and retrieved a fluffy gray towel for me before turning to leave.
“Daniel?” I whispered as he reached the bathroom door.
Turning, he lifted his brow.
“Thank you.” My smile wobbled. “For everything.”
He nodded and left me alone.
I struggled to take off my work shirt and pants but didn’t have the guts to call him back in to help me undress. Took me a little while, but I finally managed, and slowly lowered myself into the tub.
“Mercy,” I whispered, submerging myself by laying back to rest my head.
He had turned the jets on low, and the gentle pummeling of water against my aching muscles was like the warmest sun on a spring morning.
Another shuddering sigh rippled through me.
“I’m never going back.” My declaration sounded loud in my ears even though I had barely whispered the words. “Never.”
Chapter Nine
Daniel
I called Chantelle’s office and explained what had happened. “She’s staying here with me tonight.”
“Hopefully longer,” Chantelle murmured.
“Agreed.”
“I don’t need to tell you to take good care of her, so I won’t.” Her tone revealed her smile. “Just take things slow. Make sure she’s ready to move on before you try sleeping with her.”
“I think you know me better than that,” I said, refilling Becky’s glass with ice.
“You’re right. I do. Have her call me tomorrow.”
“Will do.”
I hung up and returned to my bedroom, placing the ice water on the bed stand. Hands on hips, I stared at my bed. Becky would be between those
sheets like I’d been dreaming about since first meeting her, but she’d be there alone.
Scrubbing a hand down over my face, I grabbed one of the two pillows and a blanket from the linen closet. I’d already pulled on the lounge pants I slept in before she had called. Those along with the t-shirt I wore would suffice for sheets.
I tossed my pillow and blanket on the couch, then sat on the edge of a chair and waited. The large clock hanging over the buffet in the dining room clicked loud over the low hum of the bathtub’s jets I could just make out through both doors closing me off from Becky and her petal-soft skin.
My cock didn’t give two shits about the situation that had put her in my home, but tented my pants at the thought of her naked. “Goddamnit.” I scrubbed my hand down over my face again and growled a few curses.
She hadn’t lingered to pack a bag which meant she had no clothing other than the work ones she’d had on all day.
I stood and stalked back into the bedroom, my cock leading the way, bouncing with each step. Putting on some tighty-whities would probably be better than commando, I told myself while rifling through my t-shirts. A soft, worn navy-blue t-shirt would work for her nightgown. Would fall close to mid-thigh and tease the shit out of me, but it was the best I could do.
The jets turned off, and I strained my ears.
A few minutes later, the drain clicked, and I realized I still stood beside my bureau, t-shirt in hand. Shaking my head, I made for the bathroom door.
“Becky?”
“I’ll be done in a minute.”
“I have a t-shirt you can use to sleep in tonight.”
The door cracked open. She had wrapped the towel around her torso, the pink, flushed skin of the tops of her water-pebbled breasts calling out to my tongue.
I jerked my attention to her equally flushed face and handed her the shirt.
“Thanks.” She smiled, her big brown eyes clear of tumultuous emotion.
“Feeling better?”
“A bit.”
“Grab your clothes. I’ll throw them in the wash.”
She turned, and I enjoyed the sway of her hips as she walked to retrieve them from the vanity. “If you’ll show me where the laundry is, I can put them in.”