Bound, #3

by Shandi Boyes

  My breathing hitches as confusion makes itself known. I am genuinely baffled by his statement. “Believing Lexi was in danger was the only reason I went with Richard today. I had no intentions of leaving with him until he uttered her name. Clearly, it was a stupid thing for me to do, but if I have to place my life in danger to save hers, that’s what I’ll do, Marcus. Because when you love someone, you do everything in your power to save them.” My last sentence comes out strained through clenched teeth as I struggle to hold my tears.

  Not trusting my legs to keep me upright, I sit back down on the mattress. My sudden slump sends a few rogue tears spilling down my cheeks. I angrily brush them away, not wanting Marcus to spot them. My endeavors are futile. The pain in his eyes triples when he spots the moisture glistening on my cheeks.

  After scrubbing his hand across his mouth that still shows evidence of my arousal, he moves to stand in front of me. Although most people would be cowering from the furious scowl etched on his handsome face, I’m not worried. Nothing could be greater than the fear I feel at the concept of losing him or my sister. That distresses me more than anything.

  Marcus’s hand shakes when he runs the back of his fingers down my cheek to clear away a few tears smeared there. His eyes still relay his anger, but they also expose his remorse for making me cry.

  Once all my tears are taken care of, his beautifully tormented eyes meet mine. “Did he hurt you?” he asks as his heavy-lidded gaze drifts between mine.

  Pain strikes my chest when I spot the hollow bleakness in his eyes. “No,” I reply, shaking my head. “He never got the chance. Shian arrived before—”

  “Not today,” Marcus interrupts, his tone one I haven’t heard before. “Last week. In his apartment. Did he hurt you then?”

  My heart stops beating when the reasoning behind his anger comes to fruition. His irritation isn’t only from my stupidity today. He knows about me going into Richard’s apartment after my attack last week.

  “No,” I reply as my stomach gurgles uncontrollably. “We only went to his apartment to collect his cell phone so he had directions to drive me home. He didn’t hurt me. Not today or that day.”

  The remorse weighing heavily on my chest eases when the torrent of pain in Marcus’s eyes lessens from my confession.

  A stretch of silence passes between us. Although it's crammed with palpable tension, it's a necessary requirement before we can continue with our conversation. Marcus needs a few moments to rein in his anger, while I need a few minutes to contemplate what all this means.

  With everything that has happened the past several hours, much less days, I haven’t stopped to consider what Richard’s motives were the day of my assault. If I were to believe all the information divulged to me this evening, the knight-in-shining-armor Richard wore while assisting me last week isn’t as gleaming as it once was. Was his arrival in the alleyway just a coincidence? Or was he there on purpose?

  Before I can voice my queries to Marcus, he stands from his crouched position and paces to a set of drawers stacked near his closed bedroom door. After gathering a manila folder full to the brim with papers, he pivots on his heels to face me. My heart launches into my throat when I see the absolute agony radiating from his beautiful eyes. Even though he is standing before me as naked as the day he was born, that isn’t the cause of his vulnerability. It's his raw, unguarded eyes stripping him wholly naked.

  Now his coldness in the shower makes sense. He wanted me to experience what he felt today. The torment, the anger, the relief. I put him through the wringer, and he just replicated those exact emotions from me. He expressed himself in a manner he is most accustomed with: using my body.

  Remaining quiet, Marcus paces back to me. He puts the folder on the mattress before securing a pair of boxer shorts from his bedside table for him and a cotton shirt for me.

  “Thank you,” I mutter when he places the shirt over my head before pulling my saturated hair out of the collar. Although my voice still showcases the chaos of emotions thickening my veins, it isn’t as brittle as it was earlier.

  The mattress creaks when Marcus sits down next me. I knot our shared towel around my hair before adjusting my position to face him. The gleam in his eyes tells me I should face him while he hits me with what's most likely going to be my hardest blow of the day.

  My intuition is proven dead on point when he opens the manila folder far enough I can see the first image inside. I slap my hand over my mouth when the contents of my stomach rush to the base of my throat. My body’s response is from the disturbing visual of the man who attacked me in the alleyway lying lifeless in a shallow ditch. The bullet wound between his eyes ensures there is no doubt about his fate. His eyes are as lifeless as they were when he struck me last week.

  The battle to constrain my twisting stomach doubles when Marcus says, “The gun recovered at the scene today matches the caliber of weapon used to kill Stephen. Although ballistics are still a few days away, early tests indicate the bullet lodged in Stephen’s skull was fired from Richard’s gun.” His tone grows weary at the end of his admission.

  I swallow several times in a row when Marcus flicks through the photos in the manila folder until he stops on one of Stephen and Richard riding an elevator together. On closer inspection, I realize they’re standing in the same elevator car I stood in with Richard last week.

  “They knew each other,” I mumble, more to myself than Marcus.

  “Yes,” Marcus answers, even knowing my declaration wasn’t a question. “It's unknown if their acquaintance is recent or if they’d known each other for some time.” He runs his hand over the five o’clock shadow I’m not used to seeing on his chin. “Shian also voiced speculation on your involvement in Stephen’s death. Stephen’s time of death is believed to have happened within two hours of you being filmed in the elevator with Richard. His apartment is only half a block from Richard’s.”

  My eyes rocket to Marcus, shock smeared all over my face. “What?” I ask, certain I didn’t hear him right.

  Surely, Shian doesn’t believe I’m a suspect, does she?

  “You know I’d never. . . I couldn’t. . . hurt anyone,” I stammer out, unable to say the word “kill.”

  To an outsider, my mourning Richard’s death may seem callous, but I wouldn’t intentionally harm anyone. I’m may only have half a heart, but I am not entirely heartless.

  “I know, Cleo,” Marcus assures me, his tone giving no indication of concern or distrust. “And now, so does Shian.”

  My brows join, worried by his remark. Although I’ve only seen Shian and Marcus interact a handful of times, I know they have a unique bond. At the start, I thought it was because they have a mutual understanding—both being powerhouses in the BDSM lifestyle. But only now, after seeing anger flash in Marcus’s eyes during his confession, do I realize my assumptions weren’t 100% accurate. Their bond is not just based on mutual respect for a BDSM member. They are also friends.

  The anger in Marcus’s eyes holds firm when he rifles through the remaining photos in the folder. They replicate the ones I saw in Richard’s car earlier today. They clearly show he was stalking me for years. They also display my idiocy without a smidgen of skepticism.

  When I divulge my knowledge of the photos to Marcus, he works his jaw side to side as his clutch on the folder turns deadly. “He could have hurt you, Cleo,” he mutters, his words displaying most of his anger resides from fear. “He could have hurt you badly.”

  Although I hate that my actions distressed him today, seeing him so open and raw heals some of the nicks inflicted on my heart upon discovering he only brought me here as part of an FBI sting. It doesn’t entirely erase them, but it’s like a band-aid. Sturdy enough to cover up the little gashes until they have the chance to fully heal.

  “I know,” I reply, bouncing my eyes between Marcus’s. “But thankfully, he didn’t. And Shian ensured he’ll never have the opportunity to hurt me again.” My last sentence comes out muffled, coerced through t
he bile sitting in the back of my throat. “I’m okay, Marcus. I promise you I am fine.”

  Marcus releases a deep breath, drowning out most of my assurance. My hand shakes when I raise it to rub the heavy groove between his dark brows. My heart smashes against my ribs when he closes his eyes and sucks in a sharp breath, like my meekest touch is too much for him to bear. Adoring his response, I trickle my hand down his cheek, drift it past his deliciously plump lips, then tickle the dark shadow of hair on his chin.

  “This is different. I’ve never handled prickles before. I’ve only been with clean-shaven men.” My voice is throaty, alluding to what we were in the process of doing before our exchange shifted from punishment to healing.

  An unexpected grin tugs my lips high when Marcus opens his eyes to glare at me. Although they are still clouded with justified anger and heartache, it isn’t at the same level as mere seconds ago. There is too much jealousy pumping from his envious eyes to keep his anger at bay. I know it isn’t an appropriate time to goad him, but if it's the only way I can remove the tension stifling the air, I’ll use it. I’ve never seen Marcus lose his cool like this before. Not even when Lexi had a gun pointed at him. Since I am the reason for his drastic shift in mood, shouldn’t I be the person to erase it?

  We sit in silence for several minutes. The air is dense with unsaid sentiments, but it also teems with silent understanding. Although Marcus has a right to be angry, he also understands the lengths I’ll go to protect my sister. He knows, as he has done the same thing with his sisters. Hell, he’s even safeguarding Lexi as if she is his family, and she doesn’t have a drop of his blood running through her veins.

  My heart squeezes when my spent brain recalls the first half of my day. Lifting my tear-welling eyes to Marcus’s, I mutter, “Thank you.” Although I only say two little words, my heartfelt tone relays more gratitude than my words ever could.

  Marcus angles his head to the side as he peers at me, confused. “For what? I didn’t do anything.”

  I roll my eyes. Even if I wasn’t referring to what he did for Lexi, the past five days was way above and beyond “didn’t do anything.” He may have been forced to bring me here unwillingly, but my time with him has still been some of the best days of my life. For a man in a compromising position, Marcus made me feel welcome in his home. For that alone, I’ll forever be grateful, much less what he did for Lexi.

  Pushing aside the silly butterflies taking flight in my stomach, I say, “For what you did for Lexi. The Kalydeco program.” My last three words are choked through a sob, still amazed he accomplished something I’ve wanted to do for years. I know his wealth contributed to that, but he still went out of his way to research how to have her included in the program. “That was so sweet of you to do. I don’t know an appropriate way to thank you.”

  Marcus slants his dark brow as the expression on his face changes from worried to smug. “I can think of a few ways,” he mutters, winking seductively.

  I dig my elbow into his ribs, hitting him right in the tender spot between his ribcage and hip bone. All the tension hanging thickly in the air evaporates the instant his beautifully scrumptious laughter fills the room. Marcus’s laugh suits him to a T. It's husky and rough but makes your insides feel gooey and warm when you hear it. It's both naughty and sweet.

  My damp hair falls to my shoulders like a satin waterfall when Marcus pulls off the towel wrapped around my head. After banding his arms around my waist, he slides us up the bed until we are tucked under the snuggly warmth of his feather down quilt. When he requests for me to roll onto my hip, I do so without hesitation. Just like he has showered me every night since we arrived in Ravenshoe, he has spooned with me as well. At the start, I was surprised by his loving nature, but then I figured he had a lot of lost opportunities to catch up on.

  The fine hairs on my nape stand to attention when Marcus gathers my hair to the side so he can nuzzle his chin in close to my neck. My heart sighs, loving the return of Marcus. . . I can’t say the same thing about my aching insides. They are still coiled tight, waiting for the release Master Chains usually awards me with.

  After a few moments of relishing Marcus’s nurturing side, I roll on my hip to face him. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop my endeavors. My muscles grow tauter when I am met with his alluring green irises. He stares into my eyes, his forthright gaze sharing a lifetime of stories without a peep seeping from his lips. The only story they don’t disclose is the one I want to know the most.

  Deciding there is only one way to cure my curiosity, I blubber, “Why did you force me to use my safe word?”

  I know he was angry, but that doesn’t explain why he wanted me to safeword. My knowledge of the BDSM lifestyle is still that of a novice, but it's extensive enough to know it's unusual for a Dom to coerce his sub to end a scene. Usually, they strive to avoid their sub safewording. Don’t they?

  Marcus draws me in tighter, pulling me so near, the tips of our noses brush against each other. “You hurt me today, Cleo,” he mutters, sending his coffee-scented breath lingering into my nostrils. “For nearly an hour, I didn’t know where you were, or if you were safe. That utterly decimated me. I wanted you to feel the same pain.”

  His eyes dance between mine, soundlessly gauging my reaction to his confession. I remain quiet, honestly at a loss on how to reply.

  “You didn’t hurt me, though,” I eventually reply when I fail to comprehend his riddled explanation.

  “I know,” he responds, “because I made you safeword.”

  My brow arches as my heart ceases beating. “You made me safeword so you wouldn’t hurt me?”

  “Yes,” Marcus replies in an instant. “My desire to punish you for leaving with Richard was strong . I wanted you to feel what I felt knowing you put your life in unnecessary danger, but I couldn’t do it. No matter how much I wanted to hurt you, I couldn’t do it.”

  I still as reality dawns. That’s why he stopped his campaign of punishing me the instant I said he was hurting me. I know the idea of physically hurting me sickens him, but he didn’t need to worry. I didn’t mean it in the physical sense; I meant he was emotionally scarring me. Although emotional abuse should never be tolerated, I don’t believe that was what Marcus did this evening. He was hurting, and the only way he felt comfortable voicing his pain was by using actions. I can’t fault him for that.

  “You couldn’t hurt me as you're not a sadist,” I remind him, hating the sorrow marring his face. “You don’t hurt people for your own pleasure. You instill pain for your sub’s pleasure. That’s not a sadist.”

  Marcus laughs, brittle and jam-packed with pain. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew the thoughts I had today. Not just about Richard, you too.” He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear before locking his eyes with mine. “At one stage, I considered tying you to this bed for the rest of your life, only leaving you enough chain to reach the bathroom. . .” His teeth graze over his bottom lip before he adds on, “And the playroom.”

  The most inappropriately timed smile stretches across my face, smitten at the idea he wanted me here so badly, he was willing to go to such levels to keep me here.

  My smile enlarges to a full-toothed grin when he adds on, “It was only when Shian threatened to arrest me for kidnapping did I change my mind.”

  I don’t know if he was aiming for his statement to be playful, but the smallest giggle still erupts from my mouth. His comment not only sends blood gushing to my heart, but also intensifies the throbbing sensation between my legs.

  I purse my lips and arch my brow, pretending to act serious. “I don’t know if the laws in Florida are the same as Jersey’s, but where I’m from, you can only be charged with kidnapping if the person is held against their will.”

  Marcus's lips twitch as he struggles to contain his smile. “Are you saying you want to be tied to my bed for the rest of eternity, Cleo?” he asks, his tone not as playful as the twinkle in his eyes. It's a little more serious since it's lined with sentiment
.

  I shrug my shoulders, continuing with my nonchalant approach. “Depends?”

  “On what?” Marcus immediately fires back. His two words fire out of his mouth so quickly, there is no mistaking his piqued interest.

  I stare him straight in the eyes, my expression deadpan. “On what I get out of this negotiation.”

  A whizz of air parts Marcus’s curved lips as they carve into an illustrious grin. “This isn’t enough?” His tone is smug as his eyes roam around his opulent master suite.

  “No.” My response is curt and resolute. “But this, on the other hand,” I continue, cupping my hand on his crotch. His cock hardens at my meekest touch. It immediately erases any qualms I had about my brazenness. Thank god. Although my libido is heightened beyond belief, I don’t think my body could be subjected to another punishment from Master Chains.

  “This could possibly persuade me.”

  The smirk that etches onto Marcus’s handsome face sends my pulse skyrocketing. “Possibly?”

  My teeth munch on my lower lip as I shrug my shoulders, acting like I need some persuading. His cock grows thicker, accepting my challenge.

  Even knowing I’m about to expose my most lethal hand doesn’t stop me moving my other hand to hover over his frantically beating heart. “This. . . I don’t need any persuading about.” My eyes float between his as the temperature in the room turns roasting. “I’m sorry I hurt you today. I’m sorry for not considering how it would make you feel when I left with Richard. But I’ll never be sorry for protecting my sister. I’ve been doing it for so long, it's as natural as breathing to me. But if you can forgive me for hurting you, I promise I will always consider your feelings before I act recklessly again. It doesn’t mean I’m not going to do stupid things, but it may lessen them to the occasional mishap.”

  The dominance my frisky tease awakened in his eyes dampens from my admission. His response fills me with dread, panicked I’ve broken every one of his rules in his BDSM contact. The most important: the non-love provision.