by H. M. Ward
Breathing hard, I shake my head. “I don’t think I can let you tie me down right now. It’ll make me worse. I’ll—”
Sean leans forward, takes my hands under his. “No. Not you. Me.”
“What?” I blink at him as if I can’t believe what he’s offering.
He presses his lips together and parts his hands before placing them on the table. “Anything you want. You’re in control. Use me any way you want, Avery.” Sean’s voice is caught between a whisper and a plea.
There’s a deafening silence that devours the room. Suddenly, I’m aware of my fingers, my hands, and the way my skin prickles as if I’m frozen. This offer is extremely unlike Sean. Based on everything he told me, this is an offer he’d never have made when we first met. But then many things have changed since then.
Clearing my throat, I put down my fork, and grab my sparkling cider. Holding it between us makes me feel like I have a little bit of a buffer. Although I know I’m treading into unknown territory and it’s equal parts frightening and alluring. The click of my fork on the table top seems to echo.
Nervously, I shift in my chair and glance at him through my lashes as I ask softly, “I don’t understand. I thought you needed to be in control. I thought—”
Cutting me off, Sean replies with a tentative smile, like he’s uncertain of this conversation. The bluster, the arrogance that straightens his spine and sparks in his gaze is gone. Clearing his throat, he opens his mouth and closes it. Head tipping to the side, he starts again, but no words come out. There’s a flash of a smile, of straight white teeth, before he shakes his head.
Reaching out, I press my hand to the table. I can’t quite reach him. Stupid extra long table. Constance doesn’t want anyone touching at family dinners. This table is the size of a bed. While we are sitting across from each other instead of at the ends, he’s still not close enough to touch with more than my fingertips. His eyes lock onto the movement, staring at my hand.
I breathe, “You can tell me. Anything.” My fingers are there, barely out of reach of Sean’s hand.
He leans across the table, getting closer to me, and presses his hand over mine. “I know what I said in the past.”
“Did that change?” My eyebrow climbs up, hides under curled bangs that are overgrown and no longer straightened. The room feels like it’s tilting so I move with it, tipping my head to the side, trying to catch his gaze, but Sean doesn’t look up.
There are no words. Only jagged breaths and the sound of my heart slamming into my ribs. It stretches on for miles, spanning the distance between us. Making me feel like I’m a million miles away. Guilt gnaws at me for leaving him alone for so long. Sean offers snuggles, hugs, back rubs, and everything I could ever ask for and more. I didn’t think about him, not with this. Not with sex. I assumed it had to disappear for a time. It was a stupid assumption compounded by lethargy and morning sickness. Yet, Sean still smiles at me, holds my hand, and acts like intimacy hasn’t left us. I swallow hard when I realize it has and that it’s my fault. I should have told him.
The little voice inside my head brushes against my mind. Talk to him. Ask him. Be there for him. You don’t have to leave him alone.
Before I can speak, Sean’s lips part. He confesses so softly that I can barely hear him. “Nothing changed in that regard.” Slowly, he lifts his head, his dark hair falling forward into his eyes. He brushes it away as his azure eyes lock on mine. They widen as if he’s realized something. He scoots to the edge of his chair, moving closer to me and stretches his arm across the table so he can rub his thumb along the back of my hand. His touch lingers, the rough skin on his thumb swirling a pattern on the back of my palm.
“I’ve changed.” A confession. His brow pulls tight as he attempts to say the words buried deep within. “I was a different person when I met you. I needed that fear, that flicker of panic from you.”
“And now?”
He shakes his head. “No. I mean, it’s still intoxicating to be with you, to rule your body in that capacity…” his voice trails off. “Part of me is still shocked it ever happened.”
I smile at him. “Me too.”
Sean inhales deeply and pulls his hands back, places them on the sides of his head and then runs his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his eyes. When his hands reach his neck, they linger there. The pose is open and completely vulnerable. “It’s just—I need you. I know there will be times you can’t—that we can’t be together. And I’ll protect you and the children with every ounce of my being, Avery.”
CHAPTER 7
I can’t help it. I smile so wide that I feel like a fool. Wattage is turned up to stare at the sun intensity as my soul beams with love and pride. The fact that he can confess anything to me is miles from where we started. But this. This is one of those rare moments where time slows down and the choice I make here will change my life. Our lives. I feel it. Sense it.
I have trouble not talking over him, giving him the time to say what he wants without derailing him so I bite my lower lip and listen.
“I’ve put a lot of thought into this, Avery. This way the babies are safe, and you can—” he swallows so hard his Adam’s apple shifts in his throat. Sean pulls back his hands.
I latch on, lacing my fingers between his, pressing my belly into the edge of the table. I’m not about to let this go. We’ve not been together in a few weeks. He’s not pressured me at all. I was waiting for the doctor to give permission. I didn’t want to risk the baby. Babies. I still can’t fathom that there are two babies. Inhaling deeply, I release “I can what?”
There’s silence as if we’re approaching a subject that he doesn’t want to unveil. The strength of his hands is warm. He squeezes once and releases me. Stands. Walks to the kitchen, speaking over his shoulder. His lips curl into an awkward smile. “Never mind. It’s not the right time for this.”
The hell it’s not. I jump up from my seat and pad barefoot across the floor, at his heels. “You don’t know that. Ask me. Say it, Sean.” There’s a demanding tone in my voice. It’s not desperation or anything like that. It’s the plea of one partner wanting to support the other. For the life of me, I can’t fathom where this conversation is going. “Sean?”
He doesn’t turn. “It’s nothing.”
“Don’t do that. It’s something important. I’m not that addle-brained, not yet anyway. Tell me. I won’t judge.” It can’t be weirder than the things we’ve already done. Although I can’t fathom what he wants to do to me that won’t risk the babies and still is sexually satisfying for him—for us. There’s been an element of danger in many of our trysts. Since I told him about the pregnancy, he’s not broached the subject of tanks or boxes. Part of me is glad. But in some ways, it’s sad.
When Sean doesn’t reply, I hedge, “I want you to want me. I know this isn’t exactly sexy,” I rub a hand over my growing belly, “but I—”
He rounds on me, his body coiled with tension and a look in his eye that threatens to devour me. His hands are on my forearms as his gaze pins me in place. His words are sharp, pointed so that they directly hit my soul. “You are the most beautiful, sexy, alluring woman I’ve ever seen. Pregnancy has only made those things that attracted me to you more so. I can’t stop looking at you, wanting you. Avery, I love the curve here,” two of his fingers trace the line of my growing abdomen, “the way the world knows I adore you, fuck you, and those babies are mine. You’re as sexy as you’ve ever been. You’re mine.”
His hands tangle in my hair as he holds my head in place, making sure I look into his eyes as he confesses these things. Part of it is carnal, the display of the ramifications of sex, the swell of my breasts and belly. There’s pride gleaming in his eyes. Every magazine focuses on getting my body back in shape so he’ll want me again after the pregnancy. They mention sagging skin, stretched and ruined. The way Sean is looking at me now speaks another story.
There’s a tremor at the corners of my mouth. I don’t know if I should smile
or cry. “You really believe that?”
Those lips. His delicious, velvety smooth mouth tips up at one corner, giving me a beautiful smile. “It’s not a belief. That’s the reality of our situation.” His hands slip down my curves and rest on my hips. His eyes dart between my lips and eyes. He’ll kiss me and I’ll forget what he wanted to tell me because this wasn’t it. I derailed him with my own insecurities.
Standing on my tippy toes, I splay my hands on his chest, across that soft black shirt, and press my breasts and belly against his taut body. God, I miss him. “Tell me. Say whatever it was you wanted to say. Please.”
I feel his breath hitch and I swear his heart fell down a staircase, tumbling with each rapid thud. Or maybe that’s my pulse, freaking out. What could be worse than that tank? Or the box?
Sean holds me close and finally confesses what he wants. “Things change. I know they do. And in your condition, we can’t partake in certain activities. So, I was thinking we should reverse roles.”
“I don’t understand.” I pull back from him a little and look up into his beautiful face. “What do you mean?”
Sean swallows hard as if his mouth has gone dry. His jaw is tight and it takes a tremendous amount of effort for him to free the words. “What if you take out your emotions on me? Use me. Fully. I’m yours, Avery.”
When I try to pull my hands away, he restrains me. My gaze drops to the empty plates on the table. The conversation we had over the meal is long forgotten. My eyes jump from the feathers to the silks, to the leather straps. He wants me to reverse things. Tie him up and be rough with him.
Am I that person? Can I cross that line? For some reason, I don’t think I have, but I don’t remember it. Not like this. Not taking full possession of Sean and doing anything and everything.
Fear claws its way up my throat because I don’t want to be soft with him. I want the harshness, the brutality of carnal love, raw and unsated. Oh my God. I can’t.
Jerking my hands out of his, I shake my head. “No. This isn’t…” I can’t say it.
Sean stands with me, remains at arm’s length like he’s worried I’ll run. “You don’t have to do anything. Avery.” I glance up at him when he says my name, pulled from the images he’s laced within my mind. “It was just a suggestion. The other option is this.” He lifts the bundle of leather straps with ropes on two spots.
“What is that?”
“A swing. I can hold you, cuddle you, gently make love to you without hurting you.” He reaches for me, strokes his hand in my hair. “We can have the softness. We can snuggle and throw this thing out. Whatever you want. I miss you and thought you may want to try it.”
“Why does it feel like you’re pushing me down the dark path?”
Sean pulls away and speaks sharply. “I’m not making you do anything.”
“But you are. You are, Sean. Why? I feel like you should tell me. I’m not a china doll. I won’t break because you say something mean. Just say whatever it is you’re thinking.” It’s not a fight. Not yet. But the floor feels uneven. Like I should tread carefully.
“Avery, you’re already on the dark path. Okay? That’s it. That’s what I see. I know because I’ve been there and denying it just makes it harder.”
“So, you want me to beat you? Is that what you think will make me feel better? I’m not angry at you!” My voice is loud. I’m yelling and I don’t know why. I’m angry and I have no idea where to direct it. It’s not Sean though. I know that much. He saved me. I suck in a jagged breath and hiss through my teeth, “This is wrong.”
Sean shakes his head. “It’s only wrong if neither of us wants it. If one person forces it on the other. I know where you are and what you need. Why won’t you take it?”
I shake my head and step away. Wrapping my arms around my middle, I retreat further into the living room. My jaw is clenched shut, shoulders tight. I’m so rigid I can barely breathe. “I’m not her.”
“Who?” Sean steps toward me, his gaze searching for mine, but I won’t look at him.
“You can’t make me.” My eyes burn, but tears don’t fall. “I’m not her. I won’t become her.”
Hands are on my shoulders, fingers on my chin, and then he lifts it so I have to look him in the eye. “Who? Say what you’re thinking. Tell me.”
“Black.” I didn’t realize what was going through my mind until it tumbled out of my mouth.
“Black?”
“Yes!” I pull away from him, shaking him off. “She’s depraved. Sex isn’t love to her. It’s recreation, intimidation, manipulation, and a million other ways to crush someone. I’m not her.” My spine straightens as I look him in the eye. “I won’t become her.”
Silence fills the air. Sean remains distant and slips his hands into his pockets. “I never thought you were like her at all. The two of you are incomparable. I didn’t realize you were worried about this.”
Neither did I. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye and repress a shiver. There’s a tidal wave of thoughts burning through my brain. They’re so close to spilling over my lips. Arms wrapped tightly around my middle, I glance over at him. “Have you let anyone do anything like this to you before?”
He nods once.
“Who?” I regret asking, but the question is already out of my mouth.
“It’s not Black if that’s what you want to know. It was a long time ago. It was brutal. There was no love there. It’s not like this, not like what I’m offering at all.” Sean holds my gaze for a long time and then looks away.
He turns toward the couch and falls into the cushions, sitting down swiftly, before pinching the bridge of his nose. “I have a past, Avery. I can’t erase it.”
“I don’t want you to.” I’m standing alone in the middle of the room, watching him.
He regrets suggesting this. I can tell. He thinks he pushed me too far, asking me to do something I didn’t have any desire to do.
My lips part and I try to say it. I can’t watch him blame himself like this. I spit out the words without thinking, not wanting to admit it to myself. Saying it out loud makes it real. I feel it as the words are forced from my body, and hang in the air. “It intrigues me. You’re not wrong. Sex, like that. Being the one in control. The carnal rawness of it. Mixing pleasure and pain.” I swallow hard and breathe the words, “You’re not wrong.”
Those sapphire eyes look up at me. His reply is one word, a reprimand. “Don’t.”
“I’m not,” I snap back, offended. “Raking my nails down your back isn’t enough sometimes. Sometimes, I want to do more.” I stand there like a girl abandoned on an island, confessing something wicked to the wind. My throat is tight thinking about it. Putting the thoughts into pictures in my mind and then voicing them into words.
It’s real now. That desire. And he knows. He’s known. For how long? It doesn’t matter.
There’s a pause. Sean asks a careful question, “What do you want to do to me? What have you imagined?”
I shrug and twist my hands in front of me. “I don’t know exactly. I just know it’s not what we’ve been doing. I feel listless. It’s infuriating. I just want to—” I’m looking at him, at his beautiful face, and thinking about the things I’d do to him if he were tied up. Sean Ferro at my mercy. The roughness that once terrified me is alluring. It’s been calling to me and I’ve been denying it fiercely. But, that’s not how a mom acts. That’s not who I am, who I was. Torn between allowing that part of me to break free and shoving it back down, I stare at him. Lost in his eyes. Utterly lost.
A nervousness works its way through me. The innate desire is so conflicted that talking about it makes me really uncomfortable. Putting something to words makes it real. But he already knows. He sees it, though I’ve barely admitted it to myself.
After a moment, eyes on the floor, I swallow hard and add, “You won’t think less of me?”
Sean is across the room and in front of me. There’s a rush of air around him as if he were falling toward me. S
uddenly he’s there, filling the space, making my heart beat harder.
Although he’s near, he still doesn’t touch me. The space between us fills with the scent of his cologne. Something that’s unmistakably intense, dark, and seductive. Like Sean. I feel his eyes on me when he asks, “Did you think less of me for being so brutal with you at times?”
I shake my head and try to ignore the tightness in my throat. Veins of vulnerability shoot out from my heart and spiderweb across my carefully constructed façade. My shoulder lifts a little. A half shrug, as if those times weren’t terrifying at first. Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I confess, “No, I didn’t think less of you. It was scary and enticing. Exciting in a way. I don’t know how to describe it. At first, I didn’t want it. But now…” I swallow hard, refusing to meet his gaze. The fissures I’ve created over my carefully contrasted secret are about to break free.
Closer. Somehow, he’s closer but not touching. Nose to nose, as if leaning in for a kiss, his voice is a whisper. “So, what’s holding you back?”
The words are so raw, so clenched down, that they rip my throat as I force them out. “I don’t know.”
If I say the truth, I can’t take it back. I’ll have to admit that this part of me, the dark part, the anger—it’s there and I let it take over. It tastes like a failure, but no matter how hard I push the feelings away, they keep coming back.
We stand toe-to-toe watching each other. Neither of us speaks. The tension between us is corded tight like a rubber band about to break. I want his hands on me, I want to feel the strength of his touch coupled with the possessive warmth. I don’t want the softness, the “please” and “thank you” of it all. I want to feel him take my face between his palms so I can do the same. I want to tip his lips to mine, and thread my fingers through his hair, pull hard and control the kiss. A ferocity I don’t recognize burns within me. Lust for devouring him whole, and taking what I want from him.