Today? I wonder if it would do us good to be here a little longer than planned.
When I shake hands with the priest, he smiles sadly at me then looks taken aback when Xavier entirely evades his touch.
If it wasn’t a funeral, I’d have laughed, but as it is, I smile back at him and grab Xavier’s hand and squeeze so it doesn’t look weird.
Of course it does.
But Xavier’s a little anti organized religion.
Organized anything.
It’s why my dad says we’re free-loving hippies, which always makes me snort. There’s nothing free about Xavier. He’s still locked up tight, only now, me and the kids are locked in with him. I don’t mean that in a bad way. I just mean in his headspace. We’re sacred territory to Xavier, and you’ll never hear me complaining about that.
“It was a beautiful service, Father,” I murmur in French that should be better considering I’m married to a Frenchman, own property here in the Cote D’Azur, and have kids who speak it like natives. Sue me, I’m lazy—they all translate for me!
“Thank you, Madame Martinez,” he replies politely, still looking a little puzzled as to why Xavier won’t touch his hand like he’s contagious or something. “Marco was a very good man. It’s a true shame he passed so young.”
I wouldn’t say Marco was young. At eighty-two, I thought he was the opposite of young, in fact, but it was a damn shame that old age hadn’t taken him and some dick driving his sportscar too fast around a bend and crashing into him had ripped his life from him.
Though we hadn’t been truly vengeful in a long time, had gotten lost in raising our family, I’d admit to my hackles raising at the prospect of the stupid prick behind the wheel of the sportscar walking away with barely a scratch while Marco lost his life.
I smile politely at the priest, then tug Xavier away. He’s wooden and unresponsive, but at my tug, he ambles along like a big, friendly giant.
I swear he gets bigger. He never stopped training, and even though we’ve been together close to fifteen years, his body is the only temple I want to worship at.
When the girls cluster around us, grabbing our spare hands, I watch as Gray takes Lilith’s.
He’s so somber that it hurts my heart to see. He was close to Marco. Very close. Losing him is going to be difficult on him, especially since he isn’t close to my dad who doesn’t understand his quiet ways.
Gray and Marco used to whittle woods together, for Christ’s sake. Dad? Couldn’t sit still long enough for a commemorative portrait of him when he’d hit his last promotion.
As we silently trudge down ancient paths that had seen a million footsteps before us, old buildings and history surrounding us like we’re back in Rome—a city, I’m sad to say, we’ll never revisit—I murmur, “I like it here.”
Xavier cuts me a look, his eyes wary because he recognizes me in this mood.
“That’s handy considering we have property here,” he says dryly.
“I think we should stay a little longer.” I eye Gray’s small form, how close he is to his grandmother. Lilith is a lot older than my mom, and she’s frail. The idea of her being alone? It doesn’t sit well with me.
He cocks a brow at me. “You want to stay here?”
I shrug. “Your mother won’t do well by herself.”
“No.” His admission comes with a deep, sad sigh. He gets on better with his mother, has ever since he left the priesthood.
Only in France would a parent be so horrified for their child to become a priest.
You’d think he was admitting to being Satan’s spawn, but when he was defrocked, when we got married, she said it was the happiest day of her life.
It seems fitting that I think of that now on the saddest day of her life.
“She could come and live with us on the property.” We have a little farm here too. I like being self-sufficient, and like, even more, having people do the running around for us. I’m not a green-fingered person, but I love the open space for Xavier, and know he appreciates being outdoors.
He never really admits to it, but the farms do him good. If you asked him, he’d say he never worked the land, but it’s not true. He’s learned a lot over the years, can take over any of our workers’ positions if they get sick. He even knows how to run all the machines, and I often see him doing something that makes me shake my head—like three weeks ago when he’d had to help birth a calf—not a farmer, my ass.
“We can stay on for a while,” he rumbles, his tone dark, deep. Sadder than I’d like. He’s going to take his father’s loss hard, as is his right, but it always makes me want to fix what hurts him.
If he’s protective of me and the kids, I’m the same with him. But in this?
There’s nothing I can do except show him I love him, and show him how much I want to make things better for him.
Maybe he knows what I’m thinking because, in the shadow of the mairie, ancient with honey-colored walls and a charming clock tower that peals with the hour, he tugs me closer to him and presses a kiss to my temple.
“I’m supposed to be the fixer,” he rasps.
My smile curves freely. “I can do some fixing too. When my man needs a little patching up.”
His eyes darken at my words.
My man.
Mine.
They’re powerful for him. They hold strength, and I see them work their magic on him.
He’s only a man, but what he is, moreover, belongs to me.
That reminder grounds him, and when he nods and says, “Staying longer will be good for us,” I know I did the right thing.
Binding this man to earthly ties and cosseting him within my wings.
Love.
I never thought I’d experience it, never thought I’d feel it this strongly, but here I am.
Surrounded by it.
Sheltered by it on all angles.
On a day like today?
I need to remember that, and I need my family to remember it too.
We’ve lost one of our own, but we’ll grow tighter for it.
Xavier
Five years later
“I’m telling you, Claude is beating her.”
My brow puckers at her vehemence. “What would you have me do?”
She winces. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want to do either.”
Ever since she started this little book club, I’d known it would bring trouble to our doors.
I didn’t approve of it, but I know she misses my mother who passed last year. They were always discussing books, and even though I loved my maman, it was Andrea who had dissected stories with her, who had plotted and planned with her for her new novels.
When she came to me with the idea of holding a monthly book club, I knew she wanted it, and I wasn’t going to stop her. She didn’t have to ask, for God’s sake, this place being as much hers as it is mine, but she knows I don’t like strangers on the property.
I protect what’s mine.
I don’t care that the kids are in university now, and that they aren’t vulnerable under my roof—that they’re vulnerable somewhere nearly kills me, but I won’t taint them with my fears, and want them to lead their own lives—this is my home and I make damn sure it’s secure.
When the gaggling hens arrive, I always tuck myself away in one of the sheds. The farm operation here has grown bigger ever since we moved, and we’re producing lavender at a manufacturing rate.
I’ll admit to being proud at the standard of our flowers and prouder still that they’re being used to make essential oils of the highest quality.
It’s my work, my job, and I love it.
I love being in the fields with the sky overhead, the dirt under my boots. My face blasted by the wind, the sun making me sweat wholesome sweat.
It’s my freedom.
And I want Andrea to have whatever she needs too—that’s my second job in this world.
The first being to protect us, the second to give her everything she desires, an
d for some damn reason, she wants a horde of cackling women to rain down on us every third Thursday to discuss some latest release.
She enjoys it, and I enjoy her energy in the run up to Thursday where she works hard on catering the small event. Making vol-au-vents and all kinds of canapés for the ladies to enjoy with far too much wine—it’s a good thing we’re walking distance from Sospel, is all I’ll say.
She’s piping cream cheese into freshly baked vol-au-vent pastries as she pleads with me, and I pop one in my mouth, humming at the heat. “That jalapeño?”
My angel nods, and peers at me under her lashes with a look that still hits me in the balls all these years later. “You like it?”
My jaw clenches because the desire to grab her hair, fist it, and draw our mouths together is fierce.
Like she knows, her breathing softens, her eyes spark, and her body changes—she moves slightly, subtly. Twisting toward me rather than the kitchen counter.
I hear squeaking brakes outside though, so while the desire to draw her to her knees and to pull out my cock is heavy, I don’t.
This is her Thursday.
“Later,” she purrs, making my dick twitch.
How she still has this power over me, I don’t know, but I’ll never tire of it, that’s for damn sure.
“Later,” I growl back at her, fire in my eyes.
She shivers a little, but I break our eye contact so she can carry on with what she’s doing.
I can’t resent today, not when the little get-together brings her so much pleasure, even though I want to fuck her against the kitchen counter and the book club has definitely impeded upon that. The house is back to being ours again, and though I hate that our nest is empty as much as she does, that I can fuck her against the wall again without worrying about anyone walking in on us, that I can eat her out on the sofa—the freedom is delicious. We’d never really had a slump in that regard, but now? I feel like a horny teenager around her once more.
Just last night, I’d spanked her on the kitchen table. Bursts of nine, like always…
Nine is only fitting, after all. Nine being the perfectly imperfect number. Lacking of ten, it’s mortal, and flawed. But, there are nine choirs of angels… and that fits both of us. She’s the angel and I’m imperfect.
When a knock sounds at the door, I grab my dick and readjust, hiding a smile when her lips part again and her pupils turn to pinpricks, shift then head out of the farmhouse kitchen over to the hall. We had this place reformed a while back. It’s a traditional farmhouse, but with all the modern amenities anyone needs. It’s bright and spacious, airy with the conversion we had on the roof that makes the ceilings high—perfect for long, hot summers.
When I open the door, I smile at the woman. I know who she is, because I’ve been watching her too, and I figure it’s fate that this is the friend Andrea was speaking of. She greets me with a small smile, and I can see shadows in her eyes that only someone who has been abused will understand. It isn’t the first time I’ve seen them, but it’s the first time I wonder if I should do something.
It’s been a long time since we felt the hand of God guide us, and I’m not sure if this is it, or if it’s just a prompt to get her some help.
I should have known He’d never leave things to chance.
“Come in,” I greet, stepping back and making sure I’m not in her path.
I’m a big man, and she’s a little thing. I don’t want to scare her further.
She walks in, shoulders hunching as she tries to pass me and I murmur, “Andrea’s in the kitchen. Would you like to take a seat or go to her?”
She blinks up at me like a frightened rabbit, and I’m unsure how to appease her fear.
“Nancy, come into the kitchen,” Andrea calls out from the kitchen doorway, her eyes on us.
Thinking she’s going, I reach for the front door just as Nancy moves toward Andrea, but for some reason, she sees me as a threat. She almost jumps at my approach, then shifts back into the table we have there for tchotchkes. It rattles so hard I’m surprised the antique doesn’t crumble at the sudden weight, but she does something, twists, and she gasps as her body collides with the corner of the console.
One second, she’s standing.
The next, she’s on the floor, cradling her side.
Surprise and anxiety lining her face, Andrea rushes over, and I drop down to my knees just as she skids to a halt beside us.
“Nancy! What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Are you okay?” I ask, knowing she must be hiding bruises under the baggy dress she wears, and I curse myself for having scared her, for making her jittery, and for making her feel pain. “Can we help you?”
Her eyes brim with tears as she gasps through the discomfort of whatever’s hiding beneath her clothes, and then she utters six fateful words.
Six words that have Andrea and me shooting each other a look, and I can almost feel the fingerprints of His hand as He holds my shoulder and steers us down the path He wants.
Fate sinks into me, as she whispers, “No. Only God can help me now…”
Acknowledgments
To my Rooster Street Team:
Abby, Beth, Christine, Claire, Colleen, Gemma, Jacqueline, Jemma, Jennifer, Lourene, Mandy, Nicole, Pam, Sarah, Steph, Talia…
Where would I be without you?
Thank you <3 SOOO much <3
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Meg’s love life was missing a spark until she discovered her need to be dominated. When her fiancé shared the same kink, she thought all her birthdays had come at once, and then she came to learn their relationship was one big fat lie.
Gabe has loved Meg for years, watching her from afar, and always wishing he’d been the one to date her first and not his brother. When he has the chance to have Meg in his bed—even better, tied to it—it’s an opportunity he can’t refuse.
With disastrous consequences.
Can Gabe make Meg realize she’s the one woman he’s always wanted? But once secrets and lies have wormed their way into a relationship, is it impossible to establish the firm base of trust needed between lovers, and more importantly, between sub and Sir…?
This story features orgasm control in a BDSM setting.
Secrets & Lies is now free!
Also by Serena Akeroyd
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Until I see you there or you write me an email or PM, here are more of my books for you to read…
The Vows We Break
The Five Points’ Collection
The Air He Breathes
Filthy Rich
Filthy Dark
The Kingdom of Veronia Collection
Theirs
SATAN’S SINNERS’ MC
Nyx
Link
Sin
Dragon Bound
Coven
Leman
Eight Wings Academy
The Ascended
HawkRidge High
Dare You To Love Me
Dare You To Keep Me
Hell’s Rebels MC
All Sinner No Saint
The Sex Tape (Co-written with Helen Scott)
The Professor
The Caelum Academy
Seven Wishes
Eight Souls
Nine Lives
Naughty Nookie
Sinfully Theirs
Sinfully Mastered
The Gods Are Back In Town
Hotter than Hades
The Sun Revolves
Around Apollo
FourWinds
Queen of the Vamps
QUINTESSENCE
Hers To Keep
Theirs To Cherish
Hers To Hold
Anchor Pride Series
Claimed by Caden
McKinnon’s Mate
The Corsakis
Three’s Never A Crowd
Old Enough to Know Better
The Federation
A Menage Made on Madison
La Belle sans La Bete Series
Menage Material
A Thoroughly Modern Menage
Forever Theirs
Secrets & Lies
The TriAlpha Chronicles
Origin
Trinity
Triskele
Triad
Triumph
Trierna
TriAlpha
Los Lobos
Bound
The Salsang Chronicles (written with Helen Scott)
Stained Egos
Stained Hearts
Stained Minds
Stained Bonds
Stained Souls
The Vows We Break: A Twisted Taboo Tale Page 21