“I married my husband at nineteen and had Kyle shortly after. I believed Cole was my prince. That"s not a slur against him. I"m sure he thought I was his princess, the way we all do in the beginning. There were a lot of things that went wrong with our relationship. Though my son never knew the underlying…issues, he eventually viewed me with a similar impatience, because a boy learns how to treat his mother from watching his father.”
She swallowed. “Kyle"s death came after our divorce. I could have stood next to a stranger at his funeral and felt more connection. He brought his new wife. Stood with her. I stood alone, but I told myself to take strength from that. I stood alone.” Right now, she was taking strength from Jon"s arms around her, and that seemed far more real and substantial. “Later, that thought mocked me. What does it mean? That you"re strong enough to stand alone…against what? Being alone means you"re alone.
No more, no less. We attach significance because it makes us feel justified, important.
And it means nothing.”
She shook her head, frustrated with herself. “I have no idea what I"m trying to say, Jon. I should be saying it better, but… I look at you and all I do is feel, not think. And my feelings are taking over everything. I don"t want to be alone, but I"ve done it for so long, I don"t know how to handle not being alone. I had to box all of it up in my heart, and I"m afraid of what will happen when you open it up, because I know you will. And I don"t think I"ll survive you turning your back on it, once it"s all pulled out and turned upside down.”
“Then believe that I won"t. Because it"s not going to happen.” His expression was compassionate but also measuring, intent. As his knee pressed into the give of her buttock, her foot slid further over his, twining ankles.
“When a submissive like you loves, Rachel, she puts everything into that love.
Every scrap of pride, every bit of who and what she is and wants, and as such, her identity becomes that love. She"s lost when it turns out to be not what she expected, or even worse, it"s betrayed or rejected. So the best way to deal with it is to pretend it wasn"t, to go on as long as you can until there"s no denying that it no longer exists, and then something gets broken inside of you.”
He framed her face, taking away the tears his words were evoking. She cried so much around him. When she hitched over a silent sob, his mouth tightened, reacting to her anguish, though his hands remained soothing. “You can go with all the therapy mumbo-jumbo bullshit that says you"re merely a woman who needs to stand alone, who needs to learn self-esteem or self-confidence, but when you"re the type of person you are, that"s not where the problem lies. The truth of it is, you had a gift to give, and you gave it to the wrong guy. End of story. The gift is still there, if you"re brave enough to give it again. And I think you"re exceedingly brave.” She tried for a wry smile, hurting still. “Is bravery the reason I bolted from perfectly good bagels and tea?”
He answered the smile, though his eyes remained serious, heartbreakingly tender as he stroked her face. “They caught up with you. They"re right here.”
“I didn"t expect you to give chase.”
“One day you"ll know when you"re hurting like this, the first thing you should do is run to me, not away from me. Until then, you won"t ever outrun me, Rachel. I"ll never permit that.”
Her hand fell on his thigh and she put her forehead on his cheek, closing her eyes as he slid his hand under her hair, a slow stroke of movement along her neck. He kept doing it, waiting her out, letting her think about what he said, letting other things rise to the top, slip from her lips.
“You"re right,” she whispered. “As much as it hurts, it was really simple, when all was said and done. Almost tedious. My husband and I were one thing when we got married and time changed us both. Maybe the seeds of those differences were there in the beginning and we didn"t see it, didn"t anticipate those changes. He was…
overbearing and I…mistook it, subconsciously, for something else. In hindsight, I also think we brought out the worst parts of each other. I baffled him, and the unhappier I seemed, the more frustrated and angry he got. I don"t blame him…and I guess I don"t blame me, but it happened, and it hurt… He"d already left me when our son was killed, but if anything, that drove us further apart.”
She closed her eyes then. He remained silent, breathing with her, being with her as that turmoil settled, as she got her breath back. He didn"t offer her platitudes. He didn"t say he understood, because of course he couldn"t, not really. It didn"t mean she couldn"t lean on his strength, feel his sympathy and care. His heart and arms were open. That was the message she heard in his silence, and it helped deepen her calm. She might be feeling more foolish as she composed herself, but his silence wasn"t condemning or judging. It was support, pure and simple.
“The bagels smell good,” she said at length.
“You smell better.” He nudged her hair aside, dipped his head to nuzzle her throat, his hair brushing her face. “Or it could be the two together. Fresh baked bread and female. My female.”
“You"re relentless.”
“Exactly. You might as well give in now.” Reaching past her to the bag, he kept holding her, such that he pushed her backward in his arm span. The stretch made her chuckle and hold tighter to him for balance as he pulled out the blueberry bagel she"d wanted.
When he straightened, he released her to pull off a piece of the bagel. The heat steaming out of it brought her the yeast smell, awakening taste buds. Before she thought to reach for it, he held it up to her mouth. “From my fingers, Rachel.” Those blue eyes had so many ranges of expression. Compassion was now replaced by that steady expectation that put everything inside her on high alert, all of her senses focused on what he might demand.
As she took the bite, closing her lips briefly on those digits, she did it without a single self-conscious look around her.
“Good.” He handed her the rest, then took out his own bagel and passed her the organic green tea she"d wanted, though he laid an arm over her thigh, crossed over his, keeping them in the intimate position of lovers.
“Will you…tell me more about yourself?” She was honestly sick of thinking about herself and the fears a relationship with him could provoke. She was ready for a break, no matter how hazardous that might be. “What kind of kid were you?”
“Gawky limbs and thick glasses, a hundred percent science geek. Even had a stutter for a while. Don"t let the boyish good looks and charm fool you.”
“I actually don"t find you boyish at all,” she admitted. “I"ve never met a man who made me feel so safe…and cared for. I doubt myself, Jon. Not you.”
“It comes out to one and the same, because it affects both of us.” He put the bagel aside and slid both arms around her again, only this time he brought her up tight against him, her hip pressed against his groin, both legs hooked tight over his thigh as he kissed her, long and deep, until she was leaning into him again. His hand dropped down to her hip, gave her ass a squeeze that made her flinch.
“Still tender,” he noted against her lips, a sexy gleam in his eye.
“Inside and out.” Daring, she added, “And all I want is more.”
“That"s good. Because you"re going to get plenty more, sweet slave. You already earned a punishment for not taking my hand at the table and an even worse one for trying to run away.”
The fingers she threaded through his dark hair trembled a bit in response. “Do you have to work today?”
“Not this Saturday. I plan on spending the morning with you. This afternoon, we"ll go to my place for a few hours, and tonight, I"m taking you out to a proper club.” She stopped in mid-motion, gaze darting up to him. “Oh Jon. I don"t know.”
“I do. After breakfast, we"ll go pick out something you"d like to wear. With my approval, of course.” He put his hand over hers, already anticipating her next thought.
“You won"t be hedging about money. I have plenty of it, and what I spend on you is my business, not yours. Understood?”
That was clearly his Master"s voice, stern and uncompromising. She nodded, a little uncertain, but trying to take things in stride better than she had when they were at the table.
“I"m a little freaked out,” she confessed. “Can we talk about something else for a little bit, so I can process? Something that helps me…I don"t know, feel more balanced.
What"s the worst thing that happened to you as a child?” He curled his hand over hers now on his shoulder, slid his thumb into the cup of her palm to rub, then tugged her hair with the other hand. “My job is not always to make you feel more comfortable, Rachel. Especially when I know you need to be off-balance. But I"ll answer your question, if you ask me with the proper address.” That was exactly what she"d been attempting to do, she realized. Assert some kind of control with the personal information, and he"d recognized it in a heartbeat. She was starting to think his flat statement that she wouldn"t get away with lying to him meant lying at any level, even when she wasn"t immediately aware she was doing it.
She moistened her lips. “Master, would you please tell me the worst thing that happened to you as a child?”
“Well done.” He nodded, and the hold on her hair eased. He stroked instead, following the strands down her back, a more soothing gesture, one that lingered at her waist then dropped lower. Sensitive nerves responded as he idly traced the depression at the base of her tailbone.
“My parents were killed when I was ten. That"s why I had the stutter for a while.”
“Oh Jon. I"m sorry.” It was instinct to comfort, to lay her hand over his forearm. He joined hands with her, bringing both to his lips for a nuzzling kiss. As he caressed her knuckles, he studied them, his expression caught between past and present.