Fallen Dom

by Lexxi James

  Okay, fine. I’m not leaving. She kicked off the heels that squeezed a little tighter than they did in the store less than an hour ago, cementing her stay.

  She’d almost forgiven her Latino benefactor for putting the kibosh on the minibar, insisting that this experience had to be one hundred percent sober. Without a cocktail to take the edge off, she barely kept her freak-out under control.

  Wondering why she sat waiting wasn’t useful.

  I know exactly why I’m here.

  Three years earlier – Middle East

  “Clear!” Kathryn barked, and all hands ripped away from the soldier’s battered body.

  The defibrillator paddles sent an electrical charge that contorted his back to an arch. A second later, his body crashed back on the gurney, the electric zap having run through the lifeless man.

  One thousand volts.

  The dial had been turned up for each of the three attempts. That meant it was maxed out, and by standard operating procedures, they were done. Not much more to do but call the time of death.

  Not this time.

  This would be her fifth loss in a row as an Army trauma nurse.

  From the barely climate-controlled tent in the heart of the Middle East, Captain Kathryn Chase wasn’t headed for a breakdown. She’d snapped about thirty seconds ago, and protocol was about to be her bitch.

  I’m not a fucking robot.

  The colonel peeled off his surgical gloves, reciting as the attending physician what would be the final record for the recently departed. “Sergeant First Class Russo. Time of death—”

  “No!” Kathryn shouted.

  What could she do?

  The defibrillator was out. Areas without bullet holes now had fresh paddle burns from the series of jolts.

  Instinctively, she locked her arms and pressed the heel of her hand over and over into his chest. For a nurse determined not to give up, cardiopulmonary resuscitation, or CPR, was her last option.

  A technician gingerly touched her arm, urging her to stop. But Kathryn shoved the corporal back hard enough to knock over several rolling trays of mobile equipment. She hadn’t meant to, but she was . . .

  Focused.

  Determined.

  Obsessed.

  Under her breath, she huffed, “One, two, three, four, five,” counting the compressions as she looped the phrase over and over again.

  The colonel took a different approach, persuading her with a stern command. “Captain Chase.”

  I can’t stop. I won’t.

  Reaching across the patient’s body, the colonel grabbed her arms, halting her compressions. “Kathryn,” he said, his voice solemn and coaxing. “It’s time.”

  Unable to control herself, she sobbed, choking in an attempt to hold it back. Defeated, she shut her eyes, her exhausted body collapsing on the patient as her flood of tears coated his skin.

  As she bawled uncontrollably, something she’d never done in public in her professional career, everything slowed. She heard every sound. The whispers of the staff working around her. The mechanical blips of the medical machinery. The swishing of a hand gently rubbing her back. Her own voice uncontrollably heaving no.

  Then there was another noise, one that made her pause her crying for a second. She froze, focusing all her attention on the one thing that mattered. Listening.

  Again, she heard it, although it was faint.

  Was that . . . a breath?

  Jumping back, she stared at the lifeless man. Her hand flew to his face, prying open one eyelid, then the other. His pupils tightened in weak dilation. She pried the ear tubes of the stethoscope wide from her neck and secured the eartips firmly in place. Holding her breath, she held the cold chestpiece to his heart as she strained to listen.

  “I’ve got a heartbeat!” she shouted.

  The staff scurried to check his vitals, repeating her steps. Disbelieving or not, the medical team moved with urgency. Every second counted.

  The colonel ordered, “Oxygen. Now.”

  The team gathered around the body again, working in tandem. A tug-of-war to yank him back from death’s cruel grip.

  The air-conditioning of the colonel’s private tent should have been a welcome relief after the day she’d had, considering it was Kathryn’s fourth sixteen-hour shift in a row. Instead, she seethed with irritation, fixated on the difference between this cushy space and their battle-ready operating room. Exhausted and wallowing in her own dried sweat, she resisted the urge to brush at the sand and dust stubbornly sticking to the uncovered areas of her skin.

  The colonel studied her before speaking. “You did good today.” Nice words from her commanding officer, Dr. Carter Reeves.

  She nodded, hoping the fuck you shooting from her eyes was received loud and clear as she sneered at him. “But?”

  “But I’ve requested a replacement. You’re going home.” After a minute, he added, “No amount of wishing I would fuck off is going to change that.”

  Oh, good. He got the memo.

  Too pissed off to waste time arguing, she pulled in a deep breath. “When?”

  He cleared his throat. “Sooner than I thought. There was already someone inbound with experience. He was en route to another assignment, but I managed to have him reassigned here.”

  “How convenient. So, tomorrow?”

  “The day after,” Carter said with a shrug. When she gave him a cutting glare, slicing a hole right through their wall of rank, he lost his temper. “Dammit, Kathryn. Give me a break. You lost it today.”

  Unable to control herself, she shouted, “Goddammit, Carter! I saved a life that everyone, including you, gave up on.”

  His volume matched hers as his palms hit his desk. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re raring to go for another day of losing one life after another.”

  Defeated, she swallowed her tears and dropped her heated gaze to her dusty combat boots.

  “You can’t keep this up,” he said, softening his tone. “After my first tour, I’d had it, swore I’d never return. I had to come to grips with my own humanity. We all have our limits, and I can see in every torn-up piece of you that you’ve reached it and then some. Hate me all you want, but I’ve got to get you out of here . . . before you’re shattered beyond repair.”

  He stepped closer. “Just because we’re no longer married doesn’t mean I stop caring about you, Kat.”

  “I hate it when you call me that.” Annoyed, she stood, turning to head out.

  “Hang on.” He snatched a business card from his desk and handed it to her. “Look, we’re all entitled to a break, and I know you’re close to a decision on re-upping your Reserve status.”

  “Hey! Kicking me out of your unit is one thing, but if you even so much as think about screwing with my career—”

  He grabbed her hand. “You know I’d never do that. I’m just saying . . .” He placed the card in her palm. “Explore your options.”

  Kathryn took the small piece of cardstock, curious as she read the print.

  WOLFF INVESTIGATIONS

  Z. Wolff – Senior Partner

  The toll-free phone number and Denver address were embossed in raised ink. Unconsciously stroking a finger over the letters, she asked, “What the hell is this?”

  “An opportunity. Zach’s an old friend. He founded a company that looks into insurance fraud, and he asked me if I knew anyone with medical expertise I could recommend. He needs someone tough. Someone who won’t give up until they get to the truth. And he’s willing to wait for the right person, so you can think about it. You don’t have to make a decision, but at least talk to the man. You need a break, Kat—” He stopped short, correcting himself. “Kathryn.” His tone softened again. “Before you break.”

  She crushed the card to a wad in her fist and stormed out of Carter’s tent. As she stomped across the compound, a few stubborn tears pushed from her eyes. “Goddammit.”

  Furious, she tossed the crumpled card to the ground. Then stopped. Whirling around, she ben
t over to retrieve it, and stuffed it deep inside her pocket, eager to shove down the inevitable.

  Hugging herself tightly, Kathryn struggled to breathe. Everything was spinning out of control. Desperately, she looked up at the star-filled sky, oddly calmed by the strange evening serenity often lacking in the war-torn country.

  Tormented, she sighed into the dry desert air, bracing herself for a gut-wrenching change.

  Four

  Present day

  The soft down comforter covered Kathryn’s legs, but she was still cold. Unable to see, she found herself chilled even more at the sound of the door opening. Her rattled nerves squeezed shivers from her as she listened to each slightly muffled footstep approaching on the soft carpet.

  Through little gaps where her cheeks met the blindfold, she caught a glimpse of a man’s laid-back but stylish loafers beneath his jeans. Biting her lip, she pulled back a smile.

  Damn, his shoes are big.

  She flashed back to one rainy afternoon on a long college weekend when, for no reason other than idle curiosity, she dove headfirst into “research.” A hop, skip, and mouse click later, she searched for studies on whether the size of a man’s shoes said anything about his pocketful of potential.

  Can’t blame a girl for loving science.

  One guy actually won a Nobel prize for his work, measuring stretched-out penises against other body parts.

  Hmm, wonder which intern scored the coveted role of pole puller?

  She imagined the announcement. And in the category of Penile Possibilities, the Nobel prize goes to . . .

  The results of these studies? A correlation was negligible. Mr. Big Stuff standing before her might be her own hands-on experiment.

  Still, staring down at the promise of his footwear, she barely managed to squelch a giggle or her growing blush. But her third-grade humor subsided as he remained standing there.

  Quiet. Watching her.

  His fingers were warm as they barely brushed across her hair, then dropped to scoop up her hand in a soft shake.

  “Hello, Kathryn.” His voice was low. Deep.

  He squeezed her hand, and she shivered as she tried to hold in a shuddering breath. Then his hands moved to her shoulders.

  “You’re freezing. Let me turn up the heat, but . . .” He stepped out of her sliver of a view, then back, and she felt softness wrap around her arms and back. “Better?”

  She tugged the robe, setting it higher on her shoulders. “Mm-hmm. Funny, I never thought you’d be adding clothes to the equation.”

  “Well,” he said, his voice carrying from farther away, “this place costs a pretty penny. If we’re smuggling a souvenir out for you, you’d better love it.”

  Laughing, she pulled the cozy plushness tighter and relaxed. “I absolutely do.”

  The momentary cheeriness subsided as he returned, pointing those shoes—and she could only imagine what else—straight at her. The heat of his body washed over her, and her breathing stuttered to a halt.

  “Breathe,” his gruff voice gently commanded, and she obeyed, sucking her lungs full of air before slowly easing it out through her lips. “Good.”

  The mattress lowered as he took a seat beside her, covering her hands in both of his. “Don’t worry, Kat.”

  Her voice cracked slightly as she lied. “I—I’m not worried.”

  “Then why the frown?” He cupped her cheek for a second, then dropped his hand.

  “I—I prefer Kathryn.”

  Did I really say that? To him? For once in my life, maybe I could break a rule or two, let someone else in on my nickname. I mean, it’s practically for medical research. Hello? Shoe size.

  “Well, Kathryn, we’re not doing anything tonight—”

  “Because I want you to call me Kathryn? Seems harsh.” Regretting her back talk, she realized that sassiness might be an unwelcome trait in a sub.

  His voice lowered. “Isn’t that what you’re here for? Something . . . harsh?” His finger traced up her spine with a hot, electric charge that dropped her head back, releasing a gasp from her lips. He tugged away her scrunchie, freeing her long hair and combing it out with his fingers.

  She whispered, “Yes,” followed by the immediate panic of, “No . . . I mean, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m— “

  “Relax,” he said, massaging her neck and shoulders. “Like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted . . .” His voice was low but playful. Hypnotic. Alluring. Making every last one of her defenses drop into the palm of his hands. “We won’t be doing anything tonight. And no, not because you want me to use your go-by name.”

  He kissed her cheek, and the kinship was immediate. Only military or ex-military would use a term like go-by name.

  “Never apologize for what you want. I insist on knowing your desires,” he said softly, and she shivered as his breath tickled her ear. “I have wants too, Kathryn. I want my frisky little kitten not to worry too much about showing off her claws.” His hands kneaded harder. “We’re not doing anything because I heard you loud and clear. Your hard limit.”

  No sex? No way. Why the hell did I say no sex?

  Don’t listen to her. She’s a crazy lady.

  “I—”

  “You called your hard limit, and I won’t cross that boundary. At least, not tonight. I can’t take advantage of you just yet. And certainly not until I see a smile back on those beautiful lips.”

  A shy grin emerged from her as his thumb brushed the fullness of her lower lip. Her mind tripped over one tawdry thought after the other, like sucking down that hot finger he’d been teasing her with.

  “While you’re cranking those gears in your head,” he said, “let me make you an offer.”

  “An . . . offer?”

  He stood and took her hands, lifting her to her feet. Seconds later, the rustling sounds captivating and concerning her were unmistakable. He was turning down the bed.

  Anxious, she swallowed the ball of tension in her throat as he continued.

  “Unless you object, I’m lying you down and covering you with the comforter to keep you warm. I’ll be on the other side. On top of the covers.”

  What? “Why?”

  “Because I need you comfortable. If you’re relaxed, you’ll be easier to get to know. I need to know what you’re thinking so I can understand why you’re here. And what you want.”

  She turned to ask him a question, not realizing he’d changed positions once again. The accidental smack of her hand hit his solid chest.

  “Sorry,” she said, panicked as she yanked it back.

  He picked up her hand and held it to his chest. Doing nothing at all, really. Somehow, it made her calm.

  She felt his heartbeat.

  His breathing.

  And nothing made her feel more at ease. Like . . . coming home.

  “What if,” she asked shyly, “I don’t know what I want?”

  He huffed out a laugh, whisking her into the cradle of his arms.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, reassuring her as he laid her on the bed. He tucked her in, adding, “I ask terrific questions.”

  It was strange how a blindfold made her lose all track of time. And dropped her resistance.

  For the first time in, oh, ever, she finally let it all out, yammering on and on for far longer than was socially acceptable. A firehose of TMI, she described her string of disappointing sexcapades, not worried for a second how it made her look.

  I’m blindfolded. In a hotel room. Lying on the bed and divulging all my sexual experiences to a stranger with expertise in BDSM.

  Let’s call it therapy.

  And all the while, her attentive, albeit anonymous “therapist” continued to listen.

  “I feel like you’re suffering,” she said, “having to hear all this. Like a bad date where the girl can’t stop talking about her exes. Unless, of course, you’ve fallen asleep.”

  On cue, a snore erupted, and without thinking, she swatted him. Nervous, she again tried to pull back, b
ut stopped as he grabbed her hand and chuckled.

  “You need to trust yourself. You feel like something’s missing, because it is. It’s that simple.” He rolled closer. “You know when you’re not satisfied, Kathryn.”

  His words were gruff, yet soft. Filled with understanding. And something about the way he said her name was like he knew her. Knew her like no one else.

  Biting her lip, she pushed out a confession. “Well, on more than one occasion, I’ve been accused of being”—she sighed— “frigid.”

  He laughed low. “Don’t believe the hype of self-centered assholes. And don’t bite your lip. When you’re with me, consider that my job.” His hand cupped the back of her neck, but he didn’t squeeze. His whispers warmed her ear. “Listen to your body right now. Your breathing. Your heartbeat. You know what you want.”

  Her head barely nodded as her nether regions lit up like the Fourth of July.

  “You’re not frigid, Kathryn. You’re lost . . . desperate to stave off your own instincts.” He shifted his weight, dropping his grasp and moving away from her as he lay back. “You’re not the only one fighting demons. Mine have kept me away for a while.”

  “Away from what?” she asked.

  “From this,” he said.

  Curiosity might kill the cat, but she couldn’t help asking. “How long?” Impetuous or not, she’d thrown it out there.

  “Three years,” he said on a long breath.

  Holy shit. “You haven’t had sex in three years?” Blurting it out, she winced.

  “No, little girl. I didn’t escape from a monastery.” He caressed her cheek, and she smiled. Then his touch was gone. “But I haven’t been myself. I’ve been . . . lost. Given up a lot of old habits. And thought I’d left this life behind.” His deep voice held a note of despondence.

  Resolved to overstep whatever Dom/sub rules were in play, she clumsily stumbled out of the comforter. Kneeling toward his side of the bed, her blindfolded eyes staring presumably at him, she said, “I probably look ridiculous, but I have to face you when I ask you this. If you haven’t been a Dom in three years, why are you doing this now?”