Unforgettable (Black Rose Doms Book 1)

by Rory Reynolds

  I can’t wait to sink into the steaming hot water. Matthew adds a few things to the water, and the room fills with the sweet yet minty scent of eucalyptus. He tests the water then adjusts the tap, when he’s satisfied, he turns to me and freezes. I blush when I realize I dropped my arm, giving him an unfettered view of my bare breasts. I shiver at the smoldering look in his eyes. Matthew looks hungry, and I have the distinct impression that it’s not for food.

  A heat I’ve never known before grows in my gut. My nipples pebble into firm peaks. I shift on my feet and am shocked to feel the dampness between my legs. I swallow thickly as I try to process my body’s response to a simple look.

  This isn’t the first time a man has looked at me with desire, but the differences are stark in comparison. Men have looked at me with covetous lust. They’ve looked at my nakedness greedily. I’ve had men look at me with a burning hatred while at the same time rock-hard in their pants and eager to have me.

  Matthew is looking at me with hungry desire, yes, but he’s not covetous, and he certainly doesn’t have an ounce of hatred in his eyes. For some reason, the look in his eyes is more intimidating than any of the others before him. I knew what to expect before. Now, I’m out of my depth. The urge to cover my body and hide away from the feelings that Matthew evokes in me is strong. I’m already looking for a towel or something to cover myself when he speaks, “You’re fucking beautiful.”

  His words are a benediction, and the certainty in his voice when he calls me beautiful makes me desperate to see what he sees. When I look in the mirror, all I can see are my scars. Every little flaw stands out like a spotlight anytime I look at myself. Which is why I avoid mirrors at all costs. I don’t need to see them to know they are there. Seeing them is just a reminder.

  “Sorry,” Matthew apologizes. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not scared of you, Matty.” He closes his eyes when I say the nickname as if it pains him. Maybe he hates being called that. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—"

  “No need to apologize, love. It’s just been a long time since anyone used that nickname.”

  I look at my feet, wondering why a nickname would cause such a reaction from him. He seems both sad and happy at the same time. The juxtaposition between the two is confusing, and I’m not sure how to respond. When in doubt, apologize. That’s the safest response to everything.

  “I’m sorry, Matthew. I won’t do it again.”

  He crosses the room to me in two long strides. He gently tips my head back with a finger under my chin so that I can’t avoid looking him in the eye. “You misunderstand. I want you to call me that. I want to be your Matty.”

  I’m knocked breathless by his impassioned tone.

  “Okay,” I smile shyly at him. “I’d like to call you Matty. It just… I don’t know. It feels right somehow.”

  “I’m glad, sweetheart. Now let’s get you in the tub before it turns cold.”

  The bathwater is the perfect temperature. I practically melt as my body is engulfed by the fragrant water. I don’t even care that it stings on my newly opened wounds. It’s just too dang good to worry about being hurt right now.

  I close my eyes and lay my head back against the built-in headrest, letting out a little sigh of contentment.

  8

  Matthew

  Rose lets out a relieved sigh as she settles into the steaming hot bathwater. It feels unnatural to call her Rose. She’s always been my Rosie since the first day we met. I was the only one allowed to call her Rosie, and she was the only one who called me Matty.

  I nearly lost it when she called me Matty earlier. For one moment, I thought that she’d remembered me—us—but that wasn’t the case. At least, not yet. The fact that she picked to call me Matty and not Matt as a nickname is promising. Her trauma has all the good memories from her past locked up tight inside her mind. I’m determined to help her heal and bring my Rosie back.

  Rose closes her eyes, making content little noises in the back of her throat that go straight to my cock. I feel like a real bastard getting hard when she’s naked and hurt—vulnerable. No matter how many times I will my feet to take me out of the bathroom so she can enjoy her bath in peace, I can’t seem to tear my eyes away.

  She’s fucking gorgeous. Her breasts are small and pert—a perfect handful. I bite back a groan when she adjusts her position, causing her dusky pink nipples to pop out of the water. They are hardened to tight buds and look ready to be sucked. My mouth waters at the idea of sucking those tight peaks until she’s mindless with lust. I force the thought away. Now isn’t the time.

  Rose has been abused, and not just by Damon. She hasn’t told me what happened after the Grants stole her away in the middle of the night ten years ago. Knowing what Marcia Grant was involved in before her death gives me a good idea. I’ve helped a lot of girls in the last ten years. Most of them victims of unspeakable abuse. Forced into sexual slavery and treated as less than human. Rose has a long road ahead of her, and I plan to be here every step of the way.

  My mind drifts to Hannah and Slade. I’ll never forget the broken girl he brought home after she begged and pleaded with him. For the first year, she jumped at her own shadow. Now, she’s thriving in her life here with us. I hold out hope that Rose will be strong enough to grab ahold of the new life she’s being offered and heal from the past. I can only pray that when her mind heals enough, she’ll remember me, and forgive me for not saving her.

  The overwhelming guilt I feel for the part I played in her abduction does the job of chasing away my erection and tamping down my untoward desire. The fact of the matter is that I don’t deserve her forgiveness. I’ll regret not taking her out of that fucking hellhole for the rest of my life. I failed her once, but I won’t fail her again.

  I finally drag myself away from the bathroom. I grab Rose one of my button-down shirts, not wanting her to feel self-conscious being naked in front of the others. She was embarrassed when I irrationally stripped her down in the living room in front of Slade and Kisten. I saw the blood on her dress and reacted impulsively.

  It kills me to have her out of my sight, but I force myself to let her have her privacy. I alternate, pacing the floor and checking the time on my phone. Five minutes pass like thirty. The desire to check on her is so strong I can hardly stand ignoring the pull.

  Rose calls out from the bathroom for me, a note of panic in her voice. I don’t hesitate to go to her. I’ll always go to her. She’s sitting up in the tub, her hands clutched to the sides so hard her knuckles are white.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I…” she shakes her head. “It’s silly. I’m just being ridiculous.”

  “Nothing you feel is ridiculous.” I cross the room to her and kneel down beside the tub. Her hand darts out and grips my hand.

  “I opened my eyes, and you were gone. I—” Her words are cut off on a little sob that tears my heart from my chest.

  “I’m right here, love. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Everyone leaves.” She’s full-on crying now. “Everyone I’ve ever loved leaves me.”

  I carefully lift her from the tub and carry her to my bedroom. I debate sitting with her on the bed but instead decide on the chair. At the clinic, I laid with her, but lying in my bed feels too intimate. I don’t want her to make any assumptions about my intentions. The chair is safer. She doesn’t hesitate to snuggle against my chest.

  “Who left you?”

  Rose sniffles. She’s quiet for so long that I don’t think she’s going to answer, but then she speaks and rips my beating heart directly from my chest.

  “My mom left me and someone else… I can’t remember. I just know that I was left behind.” She goes quiet again for a moment. “Have you ever had a dream so real it feels more like a memory than a dream?”

  I think of all the nights I’ve dreamt of her and nod. “Yes, I have.”

  “The person in my dreams alwa
ys leaves me too. He promises to take me away. To save me, but he leaves too. It’s crazy to be upset with a figment of my imagination leaving every morning when I wake up… he feels real.”

  I hold her as tightly as I can without causing her pain. “I’m not going anywhere, Rose. I promise you.”

  There is a soft knock on the door, then Hannah walks in with a tray laden with food.

  9

  Rose

  I blush when Hannah walks into the room. I can’t imagine what she thinks of me. Within the first hour of knowing me, she’s seen me stripped down by her boss in front of everyone, and now I’m naked save for a towel cuddled in Matthew’s lap. I must seem pathetic to her.

  She sets the tray on the small side table beside where we’re sitting. “I brought a little of everything,” Hannah says with a shrug. “I wasn’t sure what you’d be up to eating considering…” she trails off, a haunted look taking over her delicate features. She shakes her head as if she’s knocking free of a bad memory then gives me a friendly smile. “If you need anything, just pick up the phone over there and dial one.”

  I return her smile with a shy one of my own. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Rose. It’s my pleasure to serve you.” Something about the way she says that makes my skin prickle.

  “Thank you, Hannah. I think we’ll be fine for the evening. Why don’t you take the rest of the night off?”

  Hannah gives Matthew a bright smile. “Thanks, Matthew.” She turns her attention to me once again. “If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to call,” she reminds me.

  I get the distinct impression she’s not talking about bringing me food or whatever else a housekeeper does. “I will. Thank you for the food. Everything looks delicious.”

  “You’re welcome. Enjoy your evening. I better go check on Slade.” There is a devious sparkle in her eye, and I can’t help but wonder about her relationship with Slade.

  As soon as she’s gone, Matthew pulls a plate of pasta from the tray. I’m still perched on his lap. I should probably move to the other chair, but I really don’t want to. I like being close to Matthew. I feel safest when he’s within arm’s reach. Don’t get much closer than sitting in his lap. I reach for the plate, and he pulls it back, giving me a hard look. He twirls the fork in the noodles, swiping them through a thick cream sauce, then holds the fork up to his lips, carefully blowing on the bite of food before bringing it to my own lips.

  I open my mouth, accepting the bite. I moan as the food hits my taste buds. The sauce is rich and flavorful, obviously homecooked and not from a jar like I’m used to. I savor the bite and practically salivate when Matthew offers me a second bite, this one with a piece of chicken smothered in the same delicious sauce.

  “You don’t have to feed me,” I say to Matthew after the second bite.

  He just gives me a look that tells me not to argue, so I don’t. If I’m honest with myself, I like him feeding me. He’s taking care of me in such a small, yet profound way. There’s something intimate about being fed that has nothing to do with my being naked on his lap.

  Matthew silently feeds me bite after bite until I feel like I’m going to burst. He holds out another bite, and I shake my head. “I’m stuffed.”

  He looks from me to the half-empty plate and doesn’t seem satisfied. Damn Dr. Martinez. She ran a battery of tests on me while I was sedated and found that I’m deficient in several essential nutrients and that I’m borderline malnourished. Ever since, Matthew has been shoving food at me every chance he gets, never satisfied with how much I eat.

  “You should eat more.”

  “I really can’t. I’m full.”

  Even though he doesn’t look happy about it, he sets the plate back down on the tray. I groan when he picks up another plate because this one has a slice of cheesecake covered in chocolate and caramel sauce. Matthew gets a forkful, and I swear I can already taste the tartness of the cheesecake and the chocolatey caramelly goodness. Except, he doesn’t offer the bite to me. Instead, he eats it and gives an exaggerated moan as if it’s the best thing in the world.

  “This is delicious. Too bad, you’re full.” He takes another bite of the cheesecake.

  I lick my lips, staring at the cheesecake longingly. “I could maybe eat another bite…”

  Matthew points the next forkful at my lips. I don’t hesitate to take what he’s offering. It’s even better than it looks. The cheesecake itself is creamy and smooth with just the right amount of crisp crust. The chocolate sauce is just the right amount of bitter to counteract the almost overly sweet taste of the caramel. I moan as I savor the treat.

  I can’t remember the last time I tasted a dessert so perfect. Stale cookies from the shelter don’t hold a candle to this cheesecake. The last thing I can remember tasting this good was a birthday cake for… someone… years ago. Back before—I shove the thoughts away. I won’t think of my past. Not now while I’m enjoying my present so much.

  Matthew holds up another forkful, and I eagerly eat. He feeds me until the only thing left on the plate is a few crumbs from the crust and smears of chocolate and caramel. I have to admit, if I were alone, I’d be licking the plate clean, it was that good.

  “That was the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life,” I say honestly.

  “Glad you enjoyed it, love,” Matthew says, sounding tense.

  I open my mouth to ask him what’s wrong, but instead of words, I yawn. Now that my stomach is full, I’m suddenly exhausted.

  “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

  Matthew helps me up from his lap then leads me over toward his bed. “Um. Matty?” He turns, raising an eyebrow in question. “Shouldn’t you be showing me which guest room is mine?”

  He just shakes his head. “You’ll stay here.” The way he says it is so final that I know there is no sense in arguing. “I’ll take the guest room.”

  “I can’t kick you out of your own room. I don’t mind a guest room. They are way nicer than anywhere I’ve stayed in the past.”

  “Nonsense. My room is more comfortable. The other rooms don’t have a bathtub like this one does. You’ll be more comfortable here.”

  I look from him to the massive bed. I chew my bottom lip as I consider the options. I can do what he says and stay in his room while he takes the guest room, or we could both stay here. It’s not any different than him staying with me at the clinic. He shared a bed with me last night, and that bed was half the size of this one.

  “You can stay here too.” My words are impulsive, and I know it. I’m fooling myself if I think that sleeping beside him in his bed is the same thing as sharing a hospital-like bed. It isn’t at all, but I don’t hate the idea of sleeping together. I slept better with Matthew by my side than I have in years.

  “Rose, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “Why isn’t it?” I do my best to sound nonchalant. I have no doubt that he’s also thinking about what sharing a bed could mean. He obviously doesn’t want me to feel uncomfortable. He wants to keep me safe. That’s enough for me to know that I want him to stay here with me.

  “It just isn’t.”

  “That’s the biggest non-answer I’ve ever heard. The bed is huge. There’s plenty of room. Besides,” I can feel my cheeks heating with a blush, “I like the idea of sleeping beside you. I feel safe with you.”

  Matthew lets out a pained groan, then pulls me against his chest, hugging me. “I can deny you nothing, sweetheart.”

  “So you’ll stay?” I ask, hopefully.

  “Yes, love. I’ll stay. Now let’s get you tucked in. You look exhausted.”

  “I am,” I say on another yawn, proving my words to be true. It feels like it’s been days since I slept. In reality, it’s barely been ten hours since Kisten drove me away from the club.

  “Do you want a shirt to sleep in?”

  I think about it for a minute. My back feels a ton better after my bath, but it sounds like torture to sleep in clothes. I shake my hea
d no and bravely drop the towel from around my body. Matthew makes a pained sound, and his eyes darken. He’s looking at me the way I looked at that cheesecake earlier like he wants to devour me and lick up the crumbs. In the past, a man looking at me like this would make me shake from fear. Matthew wearing the look warms me from the inside out.

  I shiver as Matthew reaches out and puts his hand on my shoulder. I’m not quite sure what he’s doing until he turns me around so that my back is facing him. Another shiver skates down my spine as he carefully traces the worst of the cane marks on my back.

  “Daniels is fucking lucky it isn’t nearly as bad as it looked. Stay here, I’m going to grab some salve.”

  He’s only gone for a minute. The salve is cool and smells minty. Matthew slowly works the cream into every inch of my back before moving to my bottom. The nurses at the clinic always helped me with this part. It was always clinical. This doesn’t feel clinical in the least little bit. That same warm feeling from before spreads through my body, and I can feel wetness between my legs again. The feeling is overwhelming, and by the time Matthew is done rubbing salve onto my upper thighs, I’m practically panting. I really don’t want him to stop.

  His hands on me feel so good. So different from any other man’s touch before his. I know he was only tending to my injuries, but it felt like so much more. Every time he touches me, it feels like so much more than how he intends. I know he’s just looking out for me and being kind. I talked to one of the nurses about the club and dominants, she said that Matthew—well she called him Master Bennett like everyone else around the club calls him—takes care of his submissives.