Salvation

by Jane Henry

  “And I don’t remember making that an option,” I say. I rear my hand back and smack it against her ass. The second I do, I regret it. It wasn’t even a conscious decision. My palm tingles and my dick hardens. God, I want to punish her so damn bad my mouth waters. It’s breaking every BDSM club law in the book, not having her consent, but hell, there’s something innate that calls me to her.

  “Noah—Axle,” she corrects in a whisper. She swallows hard. “You…” but her voice trails off. She wants to tell me off, but it’s like she can’t even talk.

  I sigh. God, I remember how things used to be with her. It’s probably my fault she’s even into this shit. She was young and innocent, and I stole that from her. Showed her how delicious the loss of control can be with bondage. Awakened her inner submissive with punishment. Rewarded her with pleasure when she obeyed.

  She liked it, though. And hell, I can tell just by the way she’s looking at me, she likes it now.

  “Bed,” I say sternly, pointing at the door to my room. My conscience tugs at me, though. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine,” she says, then stifles a yawn. “Just tired.”

  I open the door to my room and tug her in, then walk her back to bed. “Good. Now get some rest.” I release her, pull down the blankets, and pat the sheets.

  “I should maybe undress?” she says, but she doesn’t meet my eyes. I nod, then turn around to give her some privacy. The sound of a zipper. The rustle of fabric. I swallow hard and ignore the growing need inside me when I let myself imagine what she looks like undressing. I hear the bed creak and release a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  Climbing back into bed, she lays her head on the pillow, and I tuck the blanket up around her. She fidgets a little but doesn’t say anything. My mind is teeming with memories, and I can’t stop them. I wonder if hers is, too. My heart squeezes. Some of those memories are painful. So damn painful. Even though it’s against my better judgment, I lean over and stroke my hand through her thick, silky hair. Her eyelids flutter shut, and she sighs. I sit on the side of the bed, stroking her hair and rubbing her back until her breathing slows and her shoulders lift up and down in soft slumber.

  This is wrong. So damn wrong. But I have to atone for my sins.

  Chapter Five

  Chandra

  I’m sitting on the steps, crying. I want to be alone. I’m nineteen years old and live in a proverbial ivory tower, a gilded cage no one can enter. I wasn’t allowed to go to college. I haven’t been allowed to do anything. My mother and father have predetermined my future spouse already, and the knowledge kills me. I’ve never even kissed a boy, and yet I’m to be married.

  I met him today, for the first time. He’s serious. So very serious. But how am I supposed to spend the rest of my life married to a man who doesn’t smile?

  “He’s a good provider,” my mother says. “He graduated top of his class and has already been offered a head position at his uncle’s firm.”

  Great. A good provider. What exactly is it that she wants him to provide for me? Companionship and love are clearly not on that list.

  My cousin married the man her parents picked out for her, and she’s… happy. I think. Sometimes it works out well. And sometimes it doesn’t. How could it in my case? My parents don’t know me at all.

  “Hey,” comes a gentle voice above me. I look up into the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Care and concern are written across his features, and to my demise, I read those before I see the stark white of his collar. Ice pulses through my veins. I shouldn’t even talk to him. He’s the new priest who moved into the rectory last week. We own the house two doors down from the rectory. My parents don’t speak to the Catholics in this neighborhood, but they’re aware that a new priest is in town.

  No one told me he was young, and beautiful, and he has the eyes of an angel.

  “Hey,” I say, looking away. I’m ashamed of my tear-stained cheeks and swollen eyes.

  He sits down next to me, a good distance away, but close enough like he’s showing me his silent support. He doesn’t know who I am or why I’m crying, but he sees someone sad and alone, and he chooses to stay. I turn away and get to my feet. I shouldn’t be alone with any man, most especially not this one.

  I go to leave, but his deep voice arrests me. “No,” he says gently. “Don’t run off. I won’t hurt you.”

  I look at him in surprise. In my home, tears are a sign of weakness. It’s unheard of that an emotional reaction like this garners sympathy instead of ridicule and chastisement. It’s why I hid when I knew I was going to cry.

  “Thank you?” I say tentatively. He gives me the ghost of a smile. It’s so sad, but there’s promise in it.

  “You’re welcome?” he answers my question with a question, and I laugh.

  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tissue, then hands it to me. I nod my thanks and take it. I blow my nose and tuck the tissue into my sleeve.

  We sit in silence. I’ve always trusted my instincts, though. I don’t know him at all, but deep down inside I know he’s a man to be trusted. At the same time, I know this is wrong.

  “It’s my nineteenth birthday,” I blurt out. I feel my cheeks warm. He didn’t ask me, and I wonder if it’s rude to offer this knowledge unsolicited.

  “Happy birthday,” he says.

  I can’t help but laugh. “Thank you.”

  Folding his hands atop his knees, he gives me a sidelong glance. “Something about that make you sad?” he asks. He’s so much bigger than I am, and it looks almost funny that he’s sitting on the stairs like that. He dwarfs them with his stature.

  “My parents introduced me to my future husband today,” I tell him. “I suppose it was a sort of birthday present.”

  “Oh?” he asks. His brows rise. “Is that right?”

  He’s trying not to judge, but this has clearly surprised him.

  “Yes. My family still believes in arranged marriages. Few do anymore, but lucky me, my parents still do. It’s safer, they say, and my parents have been planning my marriage for a number of years. Typically, it happens when a woman is eighteen and a man twenty-one, but they bent the rules, so I could graduate high school.” I’m not sure why I’m telling this stranger my life story, but it feels right. And it feels nice to have someone to share my pain with.

  “I see,” he says, nodding. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t know anything about marriage,” he quips, tugging on his collar.

  I smile. It’s the first time I’ve smiled in days.

  “Me neither,” I whisper.

  We sit in silence for a moment longer.

  “My name’s Noah,” he says after a time, extending his hand to me.

  “Chandra,” I say, and I take his hand.

  His hand is strong and warm, the palm a little callused. When he touches me, my body does curious, wonderful things it’s never done before. My heart races and my mouth goes dry. I don’t even know Noah, but just touching his hand, I feel his innate strength and courage. To my surprise, his own eyes widen and the grip on my hand tightens.

  “Chandra,” he repeats, then swallows. “A beautiful name.” He stops, and I know he’s censoring himself. It isn’t right for a priest to be talking to a young, sheltered girl like me. If anyone knew…

  But he doesn’t let my hand go. I wonder if he feels the vibe between us, the current of energy that moves from his hand to mine, as if something magical and wonderful transfers between us. And that’s only from holding his hand.

  “Yeah,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

  He won’t let my hand go, and I know if he does I might cry… again.

  “Noah… can you imagine being married the rest of your life to a boring, dull, ugly person?”

  He smiles his sad smile again. “No, Chandra. That sounds like Hell on Earth.”

  “Thank you,” I say with a sigh. “It does.”

  I hear my name being called and the voice isn’t far off. I yank my hand from his, suddenly vivi
dly aware of what happens if we’re caught.

  “I need to go,” I say, unable to hide the panic in my voice.

  “Go,” he says, gesturing for me to scurry by waving a hand at me. “Be strong, Chandra. Until we meet again.”

  I wake with a start and blink into the darkness of the room. The dream… no, the memory was so vivid, I can feel tears spring to my eyes. It takes me a minute to realize where I am and when I do, I keep my breathing quiet, and don’t move on the bed. I don’t want him to know I’m awake yet. Is he here?

  I look around the room. When my eyes adjust to the darkness, I look down and see his body on the floor beside the bed. My God. He slept on the floor in the dead of winter? I peer over cautiously. He’s lying on a blanket, with another blanket pulled up over his arms, dead asleep, like a watchdog keeping vigil by my bedside.

  “Noah,” I hiss. Then I roll my eyes. “Axle.”

  Who the heck gave him that name?

  He shifts and grunts but falls back asleep. I reach down and shake his shoulder. “Hey. Wake up!”

  He sits up with a start and blinks up at me.

  I can’t help but giggle. “Sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  He frowns. “What’s up?”

  “For goodness sakes, it’s freezing. Why are you on the floor?”

  He scrubs a hand across his eyes and yawns. “You see any other beds in here?”

  I sigh. “Well, you don’t have to lie down there anymore.”

  He gets up and sits on the side of the bed. “What time is it, anyway?”

  Pulling his phone from the bedside table, he clicks it on. “Jesus,” he mutters. “Seven in the morning.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter, not sorry at all.

  He swipes his phone on and looks at the weather forecast. “Another foot of snow,” he says with a whistle. “No one’s going anywhere anytime soon.”

  My belly dips. I can’t be alone with him much longer. He makes my pulse race. My mouth goes dry and hell if I haven’t replayed that smack on the ass he gave me a dozen times. “Excuse me? Um, no. I’m going home today.”

  Frowning, he continues to read on his phone, then he puts it down and shoots me a stern but kind look. “Not sure about that. I’ll call Tobias in a few.” Looking down at me, his brows knit with concern. “You feeling any better?”

  No, my mind says. But I know he’s asking about my stomach.

  “I think I’m fine,” I say. “Must’ve been something I ate.”

  “Mm,” he grunts. “Maybe. We’ll see about that, though.”

  He’s not buying it, but I’m not entirely sure I know why.

  I watch as he heads to the bathroom, and when the door to the bathroom shuts, I’m alone with my memories. I close my eyes, and my mind fades back to a memory I’ve replayed over so many times, every single detail is vivid.

  I walk into the darkened hallway, and Noah’s pacing. Before he sees me, he runs a hand through his dark hair, making it stand up crazily, like a madman. I scared the hell out of him tonight. I was supposed to meet him at nine, but I got caught up with my friends and I’m so crazy late. It’s two years after I met him, and I’m now twenty-one.

  The man I was supposed to marry broke it off, to my immense relief and my parents’ utter dismay. He eloped with a woman from Canada, and no one has seen him since. It would have been a blessing to me if my parents had seen it that way.

  I snuck away, because my parents would lose their minds if they knew I was celebrating my friend’s twenty-first birthday the American way. I told them I’d spend the night at a friend’s house.

  I didn’t expect that I’d lose track of time, and when I finally decided to head to meet Noah, it was hours after we’d planned to meet. My parents don’t expect me back tonight.

  Noah’s waiting for me. This is how we find time for each other.

  When he sees me in the doorway, he freezes. His stormy blue eyes narrow and I feel the heat of his anger hit me right in the solar plexus.

  “Where the hell were you?” he asks.

  “I…” my voice trails off. This is very different from being in trouble with my parents. With him, knowing I’m in trouble makes my body pulse with electricity.

  I’ve known him for two years. He’s my confidant. My friend. It wasn’t until I was twenty years old that he kissed me for the first time. Our relationship is wrong and it tortures him. I see it in his eyes, the way he fights to stay apart from me. I don’t fight it, though. I’m not tortured. The day he kissed me, I knew I never wanted another man to touch me.

  Noah is everything to me.

  I swallow and walk to him with feet as heavy as lead.

  He crosses the room to me, and we meet halfway. He tangles his hands in my thick, dark mane of hair, tugs my head back and bruises my mouth with his, a kiss so hard it takes my breath away. He pulls his mouth away and presses his forehead against mine. “I thought they took you from me,” he says, a tortured whisper that makes tears spring to my eyes. “What the hell were you doing?”

  I bite my lip.

  “Chandra,” he chides.

  “I went out to celebrate Hailey’s birthday,” I falter.

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I don’t know,” I tell him. “They were drinking. I waited for them to call a cab or something, and I just lost track of the time.”

  He sets his jaw and takes me by the arm. I know what’s coming. He’s threatened me before and popped me on the ass, and hell if I don’t want just this. I need to know what it feels like. I need to know he cares.

  He sits heavily on the bench in the hallway, tugs my hand, and I topple straight over his lap, my legs dangling.

  “Noah,” I protest, my eyes closing tightly so I can handle the flood of warmth and fear that consumes me. “You can’t.” My protest is weak and futile, and I only offer it because I feel I have to.

  He doesn’t respond but pins my hands to my lower back and smacks his hand hard against my ass.

  Apparently, he can. The stroke goes straight to my sex. I’ve been primed for this. He gives me four more firm strokes of his palm I feel straight through the thin fabric of my skirt.

  “Noah,” I groan. No one’s here. No one will ever know what goes on between us. I feel like I need to protest, though.

  With every smack of his palm, I squirm. I wonder if he knows this turns me on, and my cheeks flush at the mere thought. But when I wiggle on his lap, I feel his firm erection against my tummy and I know. It isn’t just me who’s turned on.

  He stops, still holding me over his knee.

  “When you tell me you’ll come at a certain time, you will not leave me pacing here, worrying that someone hurt you when my calls go unanswered. That they took you. That you’re hurting and alone.”

  Shit. My phone was on silent and I missed his calls. I tortured him with my irresponsible silence. Damn, I deserve a harder spanking than this.

  “Yes,” I whisper, and to my surprise, I automatically amend it to, “Yes, sir.”

  He gives my ass one final spank for good measure before he rights me. Taking my chin in his firm grip, his blazing blue eyes burn into mine. “Am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” I repeat, my voice shaky and taut with arousal. My panties are soaked, my heart stutters erratically, and I can barely remember my name. “I’m sorry, Noah,” I whisper.

  He brushes his lips against mine and when he whispers into my ear, I feel the vibration shudder through my body. “I’m sorry I had to punish you.” But it’s a lie. His cock’s so hard against my ass I wonder if it’s painful.

  The door to the bathroom yanks open, tearing me from my memory. I’m turned on replaying it, but it isn’t just the erotic vibe of that first spanking that affects me. It’s more. The shared history brings me comfort, even if it’s buried in pain.

  That first spanking he gave me led to so much more. He tied me up and played my body with every twisted, kinky fantasy he harbored, as if having me at his mercy
would exorcise his demons. It never did, though. The more he unleashed, the more he wanted. The more I wanted.

  I was still twenty-one when he got me pregnant.

  But he never knew that. By then, he was gone. And when I lost the baby, I could never bring myself to find him to share the tragedy.

  “Let’s get you something to eat,” he says, crossing the room. He turns his back to me and goes to a little dorm-sized refrigerator that sits against one wall. Last night, I was overwhelmed and sick and I didn’t really get a chance to look at the room like I do now. The bed is at the center, massive and comfortable. I look to the head and notice the posts with rings attached. My pulse quickens.

  The bathroom is off to the left, and beside the bathroom door is the fridge, a small, circular table, and several cabinets. At the foot of the bed lies a chest, and beyond that, a comfortable sitting area with a small table with a glass top and a cabinet. I want to take a closer look.

  “Chandra.”

  His stern voice arrests my attention. I blink up at him in surprise.

  “I asked you a question,” he says, blue eyes trained on me.

  He’s a member of a BDSM club and a dominant. My pulse races and I swallow hard, twisting my hair in my hands. I have so many questions for him.

  “Yes?” I say, my voice little more than a breathy whisper.

  He raises a stern brow. “How are you feeling?”

  My heart aches, and there’s a lump in my throat that won’t go away, but that’s not what he wants to know.

  “I’m good,” I say softly, looking away. “My stomach is fine now.”

  He’s scowling but gives me an approving nod. “We’re stuck here and can’t get food anywhere else, but I’ve got some stuff that’ll hold us over. I know Tobias has a few things on hand, too, so why don’t we go foraging.”

  “Are you a dom at this club?” My words come out before I can stop them. He swings his gaze to mine, eyes narrowed, while he shakes his head.