Their Discovery (Legally Bound Book 3)

by Rebecca Grace Allen

  “Come for me, pet.”

  His head dropped back, every tendon in his neck standing out. The chains jingled as his release tore through him, his moan guttural, liquid spurting hot and thick and getting everywhere.

  Never in seventeen years had she seen him come like that.

  With a smug grin, Sam gently slid the toy free and placed it on the edge of the towel. Shutting off the vibe, she wiped her hands and cleaned him off. “Feel better?”

  He didn’t answer. His head was mashed against the other arm, he was shaking and his breathing wasn’t slowing down. This didn’t seem right. Was it the ring? Was it hurting him? He was softening now, so she slid it off him and tossed it to the side.

  “How’s that? Okay?”

  Still no response. Sam’s heartbeat skipped a few times, then crashed together all at once.

  “Are the straps too tight? Is it your knee? Hold on, I’ll get them off.”

  Quickly, she fussed with the restraints, unbuckling them and freeing his arms and legs. He folded over onto his side and curled up in a ball.

  Sam’s gut clenched. Was this normal? She put a hand on his arm. “Brady?”

  He flinched, then sat up, his back to her. “I need to…I can’t—I’m sorry.”

  He got up, hastily grabbed a shirt and went into the bathroom. He slammed the door, leaving Sam in silence, confused and alone.

  16

  Brady didn’t know what he was doing, other than that he needed to move. He had to get away from where he was, and the bathroom seemed the safest place to be.

  The door shut behind him, he turned on the shower, dropped the shirt he’d grabbed for no reason and stepped inside the tub. The water hadn’t heated up yet, and he startled at the chill before stepping back, crossing his arms and lowering his head.

  What the hell had just happened?

  He stared at his feet, at the water pooling there, and heaved in a breath. He’d loved everything in the moment, the chains, the way Sam looked above him—all of it. It was his wildest fantasy come true. So why did he feel like he was about to puke?

  The shower stall steamed up. Brady doused his head, then washed off the dried jizz that was stuck to his pubic hair. Once he’d worked it out with this thumbs and forefingers, he turned around, widened his stance and pulled his butt cheeks apart. The stinging burn made him hiss, but he stayed put, letting the water course over him and trying to ignore the strange emptiness there—the result of being stretched and penetrated.

  Penetrated. Christ. The reality of having done that sent a shudder through him and made him nauseous at the same time.

  It didn’t make sense. He’d been craving this. Asked for it. And Sam had given it to him. This should’ve been a no-brainer, like a math equation or line of code: pleasure plus fantasy-lived-out equaled happy. But Brady’s skin was crawling, and he couldn’t hack into his brain to figure out why.

  Turning back around, he crouched under the nozzle. Stupid tiny shower. Except it was him who didn’t fit, not the shower.

  It was kind of hysterical. He was a six-foot-five giant ex-athlete who liked being demeaned and ass-fucked by his wife. Not that the ass-play bothered him. And bothered wasn’t even the right word.

  Something that bothered you was something you wanted to stop.

  Not something that gave you the hardest orgasm of your life.

  He’d never been overwhelmed by sensation like that. Even before it happened, he knew it was going to be intense. The pleasure was so startling he was almost scared to come. And what hit him must’ve been what a tsunami felt like. Dragged along by the most powerful force he’d ever experienced, he was helpless to do anything but give in.

  Helpless. That’s what he was. Completely and utterly. And she’d seen it.

  He shook again, remembering the way Sam had mimicked him, the sharpness of her voice. She’d done it before, but tonight was different. Meaner. And the crazy part was he’d never told her about liking that. Hell, it was something he’d never said out loud at all. Having her laugh at his desperation—it was his deepest, most secret desire, and somehow she’d picked up on it like he’d blasted it across cyberspace, hacked it into every website known to man.

  How many times had he had his dick in his hand and thought about being made fun of like that? Dozens? Hundreds? And why now, after living out the real deal, had he wanted to curl inward, to crawl under the blankets and hide away? He’d never felt his submission as deeply as he had in that moment. Chained up. Unable to escape. Body and mind caught in a battle between desire and shame.

  If he was Luke and this was Star Wars, this would’ve been the scene when the Emperor tries to bring him over to the dark side with those electric jolts from his fingers. Except Luke liked it. And the Emperor would be a hot redhead instead of a creepy, wrinkly old guy.

  Jesus, what was the matter with him?

  He doused his head again.

  Back when his submissive desires first surfaced, they were fantasies, nothing more. And at least he’d had football to even him out then, to make him feel like a man. Now he didn’t know how to feel. He’d wanted this, but doing it in real life was different.

  He shut off the water, got out and wrapped himself in a towel. He should talk to Sam, but he couldn’t face her yet. He plunked down on the bathmat instead, balanced an elbow on his knee and rested his cheek on the heel of his hand. His fingers dug into the scarred ridge above his ear. Brady rubbed at it, wondering if he could sew some stitches over his desires so he didn’t have to talk about them.

  He didn’t want to talk. He’d let her take him apart, and he was still like that, a big giant mess. He didn’t feel like a man, a husband, didn’t feel like anything strong at all. He was Humpty Dumpty, and he didn’t know how to put himself together again.

  There was a soft knock at the door. “Brady?”

  Bile and anxiety swirled. He picked up his head. “It’s open.”

  Sam came inside the room dressed in her robe. She twisted her necklace around, and if he’d been in a better mood, he would’ve joked that it looked like she was afraid the necklace would vanish if she let go of it.

  But he wasn’t in a better mood. And it was weird to see her unable to talk. It made him even more uneasy, to not know how to fix this. He was too big for this space, scrunched between the wall and the toilet. His legs filled up half the room, and yet he felt small and unguarded.

  “Did I do something wrong?” she asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “Is it because of what I said about the kitchen?”

  “No, God no.” That had been funny, actually.

  “Then what did I do?”

  “Nothing.”

  Her bottom lip quivered and her shoulders sank. She looked so damn defenseless, and suddenly everything between them reversed.

  “Hey, c’mere,” he said.

  Before he could tack on a please, she was on the floor with him and in his arms. Having her looking to him for comfort, it felt right—felt balanced.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he breathed into her hair.

  “Then why did you run out like that?”

  He held her close, found something solid to hang on to in the feel of her body, even though the ground beneath him was still shaky. “Don’t wanna say.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m uncomfortable.”

  “About what?”

  He didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to say anything that would make him seem weak to her.

  Sam lifted her head. She shifted in his lap, reached up and touched his face.

  “Trust me with your secrets,” she said. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

  Jesus, wasn’t that his job? To keep her safe, and not the other way around? That was what a real man did, what their wedding rings said. He was supposed to take care of her. This was why Brady liked things simple. Computer languages. Meat and cheese. Love your kids. Take care of your wife. But none of this was simple anymo
re, and her gaze was a tractor beam, forcing the honesty out of him.

  “Do you still see me as a man?” he asked.

  Sam’s brows pushed together. She searched his eyes and caressed his cheek. “Of course I do. Why would you ask me that?”

  Because she hadn’t said she loved him in ages. Because he didn’t fucking know how to navigate this place—how to be a husband and a father and a force to be reckoned with at work while spending as many evenings as possible begging his wife for mercy.

  “Tell me,” she said softly.

  He bent forward and buried his face in her hair. He was terrified to show her this side of himself, but maybe getting it out in the open would chase these demons away.

  “Because I’m supposed to be the man. The protector. Stronger, or whatever. How does this—” he waved his hand toward the bedroom, “—work when you’re the dominant one? You’re already so much smarter than me. Don’t you see me as…”

  His mouth went dry.

  “…weak?”

  “You’re not weak. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re kind of huge. You could pick me up and toss me in the toilet if you wanted to.”

  She was trying to be funny.

  He wasn’t laughing.

  “That’s not what I mean,” he said, acid churning like he’d eaten a bad burrito. Why was it so hard to talk about this? “I know you said you didn’t like guys to be dominant in your books, and clearly you like it the other way around in bed, but I’m worried doing this makes you see me differently. That me being submissive makes me…” What was the word she’d used tonight? “Pathetic.”

  “It doesn’t,” she said. “And who cares what we like? It’s just us. Just me.”

  “But it’s you I’m worried about. That’s why I never told you about wanting this.”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “I do, it’s…”

  She waited and he swallowed. Good thing they were near a toilet, because what he was going to say was making him sick.

  “I like it when you make fun of me,” he whispered. “It’s a kink I never understood—how being embarrassed sometimes turns me on.”

  “Embarrassed, by anyone?”

  He shook his head, wrapped his arms around her. “Just you, like this.”

  “I embarrass you?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “When?”

  “In college. When you had to remind me about things.” His mortification had churned and mixed with her smile, with her pride when he got things right, with the ridiculous heaven he found in her body. “When you’d show me off to your friends. And tonight, when you pointed out how turned on I was and asked me if I’d forgotten I couldn’t come yet.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked on the words.

  “No, no.” He held her more tightly. How could he make her understand something he barely did himself? “It’s not a bad thing. I mean, it’s bothered me lately, when you get annoyed at me, but it’s different when we’re like this.”

  “It is?”

  He hated that she sounded so unsure. “Very different.”

  “How?”

  It made his body respond in ways he couldn’t deny, gave her ultimate ownership over him, taking him to depths of pleasure even when he was fighting against it. “It’s complicated. I hate it when you poke fun at me outside the bedroom. But when you provoke me, in there, as my Mistress—” he swallowed, “—it does shit to me.”

  “Good shit?”

  He huffed out a breath. “Really good shit.”

  She smiled slightly. “I…think I knew that about you.”

  He was that cartoon character again, an anvil smashing his head. “You did?”

  “I saw it, in college. And the last few weeks. Tonight definitely. I thought you just really liked it.” She sighed and sagged against him. “I should’ve asked if it was okay to talk like that. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  That was a shock. She’d felt like a practiced Femdomme to him from the get-go.

  “If it helps, you’re doing an amazing job.”

  “I am?”

  “Yeah.” He let his head drop against the wall as he said it. As exhausted and worn out as his body was, a heady pulse of desire for her was still there.

  It had always been there.

  He looked at her. She was still frowning.

  “But you know,” he said, “you’re all I have to compare it with, so you could totally suck and I’d never know the difference.”

  Sam picked up her head, her eyes narrowed, lips twisted into something that was half a smile, half irritation. Brady laughed nervously until she shook her head and chuckled.

  “Why do you do it?” she asked.

  “Do what?”

  “The jokes.”

  “’Cause it’s easier.”

  “Easier than what?”

  “The truth.”

  The half smile she’d been sporting melted away. Now he was the one to shake his head. “See? That’s why I joke. I say something serious and you’re not smiling anymore.”

  “Why do I always have to be smiling?”

  “Because I love making you smile.”

  Sam’s frown deepened. He was sure her brows were in danger of becoming permanently stuck together. “That’s why you joke around so much?”

  “Yeah. It’s the best thing in the world when you smile. Even better when you laugh.” It made his heart swell, made his stomach do flip-flops. It was his favorite damn sound in the world. “No matter how bad things get, how angry or distant we become, if I say something funny, and it makes you laugh, that’s a win. You’re happy, and I did that.”

  She put her hand on his cheek, stroked his beard and kissed him tenderly, lightly. He leaned into her. Inhaled her scent.

  I love you, Sammy. More than anything. Don’t you know that?

  She pulled back and studied him with those deep brown eyes. “But you said the jokes were easier than the truth. What’s the truth, then?”

  Brady sighed and grinned. “Busted.”

  She didn’t grin back. He looked away, but her hand was still on his cheek. She took his chin in her fingers, nudged his head up and made him look at her. “Tell me, pet.”

  It took a few beats before he could obey. Calling him pet was sexual. And what he was about to say wasn’t. “You know sometimes it’s hard for me to concentrate.”

  “I do.” Her tone was gentle. Soothing. “Is it getting worse?”

  “No. I’ve been dealing with it. It’s not as bad as Allegra’s.”

  It seemed strange, to mention their daughter’s name, the struggles they shared, while they were half-naked on their bathroom floor. While Sam was Mistress and he was pet. It blurred the lines, made Brady even more confused about when their roles snapped into focus and when they didn’t.

  “It’s just, you’ve gotten really mad at me for it lately.”

  Okay, now her brows were pinched so tightly together he was afraid she was going to hurt something. He had to keep going, though, to blurt this all out.

  “I have issues. I accept it. I don’t always…get everything you’re saying. Not that I don’t understand your words, I mean, of course I do. They’re English words. I know what they mean.” He was babbling. Shut up, Brady. “But sometimes you throw more at me than I can handle, and my mind is somewhere else, and then I forget things and disappoint you.”

  Her face softened. “You never disappoint me, pet.”

  “But what about when I’m not your pet? When you’re not my Mistress but my wife?”

  “Aren’t I both?”

  “I…guess?”

  He sighed. This was why he never talked. He never felt like he was getting anywhere.

  Sam stroked his cheek. “I get what you’re saying. Sometimes I get frustrated, but that’s all. And you are smart. You do things with computers I don’t even understand. You built a business out of nothing, just what’s up here.”

  She tapped his head gently as she said it
, then stroked over the scar beneath his hairline.

  “I’m sorry you feel this way, though.” She turned in his lap and hugged him. “How can I help?”

  That felt good—her cheek against his, her lack of frustration at everything he’d said. Her offer to help.

  “That list you gave me today helped. So I could keep track of what you needed me to do.” It worked at Helios—support tickets, emails, visual reminders. “That’s what you used to do in college. You’d write me stuff on those little heart-shaped Post-it Notes.”

  She pulled back to look at him. “You remember that?”

  “Yup.”

  Her big, beaming Sam-smile returned, bright enough to light up the room, to chase away his insecurities.

  She leaned in again, kissed his cheek and hugged him. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

  17

  “You cleaned? There’s definitely no more germs?”

  Sam sighed into the phone. “Yes, Mom. I’ve sanitized every surface, and it’s been days since anyone has coughed. You’re safe.”

  “Did you close the windows?”

  “I only had them open for a few.” It had been Sam’s attempt to enjoy the first semblance of nice weather they’d had. And to get some fresh air in a house that she’d cleaned this morning after having it shut up as a sick zone for the past two weeks. She’d cleaned the toys in her fancy UV cleaner, too, not that they’d gotten much use.

  “Good. It’s going to rain.”

  The sky was bright blue. Sam shook her head. Ever since her diagnosis, her mother believed she could predict the weather, and it was something Dad fed into. Sam was looking forward to their company, though, and not only because it was her father’s birthday. They’d stuck with the food delivery service, so she hadn’t seen them as often, only visiting intermittently to help clean.

  “Get over here, then. Before the girls eat Dad’s cake.”

  She’d gotten a store-bought one instead of baking like she usually did. There’d been no time for making anything other than chicken soup and tea lately. Hope had caught a nasty cold that managed to hit everyone in the house except Sam. As a family, they’d gone through about thirty boxes of tissues, any sexy-time with Brady halted because of the excessive amounts of mucous. He’d pushed her away with a joke at the worst of it, telling her to hide, to save herself.