by Skylar Kade
“Gabe…”
Her sigh beckoned him closer to the bed. Now he could make out a darker form huddled against the headboard amid a frothing sea of pillows. Great, Hope just had to be in the Victorian-themed room. Kat liked to rearrange the settings to keep the rooms interesting, but why did she have to bring this one back? It was too frilly for his tastes.
Give him a bed, cuffs and a willing woman. He didn’t need all the accessories and toys packed into this room, though some of them could be fun.
The room’s shadowy shapes coalesced into real objects as his eyes adjusted further to the darkness. The four-poster bed that sported restraints already at each corner. The stocks opposite the bed and the adjacent throne, both perfect for spanking.
Maybe the room wasn’t so bad, minus the lace and ribbons adorning the bedspread and pillows.
A rustle of the comforter drew his attention back to the bed. “I guess there’s no more avoiding this conversation.”
“You’ve got that right. Hope, you left me with so many questions to ask. And apologies to give.”
She groaned. “Don’t try to take all the blame for this. I made my share of mistakes too.
“Our relationship wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t all rubbish.”
Her voice small, she said, “No, I guess it wasn’t all bad. The first month, at least.”
He didn’t ask for, or want, clarification on that as he sat on the edge of the bed. Hope tucked her head down to her knees, her shoulders rigid. He hoped she wasn’t crying. He’d hold her through her tears, of course, but they flashed him back to childhood when his mother cried herself to sleep every night and all he could do was listen through the wall and try not to cry himself. Which was easy considering how efficiently his father had beat the tears out of him.
When she’d cried before, she’d always get so angry at her tears, which only made the situations worse. He needed to break through to her before she started crying. Time to pull out the big guns.
“Hope, look at me.”
The back of her head shook, her dark cherry hair swaying with the motion. Her shudders got deeper and her sharp, inhaled breaths stabbed him like knives. He snapped his fingers.
“Hope. Now.” His voice snapped like a bullwhip.
Her head jerked up and her green eyes were glossy with unshed tears. “What?”
“Tell me why you left the meet and greet.” Her eyes ducked away. He snapped again. “Look at me when you answer.”
She obeyed—good. Hope needed the eye contact to remain grounded, as he vividly remembered.
He toed off his boots while he waited. Her eyes never broke from his as he scooted closer, framing her body with his knees and taking her cheeks into his hands. “What made you so uncomfortable?”
“You,” she whispered.
Ouch. He dropped his hands to her knees.
“I came here this weekend to meet Katrina. Redesigning Maison Domine would be a huge résumé booster, at least for my kinky clients.”
“I’m well aware of that, and I won’t break my promise to you. But if you recall, that was part of an exchange. You and I were to sit down and talk. And I didn’t mean about the weather. We’ve got some unfinished business, cara.”
Her body seemed to deflate, all the rigid tension of her muscles melting away and leaving her boneless to slump against the bed. The tears gently falling down her flushed cheeks had him paralyzed until her ragged breathing pulled him out of the stupor.
He’d only heard her breathe like that once, right before she passed out from a panic attack. Right after they’d made love for the first, and last, time.
They’d fucked, a lot, but never made love. After their last time together, she’d cried and hyperventilated, her tears triggering some of his own panic.
He still didn’t fully understand what set off her anxiety, but he knew how to help, this time at least. Gabe had done quite a bit of research after she’d left him.
Shifting to lean against the headboard next to Hope, he pulled her into his body and settled her between his legs, ignoring the poorly timed erection that appeared at first contact with her.
“Let it out, baby.” He wrapped his arms around her to draw her in closer. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
She shook her head, tears dropping onto his arms. “I don’t think so, Gabe. Not happening. We can talk, but later. Just leave me alone now.”
Well, that was new and different. He loved her fire, her stubborn anger, but he’d never seen it directed at him. Whenever she’d been sad, lost in her own thoughts, she’d mentally retreat.
His heart swelled. She might not open up on her own, but she wasn’t in a meltdown. Good girl.
Unfortunately, he knew, even from their short time together, that she’d feel purged after talking about whatever was on her mind.
“Hope, speak.” His voice cracked the air.
She shuddered in his arms and shook her head more vehemently. “Dammit, Gabe, you can’t go around using your Dommy voice on me. I thought I made it clear—I don’t want or need your help right now.” Tears eased down her cheeks but her voice was lined with steel.
Her tears could undo him, but he wouldn’t let her down this time. He knew what she needed. Whether she’d resent him for it remained to be seen.
In one swift motion, Gabriel pinned her on the mattress beneath his own weight. Her wriggling had blood rushing to his cock, already straining against his jeans.
Always in check, always in control.
“Gabe, you asshole, don’t even think about it!”
He chuckled. A man could get used to that kind of sass, especially if he got to spank a lovely sub ass for it. “You know your safe word. And you know you’re free to use it whenever you want. But until then, you’ll do what I ask.”
She struggled more, growling and glaring at him.
“Hope, you don’t have a choice in this. And if you curse at me again, I’ll put you over my knee.”
She froze and pressed her lips together, though her eyes still flared in anger.
He lifted his weight bit by bit to see if she’d move. She didn’t. She looked…resigned, dammit, but at least she seemed ready to share. Or at least what passed as her version of sharing.
Reaching toward the top right post, he snagged the attached cuff and bound her wrist before tightening the strap.
“How dare you—”
He cut her off with a glare and an arch of his eyebrow. “I see you’ve missed being spanked.”
Her jaw tightened but she didn’t speak again as he repeated the process until she was spread-eagled on the bed.
She was possibly more temptation than he could handle right now, and part of him knew he wasn’t doing this just to get her story, but nothing had felt so right since she’d run off.
Making love to her had been like riding his Harley on the open road, freeing and satisfying to the core. He might have been able to forget her if not for that night. He needed to make amends before he could move on.
That, and the minor little issue of being in love with her.
He stood from the bed. “Hope, why did you leave the dining hall? You know it was disrespectful.”
She nodded stiffly but didn’t answer.
“So, why would you do something so…disappointing?”
She shuddered, and he almost felt bad for using the d-word. But she—they—needed to clear the ugly air and this was a good starting point.
She snapped, “I need to keep a professional front around Ms. Lamont. I need this job! Between moving and taking care of-of my business, I’m not exactly flush with money.” She took a deep breath.
Her eyes were still wet with unshed tears, though she’d stopped crying. Good.
Gabe leaned over and kissed her forehead, his lips lingering on her soft, smooth flesh. “Brava. That’s my good girl.”
Caressing her damp cheeks, he said, “Why were you arguing with me in the first place? You know that in a place like this you need to either be o
pen to play or belong to someone. But you will not wear your cuff, not even as a deterrent to other Doms.” He knelt hip to hip with her. “Is your plan to play with some stranger while you’re here?”
“No!” She looked away and swallowed, the lean muscles of her throat beckoning his tongue.
“Are you sure, because that’s the only answer that makes sense.”
“Yeah, that’s me, hussy of the club,” she scoffed. “Gabe, I haven’t been in the scene for two years. Hell, I haven’t even had sex in two years…” Her voice trailed off and her cheeks turned pink.
He tried to ignore the implications of that statement. “Well, in that case, the cuff would be a good way to ensure that you’re left alone by other Tops here.”
Shuddering, she replied, “Work has to be my only priority.”
“I know, cara. I know. But did you ever stop to think that maybe being overworked and stressed might not be good for your health? I remember the sallow look to your skin, the bags under your eyes, the shine missing from your hair in the days leading up to it. You ran yourself ragged working for that design company, and starting your own business is even more stressful.
“I won’t let that happen to you again,”
“I can take care of myself just fine!”
He leaned in. “Then why are you so jumpy around me, little rabbit? You act like a woman who needs release. And I’m offering you that very thing.”
“No—no distractions.”
He grinned with satisfaction. “Then wearing the cuff fits your needs perfectly. You won’t have to waste a single minute turning down Doms who approach you.”
Her mouth opened then snapped shut. “Fine. You got what you wanted, now let me go.” She pulled at the restraints.
She didn’t seem to like the look of his grin because she glared at him once again.
“I’m not done with you just yet. That only takes care of part of my concerns.”
She remained silent.
He preemptively began unbuttoning her shirt only to reveal the sexiest black lace bra he’d ever seen. It pushed her breasts together like an offering, and her skin looked even creamier by contrast. He barely stopped himself from kissing every inch of her torso, more from logistics than self-control. He couldn’t get the bra off with her hands bound.
“Front closure,” she whispered, face turned away.
His eyes flashed to her profile and back to the bra. Hot damn. He took her words as encouragement and undid the clasp, revealing her smaller but still shapely breasts. God, his mouth was watering. Her pert, pink nipples begged for his tongue.
Somehow he remembered his goal was answers. Arousal could be a means to an end, but nothing more until she ’fessed up. “Where have you been the last two years?”
No answer.
Her pupils were dilated, her breathing heavy. She wouldn’t admit it—stubborn girl—but she was getting as aroused as he was.
He straddled her waist and pinched one breast then the other, turning the skin pink. The tension in her arms eased when he stopped, so he did it again, same spots but harder this time, and her arms strained against the cuffs.
“Arizona,” she panted.
“Why?” he asked, pinching and holding the skin closer to her nipple this time.
“Because…oh God…family issues!”
Her nipples were red and erect, her breathing shallow, her cheeks flushed. She was beautiful, all right, but when she was aroused, the woman was a goddess.
“Good girl,” he praised before leaning over to kiss the reddened spots on her skin.
Why couldn’t she have told him that before she’d left? He knew, from her quick disappearance, that she’d been planning to move for at least a few weeks—almost half their relationship. She hadn’t wanted to include him in her life and that stung.
She arched her back, offering herself up to him, and he couldn’t help but groan his approval. Nor could he stop himself from taking one tight nipple between his teeth, despite the ache in his chest.
“Gabe, more,” she breathed.
He was nothing if not accommodating. The sheets rustled as he adjusted, shifting his weight so he did not crush her.
He laved one nipple then the other before stopping.
She groaned. “You can’t stop now!”
“Try me,” he said, giving her a dead-serious look. “I’ll trade pleasure for answers. Pain, if that’s what you need. But we are going to have this talk now. The talk we should have had the night we made love.”
“No…”
Her protest faded into a high moan when he straddled her and bit down on the skin of her breast and sucked. He wanted to leave his mark on her. Primal, yes, but he needed it.
Which made him think of the ugly scar he’d seen on her thigh the first time they’d made love. The scar he’d ignored for too long in their first relationship, even though he suspected where it had come from.
At the time, Gabe had hoped it was a recent injury that would eventually heal, hoped that his suspicions were wrong. He’d learned otherwise, knew it would still be ragged and raw, but the knowledge burned in his gut regardless.
He skimmed his hand across the spot and Hope froze, shaking her head and silently mouthing “No.”
Even now, the scar would have to wait. It was too soon to rehash her past. Instead, he skimmed his nails down her torso, leaving pink trails behind. She shuddered beneath him.
“So, you leave for two years without so much as a goodbye. And then, suddenly, you’re back and working like crazy.”
She nodded.
He leaned down to get in her face. “Why didn’t you tell me anything? I wake up one morning, and you’re gone. I go to your apartment and it was already up for rent. Gotta admit, cara, that was rough.”
A tear tracked down her face and he kissed it away. She sobbed, and more tears poured down.
There was her catharsis. Good.
“Gabe, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for all of it.” Her words were swallowed by sobs, and he stretched out to release the cuffs, wanting to end the session, to hold her while she cried.
“No, leave them! I need…”
“Then keep talking. You know how good it feels to get it all out.”
He rubbed her arms and shoulders, uncomfortable with her tears but knowing they were necessary. He’d done all she needed for now in restraining her, giving small bits of pleasure-pain. Now he had to soothe her while she purged her tension.
Not the hardest task, touching her. He smiled. It had always been like that when they were together. He couldn’t keep his hands off her, even if only to rub her neck or hold her hand. She had to be the best contact high in existence.
Hell, she kept his demons at bay, a miracle in itself.
Chapter Five
Hope swallowed her pride because the weight in her chest had gotten so bad of late. Yes, therapy had helped, but Gabe was right—she’d been running herself ragged and not giving herself any outlet for all that tension. Not even her orgasms relieved her like they used to.
“I need to talk, Gabe, I do, but I don’t think I can do it alone,” she managed through a throat clogged with tears. She tried to banish them, hating the weakness they represented.
She recalled her Master’s voice berating her for her tears until she breathed more steadily.
Only Gabe had ever encouraged her to cry, to let it all out.
“Two years of therapy, and I still hate talking about my feelings. Hate crying even more.”
“Guess leaving taught you something.” He twisted a nipple and hardened his voice. “But that’s not enough.”
His hands shot arrows of pain through her body. They purified, cleansed, cleared her mind. With a deep breath, she answered. “My mother was dying.” The idea was still foreign to her, unreal.
His lips thinned, but he said nothing. He laid a chaste kiss on her lips, the comforter rustling beneath him, then grabbed her jaw in his hands. “Crop or paddle?”
“Crop,” she
decided.
“That’s my baby.”
Her heart fluttered at his words. She grimaced, but there was no denying the thrill of satisfaction that zipped through her emotions.
She wanted the sensation. She wanted to feel something other than the yawning emptiness of a life without her mother. A life with Gabe so close but still out of reach.
He moved to the dresser across the room. Drawers opened and closed, out of her line of sight, and then Gabe was beside her with a thin, flexible crop in hand. The leather strap was substantial, but not too wide. Her breath jumped from her chest, and her eyes drifted closed.
Smack! Fire streaked from her right breast and her eyes shot open. Gabe was scowling at her.
“No drifting off into la-la land. We’re going to talk.”
She gulped and nodded.
“Good girl,” he said and laid another strike against her breast.
God, the pain was so good. She could feel anxiety’s claws loosen from her chest.
“Now, Hope, why did you leave without telling me about your mother?”
Tears gathered behind her eyes but she forced them away. “She was dying, Gabe. Brain cancer. There was nothing anyone could have done for her.” With a crack, he landed the crop on her left breast, just barely missing her nipple. She writhed against the cuffs until the pain disseminated.
So good. The bite of the crop made her focus on the moment, let her lose herself in something other than the stress of her daily life.
Gabe used the crop to tilt her chin up to him. Little good it did—she was past the point of being able to focus on anything. “That was not my question.”
She wasn’t ready to answer, didn’t want their time to end. She purposely replied with a noncommittal “Mmm” and got another swat for her efforts.
The silence stretched on.
Fire exploded against her flesh, the rat-a-tat-tat of the crop loosening her lips, sending heat searing to her pussy. “I didn’t want to burden you,” she said, drunk on the sensation.
“That’s what I was looking for.” A soft thud on the carpet and then Gabe freed her wrists. A second later, he cradled her in his lap, running a soothing hand across her breasts. “A trip out of town isn’t a burden,” he said. “At the very least, I could have been with you at the beginning.”
