He didn't let me near any secrets, and no clear thoughts, but the swarm of feelings was there, the emotions he normally kept bottled up. And . . . he wanted me to feel them. He wanted someone to. He was very lonely, and distressingly uncertain of his role in life, or in his job.
He wasn't sure he worked for bad people — but he wasn't sure he didn't, either. Several of the things about the company sat poorly with him, and he felt like he was adrift in life, not knowing what he wanted to do, or how to go about finding out.
He envied wistfully my — if not my relationship specifically, then the happiness of it, of feeling that I'd found my place at The Shardwell Group, having a romantic partner, having a close, trusted friend in my boss. He envied my certainty, my feeling of safety.
He shut me out quickly then, before I could sense more, and drew back, looking rattled. He ran his fingers through his hair, eyeing me. "That was weird, man. Reflecting things back as you see them in me, just . . ." He gave a little shudder. "Weird."
"But not bad. It didn't hurt," I protested.
"Yeah, but nobody reads me. Nobody." He shuddered again.
"It's not like I can hear your thoughts," I pointed out. It wasn't that offensive, me knowing his feelings. It was damned natural — more natural than hearing his thoughts, at least.
"I'm not used to it. Now let me try, okay?" He put a hand on my arm and looked into my eyes. He looked at me with his mesmerizing eyes. I could almost feel them boring into me, like he was trying to hypnotize me.
"What are you trying to do?" I asked through clenched teeth. My heart began to pound extra hard. He couldn't tell it to stop beating or something, could he?
He was controlling where my thoughts went — I could feel it. He was pulling them in a certain direction. It was cleverly done; he could've suggested out loud the topic he wanted me to focus on, but instead he steered me with his mind only. It wasn't particularly rough, it didn't hurt, and I didn't feel mentally assaulted; it was as if he'd taken my hand and pulled me down the corridor he wanted me to walk. He wasn't hurting me, but I wasn't sure if I could pull my hand free if I wanted to. That frightened me a bit.
In this case, he was taking me to a place I didn't particularly mind. The ESRB. I'd received my training at a fairly good facility; they'd treated me well, aside from a few teachers losing their tempers. I had overall good memories of my time there: the triumph of passing the test (finally), learning how to use my ability and how far it went, and the fun of getting to know Colin, and making out with him, and more.
He steered quickly away from that area, a faint tinge of pink touching his cheek. Some of those thoughts were pretty explicit, and he'd gotten a good whiff of the welling affection and lust in the clearest memories. Colin had been pretty damn sexy. In fact, he almost certainly still was. I hoped I never had to face him again; I would probably always feel a little guilty about that relationship, but I definitely didn't want him back, notwithstanding sexy memories burned into my mind. I had a lot of sexy memories; I'd been with lots of guys. But I didn't want any of them back. I wanted Ell, for life.
"Yeah, okay, I get it," he muttered, focusing harder now on the official training, trying to steer me away from the romantic areas.
"What, does that gross you out?" I teased. "All that disgusting gay sex?"
"Would you concentrate?" He tugged harder now, and I found myself focusing with a concentration I'd almost never managed on my own. My ADHD tendencies made it far easier for me to flit from subject to subject than to sit down and focus on any one thing, no matter how interesting and important. The few times I'd managed to really concentrate had always taken an act of will that was painful — or being right under the gun in some way. Now I was concentrating easily. Damn, he would be a great study aid!
He was going over the processes, the training. He wanted to learn. He wanted to know what the ESRB could teach him.
"You'd get a really high rating; I'm sure of it. Colin wanted to find you."
"Colin?" He drew back, alarmed, concentration broken.
"Not for sex." I grinned at him knowingly, and he flushed more. "You know, that's his job? Working there? They all want to find you, train you and learn from you."
"I know," he muttered. He reached for my shoulder again, but I jerked away from him.
"Just ask," I said sharply. "Ask what you want to know. You see how it works now — so just ask." The mental handholding and focus were getting annoying. I frowned at him, shaking off the mental hold. It had been a very gentle sort of control, really, more suggestion than control, and he hadn't hurt me. But it was still getting old.
He drew back and stared at me, as if he was trying to decide something or figure something out. He seemed surprised that I found it irritating. He reached for me again — I felt it coming, mentally — and I made a swatting motion, as if trying to push bees away from my airspace.
He glanced past me and parted his lips. He wanted to ask me something. I could feel it. His control let me have the slightest bit of access to reading him by more than his blushing . . .
I was breathing harder, fighting him. He still wasn't hurting me, but it was like fighting in a great pit filled with cotton wool. There was nothing to hit . . . but there was no escaping it either. His mind was gentle against me, pressure of a sort. Humiliatingly, I was getting an erection. I didn't think I was turned on, but he must've hit something, some button inside that controlled it . . .
"Stop," I begged.
"Stop fighting, I'm not doing it on purpose," he said irritably.
"Then you need to work on control." I panted hard, adjusted myself, and felt my own cheeks burning. "I don't even like you."
"I know. It's okay."
The painful arousal began to subside as he got more control, or moved to a new area. It was intimate; he was in charge, but I was getting to know him too. He brushed over my brain, my heart, tender with me, feeling things out, wanting to know and understand, wanting information, proof, denial, experience. I shivered suddenly, a strange feeling going over me.
I heard a tiny whimper escape me, and my knees felt weak, my legs wobbly and shivery. I felt myself surrender to him; it was like a bubble popping, as easy and unchangeable as that. He had full access to whatever he wanted of me.
I closed my eyes, biting my lip. I couldn't look at him; he had me now. He had me if he wanted me. It was a strange feeling. It was like going home with someone from the bar, wanting to have a one-night stand — the moment when I let him have me, whatever he wanted, as long as it was safe. I'd agreed; I was giving in; and yet there was fear there, and bravery, and something else, something that was going to make it hard to let go.
He got gentler; I could feel his mental touch grow even more careful. He wasn't tugging me down a corridor now, but I was still breathing hard. His fingers rubbed over my thoughts, caressing gently. He wasn't hurting me. I didn't feel violated — but I did feel exposed, like I was waiting for him to fuck me. It was like that, without the nudity, but somehow my brain was more naked than my body ever could be.
Gently, he reached for that last little bit he wanted, and smoothed again, tender, covering me with a sheet so I wasn't so naked, stroking me carefully.
He began to withdraw. He wasn't going to fuck me after all. There might be kissing, or foreplay, or friendship and a movie; a burst of disappointment mingled with relief. There was his smile in my mind, burned there forever, liking me, a gentle corner, a little hint of him left, comforting me, as if he was stroking my cheek and giving me a cuddle. No roughness; no sex.
I opened my eyes. They were wet; my cheeks had cold streaks down them. "Don't cry," he said, but when he looked at me, he wasn't a stranger. He was a gentle person who owned part of me, and always would, and I knew he wasn't going to hurt me. His eyes were the eyes of a friend or a lover, someone I knew intimately. Someone I trusted automatically.
"D-Did you do something to me?" I tried to fight my way past the muzzy, brain-deadening softness he'd left insid
e me, the way he'd stroked and soothed, comforting me even as he sorted me out inside. I reached up and swiped quickly at my eyes, dashing away the cold tears, blinking at him, staring.
I'd never seen him before, not really. But now I knew him as well as I knew Kevin. Some of the same feelings seemed to be involved, too.
"No, no. You don't have to listen to me," he said quickly, as if to forestall me being afraid. Again I felt him soothing me. He'd left my brain but he still had easy access. He could read me as well as he could read anyone in the universe, and he could touch me without effort or willpower. The slight connection was there, would probably always be there unless he cut it. I was still surrendered to him on some fundamental level, and I probably always would be. Some part of me belonged to him.
I sniffed again and wiped at my eyes. There were so many things I wanted to say to him — and definitely never wanted to say. "Did you get what you wanted?"
He nodded, distracted, and stroked me mentally again, as if soothing a nervous dog, comfort to distract me from my fears. "Yes. You trust the ESRB. That's what I wanted to know. You know, you shouldn't be so down on yourself. You're not so bad, really." I felt his confused approval through our connection. He didn't think it was so awful to be distractible and talkative. He didn't think I deserved anyone's scorn.
He reached out — physically this time — and touched my cheek, wiping a last tear away. "Go on, now," he said with gentle affection, his eyes warm and kind. "I don't want anything else, and I won't hurt you. I don't want to take your boyfriend from you, either."
"I know," I said, because I did. The tie went both ways. I might've surrendered — he might be in charge of this strange connection, and in some way of me — but the polite, tender bond went both ways, and I'd seen into him as well. I knew what he wanted.
He wanted a man of his own, even if he hadn't admitted it to himself, even if he never admitted it to himself. But Ellery wasn't the man he saw in his longings; to him, Ellery seemed small and kind of weak, a fragile person you couldn't invest too much love in without breaking him. You would always be afraid to break him, if you were Martin.
Besides which (and this shocked me deeply), he didn't find Ellery particularly attractive. The blue eyes, the soft hair, the slender, fit body — they did nothing for him. He found me a little more attractive, but not attractive enough to go to bed with, only to recognize, 'yes, he's fairly attractive.'
As far as reactions went, I was fine with that. For him not to want Ellery — or me — went a long way toward making me less afraid of him.
Now he turned to go. Heaven help me, I took a step after him. "You're leaving?"
"Yeah, I gotta think," he said.
I didn't want him to go. "You sure?"
"Yeah. I'll see you around, okay?" He turned back then and looked at me, a smile in his eyes. "I'll call you?"
"Okay." I stopped walking, wrapped my arms around myself, and tried to play it cool. I was still shivering; I hadn't stopped during our whole conversation.
"Take care of yourself," he told me seriously. "There's such a thing as being too loyal. If they burn you out, it'll be you who suffers."
"I'm fine. They take good care of me."
"But if they stop, will you take good care of yourself?" He looked distracted and worried, and a little indignant for my sake. "Those cops sure didn't."
I looked away first. "No." I bit my lip. I wanted to talk to him more, but I wasn't sure what about; I felt tongue-tied.
"I'll call," he promised quietly. "I have your number up here." He tapped his head.
"Are you going to contact the ESRB?" I said.
"Like I said, I need to think. Take care of yourself and enjoy your partner," he added. "It's beautiful here this time of year, isn't it?"
And then he loped away back down the path, hurrying away from me.
I didn't follow. I watched him for a minute. I had the distinct feeling he was embarrassed. Maybe he hadn't meant to go that far down the rabbit hole, to form that bond between us.
But, even though I'd cried, I wasn't afraid or hurt, and I didn't feel any compulsions or implanted suggestions from him. I could read him better than I'd ever been able to before. I listened to his faintly embarrassed, distracted feelings as he hurried away from me, eager for some distance.
Strange kind of one-night stand. Mentally and non-sexually.
I had the feeling the bond was going to last, whatever either one of us wanted on that score. If he needed me, I suspected I'd know it — and vice versa. I didn't know what that said about either of us or what the future held, but as I turned and headed back up to see Ellery and try to tell him what had happened, I wasn't afraid. Not even a little bit — except that Ell would look at me weirdly if I couldn't make it all fit into words.
#
Ellery was really, really angry. With me, with Martin, with the whole universe.
When I found him, he and several of the unobtrusive security men guarding us were looking around for me and Martin. They hadn't seen us at all; Martin must've made them not see either of us while we were busy talking and getting to know each other.
Although I'd dried my eyes and was trying to contain my emotions, Ellery took one look at my face and his fury redoubled itself. I'd been hurt, and he wanted to tear heaven and earth apart and kill the man who'd hurt me.
When I tried to explain that everything was okay, it got even worse. He didn't believe me; he wanted the man shot at dawn. Someone rifling through his memories, thoughts, feelings, and beliefs seemed like the worst kind of hellish torture to Ellery — and it certainly could've been.
He didn't believe I hadn't been hurt, and he didn't believe I was unchanged. He was really upset, almost frantic, and yet coldly fierce, striding around, making phone calls, coming back multiple times to check on me.
To make matters worse, I really wasn't feeling like myself. The visit with Martin had exhausted me, mentally, emotionally, and also physically. I needed a lie down, and eventually I got one. I slept for hours, and didn't wake up till it was dark.
Ellery had his arms wrapped around me, feeling fierce and forlorn. Even without seeing his face, I could tell he'd been crying at some point, too. He wanted to protect me, and he didn't know how.
I kissed him, then we had a shower together, after which we ate a light snack and went back to bed. I was too tired to stay awake.
I slept most of the next day as well, and after that Kevin and the ESRB agents arrived. Ellery had, of course, shared everything I had shared with him. I didn't much like that; it all felt private, but perhaps it was understandable. There was no reason to trust my belief that he hadn't hurt me, hadn't changed me and made me into some kind of undercover mole, programmed to spy or do something else drastic.
Ell spent a lot of time holding me, when I wasn't being checked over by technicians. They wanted to take me back to the ESRB HQ to have more lab tests run on me, but Ell implored, and Kev demanded, and between them and my misery, we prevailed on them not to make me go. I got to head back home. Though I was tired for the next few days, it was more from stress than anything else.
As we settled back into our routine, I still felt a little shaken, but I couldn't see Martin as my enemy. I thought he'd made a mistake getting so close to me, and perhaps it was regrettable, but the bond was there now, distant but in some ways close. I knew he was okay, wherever he was, and I knew he felt chagrined about the whole thing. He definitely hadn't meant to do that. I think he'd also have made some more space between us if he could've; he didn't want me knowing things about him, like how far away he might be or how near. But it was as it was; there was no changing things at the moment.
I got more counseling, lots of follow-up questions and visits from the ESRB investigation agents, who were particularly interested in any new details I might recall or divine somehow about Martin. I was passed as fit for service, and allowed to keep working with Kev, under the proviso that I be given immediate medical attention if anything seemed 'o
ff' or I had some kind of breakdown — even if I had more unexplained exhaustion.
Ellery spent more time holding me than he ever had before. I'd known he was a cuddly person, and I'd appreciated it, but now I got to enjoy the full range of his protective tenderness. I really needed it, somehow. I felt like I was on trial sometimes, that everyone was staring at me, waiting for me to go crazy. I doubted myself a lot, too.
Perhaps Martin really had programmed me to do something bad in the future. It was awful to doubt myself, to not know for sure — me, who'd always known for sure about nearly everyone. To have this doubt on me, about me, was painful.
But after his initial anger, Ellery was my staunchest supporter. Even when I wasn't really in the mood for sex (I know, I know — that doesn't happen often for me!), he was no less loyal about taking care of me, holding me till I could sleep, making sure I ate and exercised, and being gentle with me. He was a tender person, and I began to see the depths of his love and devotion in the thoughtful, concrete responses to my despondency.
Martin's words came back to haunt me sometimes, the way he'd warned me to take care of myself. I was clearly more fragile than I liked to admit.
Only it wasn't the job bringing me down now, it was the doubt.
Ellery was fiercely protective of me all the time. It didn't always show on the surface, but it was always there. He watched me, watched out for me, and worried about me. I wanted him to stop sometimes, but overall it meant a lot to me how much he cared. Not since I was a small kid had anyone really cared that much that I be okay and worked so hard to look after me.
To be honest, I'm pretty sure I was a burden to my mom and dad even when I was little. I was a pretty demanding child, always getting into everything, hyperactive and too aware, and of course, I always knew what they were feeling, about me and about each other.
When they got divorced, I perhaps had more reason than most kids to blame myself. I wasn't the biggest part of it, but my rambunctious, needy nature had definitely come into it. And I knew — I always knew.
SURE (Men of the ESRB Book 3) Page 13
