Bonds of Courage

by Lynda Aicher

  Only then did she back into the far corner and lower herself to the floor. The tile was cold on her bare bottom, the wall hard where it pressed in her shoulder blades. Both were solid reminders of the world that existed on the other side of the door.

  A shiver passed through her, the sweat cooling on her neck. She hugged her legs tighter, but warmth evaded her. The scent of the two of them reached her nose, her deep inhale pulling it completely within her, where she held it until she was forced to let it go.

  Like him.

  It wouldn’t work. He’d shattered the distance, and now she had nothing to protect herself with. Nothing to keep him defined within this space.

  Why had she ignored her better judgment? Arrogance? Curiosity? A self-imposed test? Well, she’d failed.

  She’d had intercourse with him. Had given herself while she’d taken. He had no idea what it meant. No idea that she never had penetrative sex with her clients. Orgasms, yes. Many had serviced her, but few were allowed in her.

  And it’d been so good. Better than...

  She shook her head, shoving the thought back out. This was her space. Those other men who’d stolen her choice and trust didn’t get to ruin it. The truth that they already had wasn’t lost on her. Time dulled the memory. Counseling eased the pain. But nothing overrode the emotional triggers that left her cold and shaking.

  Nothing until Holden. For a while, her past had remained where it belonged. She’d felt Holden and let everything go except him. She’d been in the moment and not the past.

  Another shiver raked her, and still she sat there. The dim light masked his sleeping form in a halo of outlines and shadows that softened his features. Time ticked by in a silent passing marked only by blinks and the tingling numbness that invaded her bottom.

  Yet she waited until he finally shifted. A small groan escaped his lips as he turned to his side, and she bolted up. Sharp stabs impaled her sleeping lower half, but she lifted her chin and lowered her shoulders, preparing.

  The knot in her stomach had turned into an icy ball that chilled everything. She was at the side of the bed when his lids fluttered open. A lazy smile formed on his mouth when he focused on her.

  “Hey.” His voice was raw and gruff.

  She grabbed the bottle of water from the small side table and gave it to him. “How do you feel?” Her voice was the opposite of his. Smooth and controlled, the presentation falling into place from years of practice.

  He shifted onto an elbow to take a drink before answering. “Like a puppet that lost its strings.”

  His answer warmed her, and she longed to brush that lock of hair off his brow, to kiss his red lips and crawl beneath the covers to find the heat of his skin.

  She handed him the tube of cream she’d placed by the water. “Rub this into your bottom. It’ll lessen the bruising. It shouldn’t be bad, but there will most likely be some.” The ache in her throat threatened to destroy her composure. But she swallowed past it. “You can stay here for as long as you need. Be careful when you stand, and drink plenty of water. You can show yourself out when you’re ready.” She spun away, her heels clicking her departure in a steady cadence that rang hollow in the room.

  “Wait.”

  She ignored him until she was at the door, gripping the handle too tightly. Her job was done. Her duty as his Mistress was complete. The open confusion that marred his brow when she turned around stole the contentment from his face and blared her failure. He wanted more from her, expected more after the intensity of their Scene, but she couldn’t give it to him.

  His mouth worked. A flash of anger passed before his head sagged, the defeat worse than any words he could’ve said. After a moment he looked to her, his expression blank. “Thank you, Mistress.”

  The words contained the lilt of respect she expected as a Mistress. But in that instance, the complete lack of scorn in his tone scuffed over her raw heart to expose her lies to herself.

  The silent standoff held for only a moment before she tipped her head and left.

  * * *

  Son of a bitch. Holden flopped back on the bed. His hiss was instantaneous as the throb of pain pulsed through his entire backside in a fuck-awesome reminder of what Vanessa had given to him.

  The pleasure, the pain, the dominance that’d wrung him dry and left him flying.

  Her cordial demeanor just now was precisely as it’d been in almost all of their meetings. But it was wrong here. Off in a way that had him blurting another curse at the ceiling. Not that it helped.

  He scrubbed his face, the action rough, but it brought no answers. The warm buzz he’d woken with faded away as he lay there.

  What the hell?

  Was this it? A one-time deal never to be repeated? Or was this her way? Without a contract, he didn’t know if or when they’d play again.

  Damn it.

  She frustrated him to no end, but he still wanted her. This. Everything she’d given him that night.

  He supposed a docile submissive would get dressed and leave as fast as he could. But he wasn’t docile. Never had been. A passive attitude didn’t get him into the NHL. Tonight had confirmed he loved submitting to her. She’d fucking owned him when she’d been paddling his ass.

  A small squirm was all it took to send the dull thud in his ass into a blazing sting. Perfect. Add the vision of her riding him, and his dick was twitching for a replay. Maybe it was his dry spell that’d made it so spectacular. Not. He rejected that thought before it was fully formed. He’d skipped sex before during his years of playing and he’d never passed out after coming when he’d gotten laid again.

  Hell, vanilla sex had never taken him to the place Vanessa had opened for him.

  Never.

  He rolled out of bed and took a guess at where the bathroom was. He found the magic door on his first try, which wasn’t hard, given it was the only door in the room besides the exit.

  The hot shower helped to quell the tremble that plagued his legs. He stood there for a long time, letting the heat do its job. The pebbly beads of water massaged the twinge in his shoulder and pulsed over his neck. He was in shape, but his arms weren’t used to being stretched over his head for that long.

  But it all felt good. Every ache was a reminder of what he’d given to Vanessa. Of how she’d so completely mastered him.

  He followed her directions and rubbed the cream over his sore backside after he dried off. A thorough inspection in the mirror before his shower had shown the blurred outline of a rectangle across the center of his ass. A part of him didn’t want it to go away. But the thought of the ribbing he’d take if anyone saw a huge bruise in the shape of a paddle across his ass was enough to have him applying a second coat of the cream.

  He snorted and shook his head. He was pretty certain none of his teammates would understand this need of his.

  The loose cargo pants scratched over his sensitive skin when he slipped them on. The damn jockstrap provided zero protection for his exposed cheeks. You have so much to learn, grasshopper. He chuckled at his errant thought, slipped his shirt and sandals on and headed out of the room. His gait faltered for a second at the absence of the chastity device. Had he become used to it after just a day? Not really, yet he felt oddly bare now that it was gone.

  He hadn’t expected to see her as he came upstairs and he wasn’t surprised when the house echoed in empty silence. Instead of turning left toward the front door, he headed for the kitchen. The house was dark, the sun having set a while ago, based on the time on the microwave.

  The shakes had left, but the residual lethargy remained. He’d forgotten to snag another bottle of water downstairs, so he took a quick look in her fridge for one. The bright light showed an array of sodas, yogurt, vegetables, chocolate—he paused at that. Six different brands and types of chocolate bars were stacked in a neat pile on the mid
dle shelf next to the milk.

  Temptation or guilty pleasure?

  He smiled and grabbed a water bottle. The stool at the island bar squeaked in protest when he sat down to drink his water in the dark. He was playing a risky game, but no victory was ever achieved by being cautious. Well, none that he’d ever won.

  Balls out and full checks, that was what he knew, but he was also smart enough to adjust his play to match the tactics of his opponent. Brute force only got a player so far if he didn’t play with his head too.

  He pulled his phone out and was debating on what to text when the soft tread of footsteps reached him. He turned his phone off, and the room sank back into darkness.

  The usual click of heels was oddly absent, replaced by the almost-silent fall of feet. He resisted the urge to turn around as she entered the kitchen. The hairs on the back of his neck danced with the knowledge of her presence.

  A beer would’ve been fantastic right then. It might’ve strengthened the bravado that had fled when she’d entered the room. But all he had was water and the confidence that this was the right move.

  “The door is down the hall.” Her crisp voice was the same as before, the Ice Queen persona firmly in place. And it was bullshit. He’d seen the fire she contained and it still fucking burned him.

  “Yup. It is.”

  Her sigh hung in the air. He was getting good at her waiting game. He assumed most people cracked and started to babble to fill the void, but he’d never been a big talker.

  “The Scene is done. Please leave.”

  The water was cool as it flowed down his throat. He set the empty bottle on the marble then clasped his hands, going still. “But we’re not done.”

  There was another long pause. The house creaked and the soft tick of a clock counted out beats from somewhere. Headlights glowed against the trees outside as a car passed on the street. And he didn’t move.

  “I take it you want to talk about something?”

  He smirked at the try for boredom in her voice. Or was it impatience? He turned around then, the chair giving another whine of complaint as the seat swiveled.

  She leaned against the wall, arms crossed in a defensive hold over her chest. Gone was the sexy Domme outfit from the playroom. In its place were simple black yoga pants that ended in a flare at her knees and a red tank. One foot was propped on the wall behind her, both feet enticingly empty of the heels that seemed to define her.

  This wasn’t the businesswoman or the Domme. This was simply Vanessa, the woman. The extraordinary woman who held the world at bay. Part of her shield was missing, and he prepared himself for the volley of biting words that might be used to accommodate for the weakness.

  Not that he saw her as weak. He could never see her as that.

  Her lips were pulled thin and her brows were lowered, ready for battle. He cracked a small smile. He’d seen that look before. She was trying for hard mixed with casual, but there was a vulnerable vibe coming from her that he’d never picked up on before. One he wanted to ease.

  His mouth went dry despite the water he’d consumed. Somehow he’d earned another level of her trust. It was the only explanation for why she would allow him to see this private, unguarded side of her. The understanding was another twist that wound him closer to her and he made a silent vow to prove to her that her trust wasn’t misplaced.

  “Thank you for tonight,” he said, sincerity lacing his tone with the truth. “It was everything I’d hoped for and more.”

  She glanced down, a quick duck of her head before tucking her hair behind her ear and looking up. The lack of light didn’t stop him from catching the brief smile before she wiped it clear. “Good.” The crisp word was accompanied with a sharp nod. “Did any of it not work for you?”

  He withheld his smile at the implication that there’d be another Scene. Why would she ask if she didn’t want more? He thought about it carefully, going through each part of the Scene and analyzing his reactions. She didn’t push him, and he finally gave a small nod. “Yeah. There was one thing.”

  “Okay. What?”

  “The ending.”

  She shoved away from the wall, her arms falling to her sides. “What part?” A frown marred her brow and the concern in her voice warmed the cold spot that had settled within him since she’d left the playroom.

  He stood then, careful to keep his distance. Without her heels, she was over a head shorter than him. Intimidating her with his size wasn’t his intention. He pitched his voice low, quiet to match his emotions. “The part where you walked out.”

  She sniffed but continued to hold his gaze. “I stayed until you woke up. I made sure you were fine. Your aftercare was seen to before I left.”

  “By definition, that’s true,” he conceded. “But it’s not what I wanted. Not completely.”

  The chill that came through the air was almost tangible. Her entire body tensed, hands fisting and jaw tightening in time with the flat expression that dropped over her features. There was no more than six feet separating them, but she was pulling away, even if her feet didn’t move.

  “Then what did you want?” The tightness to the words fit her rigid posture. She was being cordial, but he longed for the fire. The heat he’d felt just an hour ago.

  “You.” He ached to step closer, to push, but he held his ground, putting the emotion in his voice. “I want to wake up in your arms. I want to hold you or be held—whichever works for you. I want to give something back to you. Cherish you for what you gave to me.” He shook his head and wiped a hand over his mouth. “I can’t do that if you’re not there.”

  Her breath seemed to come in faster puffs, but he couldn’t be certain. His were, though. He’d laid it out there and he wasn’t backing down. Was it a hard limit? It just might be now that he knew how awful it was to wake up alone. But he also wouldn’t let her use it as a way to end their play.

  “I don’t require that,” she said, her words soft but empty.

  “Maybe. But I wish to give it to you anyway.” He swallowed, his throat raw with hope and fear.

  She glanced away, a big inhale pushing her chest out before she turned back to him. “How do you feel now? Does your bottom hurt too much?”

  The breath he’d been holding eased out of him. She had a way of making him do that. It was like he was constantly skating too close to the blue line, staying just outside, waiting for the puck to cross before he could break and go after it.

  He let his smile show. Hell, he couldn’t have kept it back if he tried. “My ass hurts like a bitch, but it’s all good. Great, actually.” He dared a small step forward, encouraged when she didn’t retreat. “You were amazing downstairs. I can’t...” He shook his head. “I can’t put it into words, but you gave me what I’ve been craving for so damn long.”

  “Did you use the cream?”

  “Yeah.” He wasn’t fooled by the topic change but went with it anyway. “Thanks.”

  “Good.”

  “What can I do to thank you?” He pushed now. “To show my appreciation?”

  Her smile when it came was soft and genuine. His heart did a flip and he promised himself right there that he’d get more of those out of her. “You already did when you gave yourself to me.”

  “No,” he insisted. “That’s not enough.” Not for him.

  Her sigh pierced the air between them. “I don’t cuddle, Holden. I wasn’t raised as a touchy-feely person.” She crossed her arms again, shrugging. “It’s not me. I can’t give you that.”

  He respected what she said. Not everyone was raised with the constant hugs and love that he’d had. Yet he wanted like hell to show her how good it could be. How a simple hug could change a day and what a touch could mean.

  And that wasn’t going to happen tonight.

  Switching plays, he lowered himself to his un
injured knee and bowed his head. “Thank you, Mistress. The Scene was perfect. With your blessing, I would love to have another Scene with you.” He kept his eyes down and his breath steady, despite his racing pulse. He was back at the blue line, waiting for her to dump the puck in.

  His eyes squeezed closed in silent thanks when her feet came into view. But it was the touch of her fingers threading through his hair that tore the breath from his chest and sent his heart into overdrive. He arched into her touch, chasing the chills that raced down his scalp, hoping for more.

  “What am I going to do with you, Holden?” Her question was mumbled more than asked, and he was smart enough not to answer, even though he wanted to scream, “Keep me.” She made another pass through his hair, her fingers raking the strands away from his face in an idle caress. “Next Friday. Be here at seven.”

  Fuck yes. A wave of pure relief flushed through him and he leaned forward to press a kiss to her hipbone. The fresh scent of soap and laundry detergent flooded him. Simple and pure. So different again from her musky perfume, yet just as much her. “Thank you, Mistress.”

  They weren’t in the playroom, but she was very much his Mistress right then. In truth, it didn’t matter what she’d said. A part of her was always his Mistress, no matter where they were.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Vanessa flinched, the ring of a cell phone startling her out of her zone. Damn. The ringtone had her sighing. Why in the hell was she sighing so much lately?

  She snatched up the phone and answered it. “What, Liv?”

  “Hello to you too, sis.”

  Her sister’s chipper tone had Vanessa biting back another sigh. She rubbed her brow and dug up the patience that had evaporated somewhere around last Friday night. Or was it last month?

  “Hi, sis. What can I do for you?” Her tone was better this time.

  “Rough day?”

  “No worse than usual.” She glanced at the headlines on the computer screen and silently groaned. Baby claims were nothing new, but they were still a pain in the ass to manage. Most often they were false, not that the public cared. An allegation equaled a verdict by the majority unless the scam was quickly shut down or revealed.