by Eden Bradley
“What can I do? He left, Marina. He made his decision.”
“He made a foolish decision.”
“Maybe. That doesn’t change anything.”
“I’ve never seen Desmond look at anyone the way he looks at you, Ava.”
“And?”
“And I don’t think you should just let him go. He’s been alone too long.”
“And you haven’t?”
Another long pause in which Ava had time to regret her words.
“We’re talking about you and Desmond,” Marina said quietly.
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Marina.”
“No. Don’t be. I have … my issues. Which makes me all the more certain that you can’t simply let this go.”
“I don’t want to. I want to be with him. God, Marina, if he only knew how much!”
Her throat was so damn tight she could barely get the words out.
“Tell him,” Marina said fiercely. “Tell him how you feel.”
“Do you really think it’ll help? He’s so shut down.”
“Do you love him, Ava?”
“Yes!”
The ache in her heart was a palpable thing, the pain in her chest threatening to choke her. She swallowed, hard.
“Isn’t that worth a try? Love is so precious.” Marina’s voice broke. “Too precious to waste.”
“Marina? Are you okay?”
“Maybe not. But you can be.”
Could she be? It didn’t feel like it. But she didn’t want to run anymore. She had to be brave sometime. Had to face what she feared most: rejection.
“I … I don’t know where to start, Marina. What do I say to him?”
“You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”
If only Ava was as sure. But it felt good to know someone had confidence in her. Maybe it was time to have confidence in herself.
She would do it: find him, talk to him. She had to try.
She was damn tired of allowing life to pass her by. And this was too important. What was more important than love?
“I’ll do it. I’ll talk to him.”
“I’m glad. For you both.”
Ava sighed, tangling her fingers in her hair. “There are no guarantees, Marina.”
“No. That’s the beautiful and terrifying part, isn’t it?”
Terrifying, yes. The beauty would come only if she was able to get through to him. Only if he could love her.
Did he love her? She’d thought he did. She was about to find out. She didn’t want to think about what she’d do if he didn’t.
DESMOND TAPPED his fingers on the edge of his keyboard, trying to focus on the computer screen. But the words blurred together; nothing made sense.
Nothing had made sense to him since he’d walked out on Ava. Not even why he’d left her like that. It had seemed so clear at the time; he’d needed to go. Even if he felt like an ass for the way he’d done it. An ass and a coward.
Christ.
She’d hate him. She’d have every right to. And he couldn’t stand it.
He loved her.
Fuck.
The idea made him break out in a cold sweat.
But he couldn’t have stayed. Couldn’t have led her to believe she could count on him, rely on him, in any sort of all-encompassing fashion. He’d only let her down eventually. And he could not live with that. No, better to live with this searing pain that thundered in his chest night and day. The pain of knowing what he’d given up.
A dream image of Nessie flashed through his mind: her long, dark hair, her pale, staring eyes. Her sweet face expressionless. Lifeless.
That was what happened when he loved someone and failed in his duty to them.
He should never have let this attachment to Ava happen. But it had felt so damn good …
Ava …
No, don’t think about her.
Do not think about her.
A sharp knock at his office door. Must be a delivery. But he wasn’t expecting anything. He got up, ran a hand over his unshaven face, the stubble scraping his palm. Another long rap on the door.
“Alright, I’m coming. Just hold on.”
He yanked the door open. And found Ava standing there.
Her blue eyes were enormous, glittering with hurt. And with anger. He took a step back before he realized what he was doing.
“I’ve been waiting, Desmond. Only you never came. You never called.”
“Ava … I didn’t mean to—”
“No, don’t start making excuses. I don’t want to hear it. All I want are the reasons why you did this to me. I understand your need for control. I understand you have pain in your past that drives your actions. But I never expected you to be …” She paused, her voice breaking. “I never expected you to be cruel.”
Christ, her voice, her accusations, which were all too true, went through him like a knife in his chest.
“No. You’re right. I have been cruel. I’m sorry, Ava.”
“Well, that’s a start, anyway.”
He realized then they were still standing in the doorway, that it had started to rain outside, just a fine mist but wet and cold. “Ava, will you come in? Talk to me?”
“You want to talk, Desmond? That’s good. Because I’m not leaving until I get some answers.”
Oh, she was angry. But she stepped into his office. He reached to take her coat from her shoulders, but she shrugged him off.
“I don’t know that I’ll be staying that long.”
So much fire in her. One of the things he loved about her.
Don’t think about that now.
But what else could he think of, with her standing before him, so angry and so fucking beautiful it broke his heart even to look at her.
You cannot have her. Just apologize. Do what you can to repair the damage.
“Ava, I’m sorry. You deserve better treatment.”
“Yes, I do. But I love you anyway, Desmond.”
Her eyes were absolutely blazing.
His heart hitched. He couldn’t breathe for a moment.
“You love me?”
She took a step toward him. He could smell her perfume, could see the tears trembling in her eyes. Fucking awful. So damn beautiful.
“Yes, I love you. And you love me. Don’t try to tell me any different.”
He bowed his head; it suddenly felt too heavy to hold up. “It’s true,” he said quietly. “I do love you, Ava.”
“Then explain this to me. Explain how you could leave me like you did.”
So much pain in her voice, and he felt like hell. He raised his gaze to hers, saw the tears pooled against that brilliant blue, like the clear water in a summer lake.
His chest knotted, twisted.
“I had to. I can’t … I can’t be responsible for you. For anyone. Not to that extent. One night, a few weeks of play, is one thing. But this … I can’t do this.”
“Desmond, that’s bullshit. That’s an excuse you use to run.” She reached into her hair, her fingers gripping the golden curls. “God damn it, Desmond! You can’t use that excuse forever. You can’t use it with me. Just tell me what’s really going on. Talk to me. Can’t you talk to me, Desmond?”
“I did. I told you about Nessie.”
“Yes, but that’s only the beginning, isn’t it? She’s why you won’t allow yourself to love anyone.”
“I can’t!”
“You won’t.”
“Damn it, Ava, it’s more complicated than that! I cannot make any promises to anyone, promises I can’t possibly keep.”
“Is that what you think? That you’re incapable?”
“Yes. That is exactly what I think. What I know. If I can’t save the people I love, then I don’t deserve to love anyone.”
“I don’t need saving, Desmond. I just need you to love me.”
He shook his head. “It’s never that simple.”
“Stop it! Stop trying to convince me you’re such a terrible person. You may be damaged, Desmond,
but you are capable of getting over it. You’re just afraid to. All of this stuff, the power play, the need for control, it’s all driven by your fears. And it may have worked well enough when you were just … playing with people. But it doesn’t work once your heart is involved, does it?”
He took another step back, buried both hands in his hair. She was right. “Ava, how can you love me, then? How can you love such a coward?”
She saw the pain on his face. His eyes were a dull green glow beneath his lowered lids. And she hurt for him as much as she did for herself. Reaching out, she stroked her fingers over his cheek. He lifted his head, his gaze meeting hers.
She said softly, “I just do. That’s the thing about love. It’s that powerful, Desmond.”
“You’re stronger than I am, Ava, do you know that?”
He covered her hand in his, pressed it to his cheek. Then he drew her into his arms, his hands rough on her. He pulled her in tight, until she was pressed so close to his body she could feel his heart pounding in his chest.
“I’ve been a fool, Ava.”
“I was trying to tell you exactly that,” she said, laughing even as the tears spilled onto her cheeks.
“Christ, what would I do without you?”
“You don’t have to do without me.”
He pulled back, his gaze hard on hers, his eyes blazing. “I love you, Ava.”
Her heart surged, filled, until she felt it might burst from her body. “I love you, Desmond.”
He kissed her then, his mouth a soft press at first. She opened to him, sighed into his mouth as he parted her lips, pressed deeper, until he was kissing her so hard she was breathless, shaking.
He pulled away finally. “I’m so damn sorry.”
“I know.”
“I’ve carried these ideas with me for so long. I’ve been convinced that anyone I cared about was in danger somehow.”
“It’s not true. The only way you can really protect anyone is by loving them. It’s taken me a long time to understand that myself, because of my own past. Love doesn’t have to be perfect. And neither do you. Thank God, because I’m hardly perfect myself.”
“Ah, you are to me.”
He leaned in, brushed a kiss across her mouth. Lovely. Sweet. Perfect.
“Desmond, I have my own history, my own issues. And being with you has helped me work through some of it. I mean, it’s been this long process, and I thought I’d already come through it. And then you pushed through those blocks that were holding me back during bondage play, and everything really opened up inside me. My Pandora’s box, I suppose. And it hasn’t been too bad, facing the old stuff, dealing with it. Because I love you. Because you love me. That’s the last piece of the puzzle.”
“Ah, Ava. Come with me. I need to make love to you in my bed. I need it to be soft and beautiful and sweet. Like you, my Ava. My girl.”
She nodded, and he took her by the hand, led her upstairs. Outside, the rain fell, splattering the windows. The sky was a pale, pearly gray. And the sun was diffused, softened, as it shone through the glass.
They reached his bedroom, and he undressed her slowly, laying tender kisses on her skin as he removed each piece of clothing. And with every kiss she felt loved, cherished, adored.
Finally she was naked, and he shed his own clothes quickly. His arms went around her waist, tightened, and the press of bare skin to bare skin was exquisite. She breathed in his scent, as dark as the earth, that pure and clean. His mouth came down on hers once more, his kiss almost brutal but so full of emotion it made her want to cry again. But this time it was joy welling up inside her, chasing the pain away.
He lifted her, laid her on the bed, her body sinking into the down ticking, his body covering hers. She was wet, needy. But everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, as if in a dream, and she was in no hurry for it to be over.
His hands roamed over her skin: touching that sensitive hollow at her throat, her shoulders, then her breasts. His touch was as sure as ever but more tender than before. And she felt his love in every caress, even as his fingers tightened on her nipples. Pleasure was a languid current moving through her, taking her higher and higher. When he lowered his head over her stomach, his tongue stroking downward in long, lazy arcs, the anticipation was almost too much to bear yet too good to make him stop, to beg for him to hurry. She let her legs fall open for him. Then he was there with his warm mouth, licking at her sex, her swollen clitoris, his hands, his lips, and his tongue creating a steady pulse-beat of sensation moving through her like music. And in moments she was coming, crying out his name.
He made his way back up her body in a trail of hot, lovely kisses, until he was poised over her.
“I want you, Ava. Just like this. I want to be inside you. I need to be a part of you.”
“Yes, Desmond … I don’t need anything but you.”
She felt the tip of his cock poised at the entrance to her body. He kept his gaze on hers as he pushed inside. A long shudder of pleasure made her moan, then he was deep inside her, his hips moving. Desire built and, with it, emotion. She watched his face, his hard features softened by pleasure. By love.
“I love you, Desmond,” she whispered as he moved deeper, pushing sensation into her body.
“I love you, my Ava. My beautiful Ava.”
His hand came up and his fingers curled under her jaw as he thrust, over and over, a slow, rocking rhythm. Inside her body a fire was building, blazing, until she came in a dazzling flash, so intense it hurt.
“Desmond!”
He cried out, tensed all over, came with her, his gaze on hers. So beautiful, his face, his green, green eyes. They clung to each other long after the last waves had faded away.
“I’ll protect you always,” Desmond whispered into her hair, his breath still a ragged pant. “Care for you. I understand finally that I can. You are mine, Ava. Truly mine. It’s you who’s taught me what that means.”
“Yes, yours.” She had never felt so much that she belonged. “It’s what I’ve always wanted.”
And it was true. She’d only ever wanted to belong, to be accepted. To be loved. Maybe she’d had to fight to get there with Desmond, but he loved her. Loved her! It was like some sort of revelation, simply to feel his love. It was like being safe for the first time in her life. Safe. Cherished. Loved.
Perfect.
PART TWO
Soothing the Beast
Marina and James
Chapter One
“SHIBARI IS the ancient art of Japanese rope bondage. But Shibari is about far more than binding someone, rendering them helpless. It truly is an art.”
Marina Marchant scanned the faces of her audience as they sat in their folding metal chairs in front of the main staging area at Pinnacle. The workshops she presented were always well attended, and tonight was no different.
Except for him.
He sat at the back of the room, all dark eyes and brooding, rugged features, a scowl on his face. She thought it might be part concentration, part some sort of inner struggle. Interesting …
Why couldn’t she stop analyzing him?
She cleared her throat and went on. “But beyond even the visual art involved in Shibari, the art of sensation, is the art of what’s happening in the mind. Shibari contains symbols we can all relate to on some level. And I don’t mean only those of us who are interested in erotic restraint, in extreme sex. The psychological symbols involved are fairly universal in Western and Eastern cultures. What does that sense of being held helpless in another’s hands mean to anyone? At the very root of it is the need to be rendered powerless, no matter the individual’s reasons. And those reasons are complicated, layered. Unique. That’s what makes the experience so fascinating. And for some of us, irresistible.”
She saw him lean forward in his chair, his dark, liquid eyes intense, and she had a profound sense of being watched. Not just looked at but watched very carefully. Examined. It didn’t make her uncomfortable, exactly.
> Not exactly.
He was too beautiful, this man. Masculine. Must be well over six feet, and shoulders like a pro football player’s. The tattoo work she could see on his arms, peeking from beneath the sleeves of his simple black T-shirt, looked Asian in design: clouds, water. Gorgeously detailed work. The tattoos only seemed to accent how heavily muscled his arms were. And she did love tattoos on a man. Something so male about them. Something a little wicked.
Nice.
Don’t lose focus.
She pulled her hair back from her face, the long, auburn strands catching in her fingers, and she had an odd surge of self-consciousness. She’d given this lecture dozens of times. What on earth was wrong with her? She let her gaze wander over the others in the audience, a mixed group, men and women of all ages. She’d always loved that one could never look at these people and know what secret desires hid beneath their utterly normal-looking exteriors.
She glanced at him once more, found his eyes still glued to her. She looked away, paused to sip from her bottle of water, before she continued.
“Power play is all about what goes on in the players’ heads. Psychology. Regardless of how it might turn us on. Sex is psychology. What we desire, how we respond.
“I believe it’s important to explore your own desires, your own responses to different stimuli, in figuring out what you want, why you want it. The ritual of Shibari should lead you to a greater understanding of yourself, but that will happen only if you take the time to see beyond the idea of simply being bound, or of binding someone else. Make it as much an inner journey as it is a physical experience, and you’ll reach the deepest levels Shibari can take you to.”
She continued with her lecture, recommended books to read on rope bondage and meditation, passed out a list of information resources. And he watched her the entire time, the beautiful man in the back of the room, his large body a powerful, enigmatic presence.
Who was he?
She wound up the lecture with an invitation to the Shibari demonstration she was giving the following month and a brief question-and-answer period. But she could hardly keep her attention on what she was saying. She kept seeing him in the corner of her eye, his short, black hair, his dark, watchful eyes. The small scar over one eyebrow, another along his jaw, making him seem even more purely masculine.
