Traded for Love

by Michelle Hughes

  “Sort of.”

  “I'm surprised, considering what he did to you.”

  “It was just as much my fault as his. I let things get too far.” She toyed with her sausage links.

  “He didn't know what he was doing. I hope I never see the bastard again.” I went to the fridge for orange juice and returned with the carton and two glasses.

  “I think he just needs to learn how to handle a sub properly.”

  “Well, I'd prefer it if you weren't the one to teach him.”

  “It'd be fun,” she remarked with a smirk.

  “Getting sick isn't fun. If you're asking me, I'm saying no.”

  She brought her eyes up to mine. “I'm not asking.”

  “I see.” I frowned and tried to swallow more of my dinner. “I don't like him, but I'd put up with him for your sake; if that's what you want.”

  “I do.”

  “I'd like to supervise,” I said. “Just until—”

  “No.” She took her first bite of her rapidly cooling food.

  “I'll worry.”

  “Don't.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I pointed out. “You're not the one watching the person you love go off with a jerk who's mistreated her.”

  Her hand froze. She stared daggers at me. “You used the word again.”

  I sat back and wiped my lips with a napkin. “Relax. You know it doesn't mean the same thing it used to.”

  “Are you sure?” She set down her fork. “I want to see him again. I'd like you to let him come back to the club. I'd like him to dominate me again, but not until you've spoken to him.”

  “That's going to be a little difficult.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the last time I saw him, I laid him out.”

  She grinned. “Did you? Really?”

  I grinned back. “I punched him right in the face.”

  She picked her fork up and resumed eating. “He'll get much worse before I'm done with him.”

  I quirked a brow. “What are you planning?”

  “Nothing.” She smiled at me. “Nothing at all.”

  (Jack)

  I scrolled through a thousandth article about D/s relationships. The words turned blurry as eye-strain took over. I rubbed my closed eyelids, then checked the clock.

  “Jesus,” I whispered.

  Like I had every single night for the past week, I'd spent hours upon hours posting and searching websites to learn more about being a Dom. I'd never known how seriously people treated it. I'd never seen it as a job, but everything I read indicated it was a big responsibility.

  It hadn't been easy to begin my search. My pride had been wounded by Drake, but I'd be damned if I was about to lose to him.

  Not seeing Chastity again simply wasn't an option. I had to see her. It was vital to my happiness and my sanity. Since the last time I'd seen her, she'd been the only thing on my mind. The memory of her naked body, her smell, her voice, all of it haunted me.

  On more than one occasion, I'd used those vivid images to bring myself to edge. The only problem was, I'd get there and not be able to finish. For some reason it felt wasted if she wasn't there. It meant nothing if I couldn't use her.

  The web had been an informative and impartial teacher. Its denizens didn't judge, and if they did, ignoring them was just a matter of clicking a button.

  I spent most of my work hours learning things I didn't know before. A lot of it seemed unnecessary to me, but then again, the way I'd done things before had gotten my sub sick.

  Closing my laptop for the night, I still wasn't sure I trusted myself to do it right yet, but I realized I had no way to test my skills.

  Julia had more or less vanished, and I wasn't about to go looking for her.

  Finding a new slave at this point, and on short notice, didn't seem feasible.

  I wandered down the hall to our bedroom. Emily stood at the mouth of the bathroom wearing a pretty satin camisole with matching shorts. She was running a brush through her wet hair. When she saw me, her eyes grew wide, and she quickly averted her gaze.

  She crossed to the window, stood with her back to me and continued to groom.

  In the previous few days, she'd been silent around me. She hadn't demanded any explanations or hounded me with a lot of female nonsense. I liked this Emily. This Emily reminded me of the one I'd met and first subjugated.

  It'd been a while since she'd truly excited me, but her silence and her vulnerability enticed me to go over and set my hands on her shoulders.

  Startled, she jumped. Her pulse quickened under my hands.

  “You look beautiful,” I whispered in her ear.

  She shuddered and sniffed. “Please leave me alone.”

  Trust was one of the issues approached multiple times in the literature I'd browsed.

  I knew that if I wanted her to obey again, I would have to re-establish our bond, and that meant giving her some of control back.

  I slid my hands off her shoulders. “I won't touch you unless you let me,” I whispered. “I just wanted you to know I thought you looked nice.”

  Her breath caught. It was obvious she was surprised.

  I left her thinking and went into the bathroom for my own shower.

  Under the hot water, I thought of Chastity, and how all of this was for her: the self-training, the buttering up of the wife I didn't love, the work I was about to do to make sure I never made her sick again. She was worth it.

  (Emily)

  You look beautiful. The words made my chest ache. It was the first time in a long time he'd said those words. In my heart, I wanted to believe he meant it.

  He'd stopped touching me when I asked him to. That was totally unlike Jack. He did whatever he wanted, took whatever he wanted, when he wanted it.

  I could scarcely believe it. Just days ago he'd attempted to force himself on me. He'd done it in the past … and met with little resistance. I'd accepted his will, because I'd assumed it was my duty.

  This time, though, his entire manner had been different.

  I'd demanded to be left alone and he'd listened.

  Was he turning over a new leaf? Did he really want to fix this? Why had he been so cold during our fight if his aim was to confess and move on with just me?

  I considered that it might not have been easy for him to reveal what he'd done, and that it could have been painful for him just like it might have been for any other person.

  Person was the operative word. Jack was more like a beast. Could a creature like him even feel the pain of guilt?

  Questions. They were all that was left over when I thought of him.

  I lay in bed, listening to the shower run.

  How was it possible that the moment he took his hands away, I wanted them back on me? He'd hurt me. He'd reduced my role in our marriage to that of a slave, yet all I wanted was for things to go back to how they'd been before the fight. No … earlier than that. I wanted things to go back to a time when we were happy.

  I could see us being together and happy once more. Maybe if he promised not to do it again, I could forgive him. The question was whether I could rebuild my trust in him.

  The shower turned off and he came out of the bathroom, a steam cloud rolling out after him.

  I hadn't said much to him in the past week. I hadn't been ready. Now it seemed like it might be easier to try. But what was there to say?

  Maybe the key wasn't to say, but to do.

  He decided to come to bed naked, something he hadn't done in months. My carnal instincts were screaming. Besides being as handsome as ever, he smelled amazing, like cologne, deodorant and soap. The mixture of those freshly administered potions made resisting even more difficult.

  The bed sunk as his weight settled down on it. Everything in me wanted to forget what had happened and pounce him.

  I eased over to his side of the bed. “Are you awake?” I whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  Employing some of my dustier intimate techniques, I presse
d myself against his back. “Are you tired?”

  “A little.”

  I softly kissed the defined ridge of his shoulder-blade. He rolled over, and his lips were so close, that I could feel his minty breath on my cheek. His eyes were half-lidded as he smiled. That serene, drowsy expression only increased his appeal. “Can't sleep?”

  “Mm hm. I was thinking we could … ” I traced a finger over his collarbone.

  He took my hand in his, usually such a forceful gesture, but this time the opposite. He pressed his lips to the back of my hand. “I want to, but I think we should be patient and take our time.”

  I couldn't have been more shocked. Patient? Taking our time? Who was this guy and where was the man I married?

  “You … don't want me?”

  “Believe me, I do.” He guided my hand down his stomach. I gasped when my skin brushed his. He was hard as a rock. “We need to sort things out. I want things to be right between us. We'll start tomorrow. Until then, this will have to do.” He kissed my hand again, then threaded his fingers with mine. “Goodnight.”

  It was enough to both charm and confuse me. There had never been a time since I'd known him that his satisfaction didn’t trump everything else. My heart leapt in my chest. Even though he'd turned me down for sex, in a way, it was exactly what I wanted.

  I couldn't help but feel that this was the beginning of something good for us. Something new.

  Return to Sender

  (Drake)

  I watched Chastity stir from across the kitchen. Her arm muscles flexed every time she brought the spatula around the inside of the mixing bowl. It was her first day back, so naturally, I kept a keen eye on her.

  She set the bowl down and wiped her hands on her apron. “I don't like it when you hover.”

  I folded my arms over my chest. “How did you even know I was here?”

  “I just knew.” She went over to the mixer and began scooping heavy cream into the mixer bowl.

  “I can't help it. I'm just making sure you're okay.”

  When she turned, her eyes were dark, as they usually were when she was irritated. “I'm not a child. I had a cold not the plague.”

  “You had cold symptoms,” I replied. “And all because of that—”

  “Shh!” Her eyes were wide as she nodded her head toward Leroy, who was making bread nearby.

  I sighed. “Right.”

  She frowned. “I hate the way you are sometimes. You're not my father.”

  “No. I'm not, but I care about you.”

  “Don't remind me.” She went back to her batter.

  Incensed, I pursued her. “What's wrong with someone caring about you? Why can't you accept it?”

  She resumed her folding motion with the spatula. “You know how I feel about what we have.”

  “I don't exactly like being reminded of that either. I still love you, in a way. You mean a lot to me.” I set her hands on her shoulders.

  She gently moved my hands away. “I need to smoke. Will you come out with me?”

  “Sure.”

  We went out back. The silence was painful as she smacked her pack of cigarettes against her palm, took one out and lit it. I waited patiently for her to take the first drag.

  “I don't want you to tell me you love me anymore.”

  “Well, it's true. I love you as a friend, one that deserves to be cherished. And I won't lie to you or to myself about it.”

  “I just want you to stop saying it, okay?”

  “So, I'm supposed to just keep quiet? Not saying it doesn't make it untrue.”

  She stared at the ground as the smoke from her cigarette curled in the air. “Has it ever occurred to you that I don't want to be loved?”

  The words struck me directly in the heart. I licked my dry lips. “Everybody wants to be loved.”

  “Not everybody.”

  “Is this what's been going on in your mind this whole time? For all these years?” I shook my head. “You haven't wanted me to love you? Not even as a close friend?” The volume of my voice rose before there was anything I could do to stop it. “You don't want me to do anything for you? Or care about your well-being?”

  “Stop it, Drake.”

  “You mean something to me. You always—”

  “—I'm not worth it.”

  Any words I'd decided to say suddenly flew out the window. I was speechless. “Not worth it?”

  “You heard me.” Her eyes were twinkling, and it occurred to me that I'd never seen her cry. I'd also rarely heard her shout. She was normally pretty soft-spoken.

  “Bullshit.”

  “I mean it,” she said quietly, tucking the filter of her bad habit between her lips.

  “Why would you ever think that?”

  “Because I can't love you back. When you say shit like this, it just frustrates me. It just reminds me that—I can't … ” The twinkle migrated over her cheeks. “Every time you say the word, I feel … ” She sniffed and her eyes lifted to meet mine. “It makes me sick.”

  “I never asked you to love me back.”

  “You did once. You know I couldn't then and I still can't now.” She sighed and wiped her face on her sleeve. “I hate having this fucking conversation. I hate thinking about this.” She threw her cigarette on the ground and crushed it under her toe. “Promise me you won't ever say it again.”

  I swallowed hard. Everything about the promise felt wrong. “I can't.”

  “God damn it, I don't understand you, Drake Savage. I really don't.” She turned her back on me. “You swear you love me. You love me, but not enough to promise me this one thing.”

  “I can't make that promise because you need to hear it. And you need love, even if you don't want it; even if you can't feel it; even if you can't give it back.”

  She spun and faced me, and on her face there was an ardent hatred I'd never seen before. “You have no right to decide what I need!”

  Her voice echoed across the parking lot and back.

  The door opened behind us, breaking the ensuing silence.

  “Oh man. I need me a cigarette bad,” Jerome said to himself, stepping out beside me. He was oblivious to what he'd interrupted.

  I gritted my teeth. “Shouldn't you be watching the counter?”

  “Margot's got it for a while. I'm having a serious nic-fit.” He took out his own pack and began feeding on a death stick immediately.

  Without a word, I turned and went back inside. I hated ending it on that note, but I couldn't think straight, and I was sure Chastity couldn't either, not in her state of mind.

  I busied myself finishing the batter she'd begun, and put it in the oven to bake.

  After a few minutes, both Chastity and Jerome came back inside. In Chastity's hand was a long, thin, teal box. She walked through the kitchen, went into my office and closed the door behind her.

  There was no way to resist following her. I let myself in and saw her sitting in my chair with the box open on my desk. Inside something gleamed up at her.

  “He sent me a bracelet.” Her voice was toneless, as if she was unsure of how to process it. “Tiffany's. Not cheap.”

  I managed to keep my rage at bay, but my words still came out heated. “Doe?”

  She nodded. “He left me his phone number, too. How cute. I'm assuming this means he's sorry.” Her head ticked to the side.

  “I'll bet he is. As long as it means he can get his dick wet again,” I spat.

  “I don't think that's all there is to it.” She lifted the bracelet out and let it dangle from her fingers.

  “What do you mean?”

  “There's a desperation. When we're together, he almost … bursts at the seams. It's like there's something bigger inside of him struggling to get free.”

  “Poor idiot's probably falling for you.” I was sure the spite in my voice didn't escape her notice.

  She chuckled. “Already? We've only known each other a few weeks.”

  An ache filled my chest, the source of which I co
uldn't pinpoint. “It doesn't take long.”

  Her eyes met mine. They'd softened since we were outside. There was something in her, too, something that wanted to come out—despite the fact that nature had forbidden its existence.

  “What will you do?” I asked.

  “When I see him again, I'll give it back.”

  Part of me was relieved. The other part hated that she wanted to see him, a man I hated, one that had once and, if given the chance, would again treat her like garbage.

  “If you really want me to, I'll allow him back in. You'll have to tell him yourself. I don't think I could look the guy in the face without decking him.”

  “I know.” She snickered as she closed the jewelry back into its box.

  “I'm only doing it 'cause … ” I swallowed the end of my sentence.

  Her face was sweet, sympathetic. “I know …. Thank you.”

  (Jack)

  “Your approval numbers are a little low.” J.B. said over the top of the portfolio in his hand.

  “Low?” I leaned back in my office chair. “That doesn't make any sense.”

  “You opted out of the gala last week. Several key supporters were there and were … disappointed, that you couldn't make it.”

  I scoffed. “Bunch of piranhas in this city. They all want something out of me. I've made promises I'm not sure I can keep.”

  “It's not like you're going to be mayor. At this level, all they want is for you to represent them in certain cases. The worst thing you're looking at is helping them get around a few zoning regulations to fit their agendas.” J.B. closed the folio and dropped it on the desk. “Look, I'm going to be honest with you. You're going to have to kiss a little ass to get your numbers up. You have to stop ducking out of public appearances and parties and get these people on your side.”

  “Yeah.” I picked up the folio. “I just hate it, all this brown-nosing. It's not who I am.”

  “Well, it's who you've got to become to get into politics. There's no other way nowadays. You've got money, but not enough to fund a presidential campaign and afford everything you already have. You have to play ball, Duncan, just like the rest of us. You think the president got where he is without bending over for the people with the cash?”

  I tossed the folio aside. “I guess not.”