Masks of a Tiger

by Doris O'Connor

  "It’s okay. You were dreaming. It’s okay. I’ve got you." She repeated the words over and over until he relaxed and shifted back to his human form. The trust in her tear-stained eyes when he looked at her blew him away, and she clung to his shoulders when he picked her up and carried her back to the bed. She melted against him, and he nuzzled into her neck, while his hands explored her body, the man as anxious as the tiger to assure himself he hadn't hurt her, when he'd been half asleep.

  She grabbed his hair and pulled his head up, stilling the frantic movement of his hands.

  "It's okay. You didn't hurt me."

  His relieved loud exhale of pent up breath raised her fringe, and she giggled. Such a light-hearted sound, so at odds with the situation they were in, that his own lips twitched in answer.

  "I'm sorry. I haven't lost control like that in ages."

  "Do you want to talk about it?" The whispered question hung between them, and Grisha suppressed a curse. No, he didn’t want to fucking talk about it. What he wanted, needed to do, was lose himself in her delectable body, to finally dispel the last remnants of his old life, but he owed her an explanation.

  "I mean, you don't have to, but I recognize a nightmare when I see one." Her voice was so low he had to strain to hear her, and the pain behind those words made his soul ache anew for the woman in his arms. Seemed they both carried secrets, and they would have to open up to each other. Now seemed as good a time as any. He willed his hardening prick to behave and sat them both up, so that their backs rested against the headboard.

  "Why would you recognize this kind of nightmare, sweetheart?"

  She tensed in his arms, and his tiger whined his distress. Their eyes connected, and Grisha cupped her face and kissed her nose.

  "I tell you mine if you tell me yours?" She smiled at his attempt to lighten the mood, but a shadow ran across her face, and he could sense her withdrawing into her protective shell. He would let her for now. Perhaps, once she heard his story, she would be more willing to share hers?

  "You asked me earlier, whether it hurts when I shift?" She nodded, and some of the tension went out of her. He smiled at her and laced his fingers with hers.

  "It doesn't now, but the first time I shifted … da …it hurt like hell." She squeezed his hand and scooted closer to him. The subconscious gesture soothed the old hurt and gave him the strength to continue.

  "I had no idea what was happening to my body. I was just a little boy, a very confused little boy, whose body was changing into a monster."

  He smiled at her outraged gasp in response.

  "You're not a monster! How could you ever think that? And surely your parents would have told you what you are?"

  "I'm sure Mama would have done, had she had any idea that shifters even existed. My father left her before she even knew she was pregnant with me. And he never told her he was a shifter."

  "What a bastard!" Righteous indignation came off his little tigress in waves, and the invisible burden of his past lifted off him in one fell swoop.

  "That would be a pretty accurate assessment, though Mama never blamed him."

  Her exasperated, "Harrumph," made him smile.

  "Then she's a better woman than me. I'd have hunted him down and strung his useless balls up on a piece of string for the birds to pick apart."

  Grisha laughed in genuine amusement, and her eyes narrowed in disgust.

  "Seriously, tell me you didn't let him get away with that! And how did you find out what you were in the end?"

  "I eventually told Mama. We figured it out together. It was an interesting time in my life. After her death, I went a bit crazy." Neeve squeezed his hand again, and a lone tear rolled down her cheek. She seemed tense again, and Grisha knew that he would have to get her to talk about her own past. It clearly had a far too strong hold on her still. He continued his tale.

  "I did hunt him down, but it was too late to get any answers out of him. He'd died the year before, having pissed off one too many people. They didn't string his balls up for the birds, but it came close." She scooted closer still, and he opened his arms. She wrapped herself around his torso with a small sigh and dropped a kiss on his chest, right above his heart. Grisha sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the feel and scent of her, the connection between them heating his blood.

  "I spare you the details, but it was perhaps for the best. I was in a pretty fragile mental state as it was. Killing my own father might have just finished me off."

  He knew the minute the words left his mouth that it had been the wrong thing to say. She gulped in a breath, and her body went rigid as every muscle locked. She pushed against his chest, and he could feel the wetness of her tears soaking his skin.

  "Tell me about it, sweetheart. What happened to you?"

  "I … I can't. You'll hate me." Her voice was a mere whisper, and he tightened his hold on her.

  "I could never hate you, sweetheart. Tell me, please. Trust me."

  ****

  The growled words settled straight in her bruised heart, and Neeve knew she had no choice but to continue. He had trusted her with his past, so the least she could do was share her own demons with him. Who knew Grisha carried such burdens behind the polished façade he showed to the world? His at times halting confession hadn't been the carefully controlled speech of the playboy Dom she'd thought him to be. When she'd woken up next to him, she'd been terrified. Half shifted he seemed completely out of control. She'd recognized the agonized screams for what they were: a tortured soul caught in the midst of a terrifying nightmare that had proven to be all too real. How many times had she herself woken up, covered in sweat, heart pounding in her chest, skin clammy? If she were a shifter no doubt she, too, would have shifted in her dreams. Her heart ached for the terrified little boy he must have been, back then. But she was glad, oh so very glad, he had not killed his own father. That brought with it nightmares no amount of therapy could ever erase.

  She risked a peek up at his dark features, and the quiet understanding and acceptance in his eyes soothed some of her anxieties. He ran one of his hands slowly up and down her spine, the touch of his calloused hand reassuring and arousing in equal measures. She wanted him again, and judging by the force of his erection nudging her thigh he wanted her just as fiercely. There was something so life affirming and elemental about sex. And sex with this man was something else entirely.

  "Just tell me, sweetheart. I know there was a fire, and I assume that's where your fascination with fire comes from? But tell me the rest, Neeve. Tell me your story, my love."

  The endearment brought new tears to her eyes, and she hastily blinked them away. Of course he would know about the fire. A man with his connections would have had her checked out. Had she not done the same to him?

  "Yes, there was a fire, but what you don't know is that it was me who set that fire. I was playing with the matches, and they lit the bin. I didn't know what to do. I wasn't allowed to play with them, and I knew mummy would tell me off, so I hid under the stairs and … and I didn't tell anyone. By the time my parents discovered the fire it had spread across the first floor." She pulled away from him, certain that she would see condemnation in his eyes, and the thought of that was her undoing. She couldn't do this.

  Grisha framed her face with his hands and forced her to look up at him.

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat and followed his unspoken demand to continue.

  "I was terrified, and I didn't come out, even when they called me. There was a crash and mummy screamed and then daddy pulled me out, and … God … there was so much heat and the flames … I couldn't breathe … couldn't see." She choked on a sob, and Grisha pulled her on his lap, his by now so familiar scent surrounding her, and giving her the strength to carry on.

  "Daddy pushed me out of the way, and then the hallway collapsed, and … I killed them. Don't you see?" She tried to pull away, but Grisha wouldn't let her, even when she pummeled his chest, tears now falling in earnest, as the full
horrors of her past crashed down on her.

  "I did. I killed them. It was my fault they died."

  Grisha simply held her while she howled her agony. Despite years of counseling and having been taken in by a loving aunt, the guilt had never left her, and she doubted it ever would.

  "You were a child, sweetheart. It was a tragic accident, nothing more, nothing less. One could argue your parents should not have left the matches where you could get to them." Grisha's deep voice broke through her internal anguish. She'd heard all this before, but somehow, when he said it she could almost believe him—almost. But once she told him the rest…

  "But that's not all, see. My aunt took me in, and even though she was kind, it wasn't enough. I needed … I needed more. I needed to punish myself, don't you see. It was the only way to make it right."

  "You thought by harming yourself you could take away the pain?"

  Her chest felt too tight to draw air into. His words were so close to the truth she could scarcely breathe. Did he really understand?

  "It did for a little while at least. When it all got too much. Then I found sex, and that helped, a little anyway. I was thirteen the first time. He was much older, and he wasn't being gentle, but somehow that made me feel better. And then the others..."

  She couldn't continue. She wasn't ashamed of her sexual past, not really, but admitting this to the man she had fallen in love with, that was an entirely different matter. It was all right for men. It never was for women. He would think her a slut.

  "You did what you had to do, sweet Neeve. That's all any of us can do. But you don't have to deal with this on your own anymore. I can, I want to help you, if you let me."

  He brushed a soft kiss across her lips. It was a mere whisper of a touch, but it ignited her blood, and she whimpered her need for him. As though he sensed her desperation, he deepened the kiss, and she melted against him, her hands roaming freely over his body. He leant back, and she straddled him, needing to feel him inside her with an almost desperate desire; and Grisha met her frantic moves with his own. She groaned her frustration when he sheathed himself and whimpered into his mouth when his cock parted her swollen nether lips. Slightly sore still from their earlier intense session, the sting of pain was a welcome reminder that she was alive, and for this night at least, Grisha was hers and hers alone. She rocked her hips, taking him deeper with each move, harder, faster, until all was forgotten but their bodies striving for completion together. Their joined climax had her burst into renewed tears. She collapsed on his chest, completely spent, and completely at ease, while he murmured Russian endearments in her ear, until she drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  Neeve woke up alone the following morning. At least she assumed it was morning. Ink's dungeon had no windows, but judging by the way her stomach rumbled it had to be morning. After her “punishment” in the bath tub and her heart-wrenching self-discovery that she had indeed fallen in love with her Black Russian, Neeve hadn't been able to look Grisha in the eye, lest he read in hers what her heart was screaming out at him. Instead she had taken the coward's way out and feigned exhaustion. Grisha's tender care had only added to the ache in her heart. He'd washed every inch of her body and had then wrapped her up in the hugest bath towel she had ever seen. She had not been allowed to walk. Instead he had carried her back to his bed, patted her dry and then proceeded to give her an allover body massage that had left her so relaxed she had fallen asleep in an instant, after he made sure she had drunk what seemed like a gallon of water.

  That gallon was threatening to make a reappearance now, so Neeve climbed out of bed and used the bathroom. She felt decidedly wobbly after the turn the night had taken when Grisha had woken up from his nightmare. Never before had she opened up to anyone in the way she had to him.

  There was movement next door by the time she'd washed her hands and face and brushed her teeth with the spare toothbrush she'd found. She recognized Grisha's deep baritone immediately, and her heart did the samba inside her chest. There was the ongoing drone of something when the door opened, and then the aroma of coffee and freshly baked bread invaded her senses. She stopped to wrap another towel around herself, mindful of the fact that Grisha did not seem to be on his own. Sure enough when she rounded the corner it was to see Ink standing next to the spanking bench which seemed to have been turned into an impromptu breakfast bar. Cherie was in the process of pouring coffee into the four mugs placed there, and when Neeve's stomach rumbled again at the sight of the freshly buttered croissants they all turned to look at her. Neeve froze in place unsure of what to do. Ink crossed his arms and looked her over slowly, and Neeve dropped her gaze automatically, but not before she saw the approval on Grisha's face and Cherie's encouraging smile.

  "Well, that's a good start." Ink's deep voice made the fine hair on her neck stand to attention. "Come here, girl."

  Neeve obeyed immediately, her newly discovered submissive side unable to withstand the quiet authority in that deep voice. She stood next to Grisha who placed a hand on her neck in a clear act of possession that should have annoyed her. Instead, this morning, after everything they'd shared last night, it was an oddly comforting gesture, and she leant into that hand. He tightened his hand imperceptibly, just enough to reassure her and to calm the army of butterflies that seemed to have taken up residence in her tummy.

  "I take it you claimed her, Grisha? She will not be causing any more trouble in my club?" There was a hint of amusement in Ink's voice, and Cherie giggled.

  Neeve's heart constricted at the word claimed. The rational side of her screamed that she was no one’s property to be claimed even as the pressure on her neck increased.

  "Yes, I have. We made a start at least. Neeve is my sub and my responsibility." She couldn't help it. She had to look up at Grisha's words. He smiled down on her with such a heated look of approval that any objection the old Neeve might have uttered flew straight out of her head. The room faded away until it was just the two of them, locked in their little bubble of connection. Tears pricked the back of her eyes again, and Neeve let them fall, uncaring who might see her thus emotionally exposed. Grisha swore and pulled her into his frame. Surrounded by the smell and feel of him she closed her eyes and simply savored the moment.

  "I think you're right, baby girl. We will have to use another dungeon to play this morning." Ink's voice broke the moment, and she pushed against Grisha's chest. He released her immediately, and Cherie placed a cup of coffee into her hands. Neeve inhaled the bitter fragrance, and Cherie laughed.

  "Drink it, doll. You look as though you need it. Good night was it?"

  Heat rose in Neeve's cheeks, much to her annoyance. She never blushed, and she never cried, damn it. Yet, one night with Grisha and she'd turned into the twenty-first century equivalent of a simpering regency heroine. What the fuck was up with that?

  Cherie merely laughed, winked at her, and followed Ink out of the dungeon. The door whooshed shut with quiet efficiency, once again obliterating the noise of the cleaning crew in action.

  Neeve took a cautious sip of her coffee and groaned at the flavors exploding on her tongue. Grisha laughed and massaged her neck with one hand whilst lifting his own coffee cup to his lips and taking a long swallow. Neeve's eyes followed the movement of his strong throat, and Grisha's fingers tightened on her scalp.

  "Cherie makes amazing coffee, and if you keep looking at me like that, I'll have you tied to that Saint Andrews Cross and fucked senseless before you can say, eat your croissant." Neeve had no doubt that he would follow through on that promise, and lord help her if the thought of being bound and at his mercy, didn’t have her nipples pucker and her juices soak her pussy lips. Grisha inhaled sharply.

  "Sweet Neeve, you'll be the death of me. I love how responsive you are to me, how turned on you get by the mere suggestion of being restrained. Do you see how submissive you are, how much you need this as much as I do?" He took the coffee cup out of her hands and then guided them down to his gro
in. His cock twitched and hardened under her hands, and a heady rush of power filled her at the thought that this man desired her as much as she did him.

  "Does that feel as though you're not what I need?"

  ****

  Grisha heard her sharp intake of breath when he quoted her words back to him. Her gloriously red hair covered her face, and as she stood so beautifully submissive the kernel of hope last night had planted in his chest took hold and blossomed. They had shared so much of each other last night, much more than he’d ever shared with any other person, bar Ink.

  She stroked him now through his jeans, and Grisha ground his teeth as his cock responded with predictable eagerness. He grabbed her wrist, and she released him with a sigh. A single tear drop fell on his hand, and Grisha's blood turned to ice in his veins.

  "I'm not what you need, though. This has been fun, but you'll find someone else soon enough. It's what you do." She tried to pull away, and his tiger roared its displeasure, whilst the man grabbed her by the shoulders. He gave her a small shake, resisting the urge to shake her like a ragdoll.

  "Is that really what you think? That I could just discard you like a used shoe? That the things we shared mean nothing to me?" She flinched at his harsh words and swiped another tear off her face with an angry move. She stamped her foot and yanked her shoulders out of his grasp.

  "No, that's not what I think, because I'm not any man's doormat, and I will not let you treat me like that." She raised her face to stare up at him, and the fire in her eyes thawed the ice in his veins. She wouldn't be this angry if she didn't care about him, at least a little, and his little human tigress was so furious she trembled. Hands balled into fists, her delicate skin flushed red, she looked stunningly beautiful.

  "So, I'm walking. It's me saying, thanks for the ride. Just let me get my fucking dress, and call me a taxi."

  He crossed his arms to stop himself from crushing her to him and just stood watching her. She tried to get past him, but he stopped her with one simple word.