Wounded Hearts

by Julia Sykes

  “You’re not being very nice yourself,” he retorted. “Now, walk.” He pointed toward the mouth of the alley. I couldn’t resist that imperious gesture and the bark in his tone.

  My shoulders slumped, and I started heading toward my Airbnb.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. “You’re right. That wasn’t very nice of me. I’m just drunk.”

  “That much is obvious.” He blew out a breath. “Apology accepted. Let’s get you home.”

  “It’s not home,” I lamented. “It’s just where I’m staying.”

  “I know,” he said quietly. His hand settled on my lower back. How had I forgotten how good his supportive touch felt?

  We walked in silence for a few minutes. My mind reeled. I could hardly comprehend the fact that he was back by my side.

  “Why did you come here?” I asked.

  “I told you. I came to see you. I arrived on the last train into York. After I found your apartment empty, I decided to check Sotano. You said it’s your favorite late-night place.”

  “It is,” I agreed, marveling at the fact that he’d remembered an offhand comment I’d made.

  “I’m glad I came when I did,” he said, his tone hardening. “What possessed you to walk down an alley alone at two in the morning?”

  “I’ve done it plenty of times before.” My defense was sheepish. “I guess it wasn’t very smart. But York is always so safe.”

  “I’m sure it is, but that was a foolish choice. Careless. I know you’re a trusting person, and I love that about you. But you can’t put yourself at risk by being so reckless.”

  “I know,” I half-groaned. “I know. I’m so stupid. I always trust everyone, no matter how many times I get burned. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  His arm snaked around my waist, and he pulled me closer against him. “There’s nothing wrong with you, and you’re not stupid. It’s not a bad thing to trust people. Just be more cautious when it comes to your safety.”

  “Okay,” I said softly, still feeling thoroughly rebuked and more than a little idiotic.

  I stopped in my tracks, my heart skipping a beat. “I didn’t mean to come this way.” My mouth went dry. I hadn’t been paying attention to the route we were taking, but my feet had carried me here automatically.

  I’d walked home.

  Well, I’d walked to what used to be my home.

  Dread twisted my stomach, but I couldn’t stop my gaze from lifting to the window above the shop that fronted my former townhouse. The townhouse I’d shared with Thomas. It had been my dream home: a restored pub set over three levels, complete with original features and a huge finished basement that I’d intended to kit out as my personal kinky dungeon.

  The living room window was illuminated. Thomas was awake. He was most likely glued to his computer, absorbed in the video games that were his life. There wasn’t much risk that he’d come to the window and see me staring longingly at the only home I’d known in adulthood. I’d only lived here for five short months, but it had been my first home since I’d left my childhood house at the age of eighteen.

  A fat calico cat jumped up into the window, sitting on the inside sill to stare out at the street.

  My eyes began to burn.

  “What’s wrong?” Scott prompted.

  “That’s my cat,” I whispered. “That’s my house.”

  He moved in front of me, blocking the painful view. His thumb traced the line of my cheekbone.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  My tears spilled over his fingers. I drew in a sharp breath.

  “No, I’m sorry.” I gulped for air. “I’m just drunk. I didn’t mean to come here. I didn’t mean to get emotional.”

  “It’s okay to be emotional. You haven’t shared much with me, but I can tell you’ve been through a lot.”

  I choked on a humorless laugh. “You know everything about me.”

  His fingers curled beneath my chin. “I don’t. I’d like to know you. Really know you. It’s why I came back. I had to see you again. Even if you don’t want me, I can’t help wanting you.”

  I blinked away my tears. “What makes you think I don’t want you?”

  His jaw firmed. “You said it yourself: I’m not what you need.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what I need. I just know that I can’t help wanting you, either. It doesn’t make sense, and it’s a terrible idea, but I do want you.”

  “Why do you think it’s a terrible idea?”

  “This won’t work. You know it won’t. You’ll leave. You’ll always leave, and I’ll never know if you’ll come back.”

  “I want to come back for you.”

  He sealed his declaration with a searing kiss, and I allowed myself to fall into the moment. His strong arms felt too good around me, holding me up and supporting me. I’d been starved for affection for so long, and I couldn’t resist this intimacy.

  I’d accept the emotional consequences later.

  “Take me back to my apartment,” I panted against his mouth.

  “Of course I will. I’m going to make sure you get back safely.”

  “And then you’ll stay?” I couldn’t keep the pleading note from my tone.

  His lips brushed my forehead. “Let’s get going. It’s late.”

  My heart sank. He hadn’t answered me. Not really.

  I resolved to change his mind. He’d said he wanted me. I’d just have to use my feminine wiles to get him into bed.

  A fresh layer of lust covered my grief. I’d only ever felt this with Scott: keenly aware of the scars on my soul, even as he set my body on fire.

  It made me hungry for him. Desperate. I needed to join with him as badly as I needed my next breath. Anticipation thrummed through my veins, and my steps quickened. I couldn’t wait to get back to my apartment so he could hold me and fuck me hard.

  We arrived at my Airbnb in a matter of minutes. As soon as I opened the door, I grabbed his wrist and yanked him inside with me. If he wouldn’t be aggressive, I could do the job for both of us. I was accustomed to teasing Doms; acting like a brat goaded them into action.

  Scott might not be a Dom, but he’d proven he could be commanding when I needed him to be.

  I pushed him up against the wall, pressing my breasts against his chest and wrapping my hand around the back of his neck. When he didn’t dip his head toward mine, I dug my fingernails into his skin, urging him on with a bite of pain.

  He might as well have been made of granite. My nails in his flesh didn’t so much as make him wince.

  “No,” he refused. “You need to go to bed.”

  “What?” Confusion threaded through my lust. “But you said you wanted me.” I sounded a little petulant, and I put on an intentional pout.

  “You’re drunk. I won’t take advantage of you.”

  I pressed my palm to his muscular chest. “What if I want to take advantage of you?” I purred.

  “I should go,” he announced, his expression hard. “I’m not going to fuck you when you’re under the influence.”

  I exaggerated my pout. “That didn’t stop you in Nashville.”

  “You weren’t this intoxicated in Nashville.”

  “I’m not that drunk,” I insisted. “I fully consent.” I went up on my toes so I could whisper in his ear. “Fuck me.” I bit his lobe and tugged with my teeth. Hard.

  He grasped my shoulders, forcing me away from him before he spun me around. Suddenly, my chest was pressed against the wall. Instinctively, I tried to push back. His hand curved around my nape, pinning me in place. I began to pant as desire rolled through me. This was exactly what I wanted: for him to snap. To get frustrated with me and take control.

  He leaned in, so I could feel the heat of his words against my cheek. “I said no.”

  “What?” If he was refusing, why was he trapping me against the wall? “Please,” I whined. “Please, fuck me.” I knew he liked when I begged for pleasure.

  A shock of cool air hit my ass when
he flipped my dress up to my waist. I squealed when he landed a stinging slap against my butt. I writhed in his grip, but he didn’t let up. He spanked me three more times; sharp, punitive strokes.

  I shuddered and softened on a moan, submitting.

  “I’m not going to fuck you,” he said, his voice low in my ear. He didn’t sound angry. He didn’t sound lustful. Just determined. “Get ready for bed. Now.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I whispered, the honorific rolling from my tongue without thought.

  I heard him inhale sharply. He slapped me one more time, more gently than before.

  “Go on,” he ordered, finally releasing me from his hold.

  I drew in a shaky breath and stepped away from the wall. I peeked up at him, gauging his mood. He lifted his chin, staring me down. He pointed in the direction of the bathroom, a wordless command.

  I ducked my head and shuffled off in that direction, thoroughly chastised. And more than a little hot. My panties were soaked, my clit throbbing. My ass burned where he’d punished me. I wanted so much more.

  He’d made it clear that he wouldn’t fuck me. He wouldn’t give me what I wanted.

  But he’d given me what I needed. He was taking care of me, not taking advantage of me.

  I closed the bathroom door behind me and got ready for bed, washing my face and brushing my teeth.

  When I emerged, I dared a sheepish glance in his direction. He stood exactly where I’d left him: arms crossed, watching me expectantly.

  “Get in bed.”

  “Will you stay with me?” I asked, my voice small. “I mean…I want you to stay. Just to sleep. Please.”

  I just want you to hold me.

  I’d taken a lot more physical pain in the past, but I needed to be cuddled after the brief punishment. The power exchange had been swift and intense. I needed to feel his arms around me and know I was forgiven.

  He regarded me for a long moment before he finally nodded.

  I heaved a sigh of relief. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom, if you want,” I offered. “The Airbnb host provided toiletries, but I brought my own.”

  He nodded again and headed for the bathroom.

  My fingers began to tremble from the brief adrenaline rush. Meekly, I went into the bedroom and stripped.

  I slid under the covers to hide my body. I didn’t want him to think I was trying to tempt him further, but I always slept naked.

  When he entered the bedroom, he’d stripped as well, wearing only his boxers. My mouth watered at the sight of his chiseled body. I doubted I’d ever tire of marveling at his perfection.

  Regret tugged at my heart when he flipped off the light, but he immediately joined me in bed. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. I snuggled into him, clinging to him like a lifeline.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Wonderful,” I replied on a happy sigh. “Thank you.”

  “Are you thanking me for spanking you?”

  “Yes. You were taking care of me. You are taking care of me. I appreciate it. Most men… Well, they wouldn’t have stopped me. Thank you,” I repeated my gratitude.

  He kissed the top of my head. “You’re welcome.” He cuddled me closer. “Go to sleep,” he ordered softly. “I’ll be right here.”

  I tucked my cheek into the crook of his neck and breathed him in. I fell into sleep within seconds.

  Chapter 8

  The mattress shifted, and I rolled over with a groan. My mouth was dry, and my head pounded.

  “Morning, sunshine.” Scott sounded far too amused.

  “Shhh,” I urged. “You’re so loud.” I covered my closed eyes with my arm. “And it’s so bright.”

  He chuckled. “Here. Drink some water. Then, you can go back to sleep.”

  I opened my bleary eyes and swallowed against my sandpaper tongue. “Are you leaving?”

  “I’m going to the shop to get some food. I’m making you breakfast. Apparently, you only stock your fridge with olives, cheese, and cured meats.”

  “Who doesn’t love a charcuterie?” I mumbled in weak defense of my unhealthy diet.

  “I’m sure it pairs well with all that prosecco,” he jibed.

  My stomach soured. “Please don’t mention prosecco right now.”

  “All right,” he agreed easily. “Now, drink.”

  He held out a glass of water, and his free arm slid behind my shoulders, propping me up so I could swallow without spilling all over myself. Despite my wicked hangover, contentment settled over me. No one had taken care of me like this… ever. I considered myself responsible for the damage I caused my own body, so I never asked for or expected assistance. Not even when I felt like I was dying.

  That might have been an exaggeration. But I did feel like shit. I was fairly certain I looked like shit, too.

  I buried my face in my hands when he pulled the glass from my lips.

  “Headache?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I mumbled into my palms, not mentioning that I was hiding from him. I didn’t want him to see me like this.

  “I’ll buy some ibuprofen, too,” he offered. “You can take it when you get some food in your system.”

  “I don’t think I can eat.”

  “Finish that glass of water and get some more sleep. I’ll wake you up when breakfast is ready. You’ll feel better once you’re hydrated and rested.”

  I chanced a glance up at him. “Why are you taking care of me? I wasn’t acting my best last night. I understand if you just want to leave.”

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No!”

  I groaned when my sharp exclamation reverberated through my head. “I just feel guilty for how I behaved. I was being inappropriate. You said no, and I didn’t listen.”

  “You didn’t,” he agreed. “Are you upset with me for how I handled that?”

  “No,” I said shyly, my cheeks heating. “I liked how you handled it. I needed that. Thank you.”

  He cocked his head at me. “You really are thanking me for spanking you.”

  I’d said the same thing last night, but it seemed he didn’t quite believe me.

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “It’s helpful for me. I like structure. I can be reckless sometimes.”

  “After finding you walking home alone last night, I can believe that.”

  I dropped my eyes. “Thanks for being there. I’m glad you came back to see me. And not just because you saved me from that creep.”

  “I’m glad I came back, too.”

  I peered up at him. “Are you? I was a mess last night.”

  I’m not your fantasy woman. Surely, I’d finally shattered the illusion.

  “You were drunk, but you weren’t a mess. You just needed someone to take care of you. It’s not safe for you to wander around by yourself in darkened alleys at night.” His lips twitched. “Excuse me, I meant snickleways.”

  “I’m such an asshole,” I lamented. “I was so rude to you, and you were just trying to help me.”

  “You’re not an asshole,” he said firmly. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. You were a little sassy, but you weren’t acting like yourself.”

  “You don’t know that,” I said quietly. “You don’t know what I’m really like.”

  I’m a mess. I’m broken and useless.

  “I know you’re sweet and trusting. I know you can be a little reckless, and now I know you can get sassy when you’ve been drinking. You’re a strong woman, but it’s okay to want to lean on someone else sometimes.”

  I shifted deeper into the covers, wanting to hide from his incisive blue stare. “How do you know I want that? I’m fine on my own. I can take care of myself.”

  “Can you?” he challenged calmly.

  That got my hackles up. We were skirting dangerously close to the fact that I could barely function on a daily basis. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that I’m starting to understand you a little better. You want someone to take some of th
at burden off you. You want someone who will look after your wellbeing, especially when you willfully neglect it.”

  “I guess you do know me, after all,” I said glumly. The illusion was finally shattered; I wasn’t his fantasy woman anymore. I’d obliterated her with my drunken behavior and my emotional breakdown in front of my house.

  “You don’t have to stay for breakfast,” I murmured. “I understand if you want to go. I’m sorry I’ve been so needy.”

  He sat on the bed beside me, and I smothered a wince when the mattress dipped.

  “Look at me.” He issued a low command. My eyes snapped to his. His pale stare pierced my soul. “It feels good to be needed. I like taking care of you. Even if that means using methods I don’t fully understand.”

  “Like spanking me, you mean,” I concluded miserably. “I’m sorry you had to do that. I know you didn’t want to.”

  His features drew tight. “I liked it,” he admitted. “I liked when you called me sir. I shouldn’t have enjoyed it, but I did.”

  “It’s okay that you enjoyed it.” I reached for him, drawn to erase the tension from his jaw. “You didn’t hurt me.”

  His brows drew together. “You can’t tell me it didn’t hurt. I saw my handprint on your ass.”

  “And how did you feel about that?” I pressed.

  “I liked that, too,” he rasped.

  “So do I. I like the idea of you marking me.”

  “Fuck,” he bit out, but he tenderly brushed my hair back from my forehead.

  “You were right,” I said. “I do want someone to help take care of me. That’s what I’ve always wanted. It might not be realistic—maybe it’s only possible in my books—but I can’t help wanting it.”

  I’d always been the emotional caretaker for everyone around me. My deepest desire was to have someone strong enough to earn my trust, so I could let go. For once, I wanted to be selfish. I wanted someone to take care of me.

  Scott would never be that person. Even if he had started to discover a more domineering side of himself, I’d been right in saying that he’d always leave.

  I want to come back for you, he’d said.

  But wanting that wasn’t enough. Wanting something didn’t equal a promise to make it so.