Taming Sugar

by Rebecca Grace Allen

  She gritted her teeth and held herself still. She couldn’t let Hunter know she was frightened. She wouldn’t.

  “Give me your hands.”

  Roxy raised her arms up and let him manipulate her body. He connected her bound wrists to what was above her in some way she couldn’t fathom. All she knew was she couldn’t move her arms, and after a few tugs and the sound of more squeaking, she was pulled taught, her body slightly weightless in a way that wasn’t completely comfortable. Sort of like being on a roller coaster, and that nerve-wracking, floating sensation right before the rushing, screaming descent.

  He moved away from her, stepped off the bed, and suddenly, being helpless wasn’t so much fun anymore.

  “You came up here to learn patience,” he reminded her harshly. “But you can’t manage a tiny bit of it, not even when you’re receiving pleasure. You can’t behave? Well now you’ll have to hang there and think about why.”

  She didn’t want to think about it. Hunter might have been a master at controlling her body, but he didn’t control her mind. She was Roxy Fucking Cavanaugh, thank you very much, and her thoughts were her own. But in this position of supreme vulnerability, her arms above her, her body suspended, there was nothing for Roxy to do but contemplate his words.

  Why couldn’t she manage a modicum of patience? Was she really too stubborn? Too headstrong? She didn’t see herself as a rich spoiled brat who couldn’t stand not getting things when she wanted them. She just didn’t know how to be anything else.

  Hunter said nothing. With no idea how long he was going to keep her this way, Roxy had no choice but to listen to her pounding heartbeat. To feel the cool air of the room on her naked skin. To study the way the light played with her shadow beneath her, the room pitch black now except for that single lamp illuminating her, and wait.

  Finally, he broke the silence.

  “You put on a big show, but the truth is, you’re afraid. You’re scared if you don’t rush toward things, if you don’t show everyone who you are and what you want, you won’t get it.”

  Refuse to wait for anything. Go after what you want.

  The uncomfortable truth in Hunter’s words battled against the ones she’d been raised on.

  “You’re so damn worried about not getting noticed that you act like a brat. You boss people around because you’re worried no one will give a damn about you unless you do.”

  Roxy’s chin trembled. How did he do it so easily? Destroy the lock to that vault where she kept all her emotions hidden, and break down the walls she’d managed to keep up for almost all her life?

  Never show your cards, Roxy. Never let your guard down.

  “You can’t begin to imagine that anyone would like you for you. Behind the sarcasm. Behind the ‘I don’t give a damn’ attitude. You act all tough, push people around, but underneath it, you just want to be loved.”

  A ringing started up in Roxy’s ears, her vision tunneling to a single point on the bed. Love? Roxy wasn’t even sure what love was. Love was a mother who’d been dead her entire life. A father who’d barely been present, then left her, too.

  She didn’t know how to love any more than she knew how to be patient. And she needed to get out of here. Now.

  Roxy spat the word, “Barricade.”

  The bed immediately compressed behind her, Hunter’s weight on it. She felt his hands on hers, moving and tugging until he’d released her. Roxy’s pulse thrummed wildly as he lowered her hands and untied the ribbon, the blood flowing back into her fingers as he put his arms around her.

  The feel of him holding her sent Roxy’s fight or flight instinct from offline into overdrive.

  She wrestled out of his grip, her teeth clenched. “Get off me.”

  Hunter immediately backed off. “Hey, sugar, it’s ok.”

  Roxy whipped around and jabbed a finger in his face. “Don’t. Call me. That.”

  Each word lashed out of her like a whip in verbal form. Scrambling off the bed, she reached for her clothes and hastily dragged them on. Panties. Bra. Bottoms. Shirt. Reversing the order of everything that had happened since she’d walked in the door. Could she rewind the last few days too?

  Hunter stood, took a few steps in her direction, but Roxy flinched away from him. “You said nothing would hurt me in here!”

  He held his hands up in surrender. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I’m sorry if I did, but I was trying to prove a point. To show you something about yourself.”

  “I don’t need you to show me anything.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said gently, but his apology didn’t soothe her. “Please, slow down a minute, and talk to me. I don’t want you to go. Not like this.”

  “Oh, you don’t? Well fuck you and what you want. I’m leaving.”

  She slipped on her sandals, grabbed her purse and ran out the room, down the hall and to the front door. The last thing she heard before she slammed it behind her was Hunter calling her name.

  Roxy didn’t give a damn. The anger coursing through her was electric and caustic, mixed with the nauseating punch of regret.

  She never should’ve trusted him.

  She never should’ve come here tonight.

  Chapter Five

  Roxy spent the entire next day holed up in the cabin. Outside it was raining, the sky dark and overcast, rumblings of thunder that matched the dourness of her mood. She didn’t even get out of bed until noon.

  Not even bothering to take off her pajama bottoms, she dragged a sweater on, pulled on some chunky socks, and wrapped the bed’s hideous blanket around her shoulders. Roaming from room to room, she didn’t know what to do with herself. Hunter’s words from the night before haunted her. As did the recollection of his touch.

  She winced and threw herself onto the couch. She didn’t want to think about him.

  So why was he on her mind so damn much?

  Rain pelted the windows, and Roxy buried herself beneath the blanket. She was mad. Mad that Hunter Finn had come into her world, that he’d seemed like the kind of man she’d always wanted, then denied her the release she’d craved. Mad that he’d gathered her up in strings like she was some kind of puppet, and thrown her weaknesses in her face.

  Mad that he’d talked to her like he knew her.

  And yet, he seemed as if he had. It wasn’t just that he’d known how to please her body. The things he’d said had been glaringly accurate. Now they’d burrowed underneath her skin like a splinter, wedging into an ugly truth she never wanted to deal with.

  All her life, she’d never done anything but act like the ball-busting, hell-on-wheels Roxy Cavanaugh. She’d been like that through eight years of drama school. Let it carry her through all her auditions, during the months her father was sick and in the loneliness that followed after his death.

  It had turned her into someone she didn’t like. But if she wasn’t that person, who was she?

  Her behavior was her armor. It got her roles, but was that what she wanted? She’d done everything her father had said, and look where it had gotten her. A reputation for being impossible, booted from the best role she’d ever gotten, and alone.

  Was everything he’d taught her wrong?

  Roxy pinched her eyes shut to hold back the tears. It wasn’t all wrong. It couldn’t have been. It was the only way he’d known to love her. And behaving the way he’d taught her was the only way she’d been able to get his approval, to be rewarded with his company, to love him back in return.

  Now she didn’t know how to act any different. But Hunter was right. She did still just want to be loved.

  She shouldn’t have gotten so mad at him. He hadn’t hurt her, not in the way she’d accused him. He’d simply touched a nerve without knowing it. She’d told him virtually nothing about her childhood, and even though he was obviously someone who got what he wanted, he didn’t push her. He’d just figured it all out on his own.

  She thought back to the way he’d looked at her in the cafe on Monday, when she’d been frightened
and he’d promised her with one glance that she was safe. Truth be told, she was safe last night too. He’d honored her safeword, released her and softened his tone the second she’d said it. But she’d run away from him anyway, not because he was causing her harm, but because she wasn’t brave enough to face what he was telling her.

  She wasn’t brave enough to open up to anyone, and let them in.

  Roxy didn’t want to be like that anymore.

  She heaved off the blanket with a sigh and went into the kitchen. It was too late in the day for coffee, not if she didn’t want to be up all night, so she found a packet of decaf tea and set a kettle to boil. Needing a bit of comfort food, she stared in the pantry, then punched the ingredients she found there into her phone in the hopes that she could make some pancakes. She’d never made them from scratch before, and hadn’t planned it in advance either, so it hadn’t been on her grocery list. Thankfully, however, everything she needed was there.

  Accepting it would take a while, Roxy set to work making the meal. An hour later she was covered in flour and had a sink full of dishes, but it was worth it for the full belly she had.

  The rain continued, thunder rumbling once again, so Roxy curled back up on the couch and reached for her iPad. Scrolling through the self-help books she’d downloaded, Roxy frowned, uninterested in the ones that taught the power of patience and slowing down. She went searching online instead, and purchased a new one—a book about dealing with the loss of a parent, and daily meditations of moving through grief. She read for a while, did a few exercises, then closed her eyes.

  And let the tears flow.

  Was crying part of meditation? She didn’t know. But she let it happen anyway, mourning the complicated relationship she had with her father. The mother she hardly knew. She grieved for both of them, and after a time, she felt better. Lighter. Like she’d let something go. The storm that had been lingering around the mountain top had finally moved on too, and Roxy felt a strange kind of kinship with the weather.

  Throwing the blanket once again around herself, she went out back and stood on the stoop. The early evening air was cool, the late summer chill something she could feel through her sock-clad feet, and Roxy breathed in the fresh, mountain air. It was an earthy smell, dirt and pine and rain. The pattering sound of the leftover droplets falling from branches and hitting the ground was also surprisingly comforting. It was calm. Peaceful.

  Maybe she’d learned to like nature after all.

  She’d have to message Gio and let him know. She did want to tell him about Hunter, but more than that, she wanted him to know she’d accomplished everything on his list.

  She was actually damn proud of herself for that one.

  Roxy smiled. She appreciated Gio’s help, but she realized it wasn’t his approval she needed. And she didn’t need to prove anything to that director either. She’d proven to herself that she could come up here and relax. It was a nice feeling.

  What wasn’t nice, however, was the breeze racing around her bare legs.

  Roxy shivered. It seemed Rog wasn’t wrong about it getting chilly up here after all. Maybe she could make that fireplace work. Find a YouTube tutorial for it or something.

  She turned around to go back inside, and found Hunter Finn standing in the backyard with an armful of firewood.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped.

  The words flew out of her mouth before she could catch them. It wasn’t the way she wanted to address him, not really, but he’d startled her, showing up silently like that.

  He shrugged and looked down at the wood he was holding. “I thought you might be cold, and I wasn’t sure if you knew how to work the fireplace.”

  “Decided not to just let yourself in this time?”

  He kicked at the ground. “I…didn’t think it would be appropriate.”

  For all the confidence his brawn and sexual prowess gave him, Hunter Finn seemed downright awkward. Roxy wanted to be angry at him, but all her anger had fizzled away.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. His brief, uncertain smile had her searching for some other reply. “I don’t, actually. Know how to use the fireplace, that is.”

  He angled his head toward the door. “Would you like me to show you?”

  Her chest tightened on an uneven breath. She did want that. But all she gave him was a tight nod. “All right.”

  The blanket still held tightly around her, she pulled the door open, holding it for him as he carried the kindling inside. Once they were in the living room, she stood silently in the middle of it, watching as he tossed in the logs and got a fire going with ease.

  Roxy settled herself cross legged in front of the hearth, wanting to feel its warmth. Hunter stood for a moment, then gestured to the space next to her.

  “May I?”

  It seemed like role reversal, him asking permission, but like respect too. It leveled the ground between them. “Sure. Go ahead.”

  He nodded, once. Twice. Pulled the pillows off the couch set them on the floor. They sat quietly for a while, the heat licking the bare skin of Roxy’s legs, the orange flame in front of her erupting in little pops and crackles. Finally, Hunter spoke.

  “I wish you hadn’t left like that yesterday. You didn’t give me a chance to take care of you. Make sure you were ok.”

  She drew in an uneasy breath. “I’m not…good at that.”

  “I got that. But you didn’t even let me finish what I was saying.”

  She stiffened. “There was more?”

  “It wasn’t anything bad,” he said softly. “I was trying to tell you that you don’t have to be the way you are. You don’t have to keep up that wall.”

  “That wall is all I have.” It was true. Perhaps she hadn’t even realized it until she got up here, but it was. “It keeps me standing.”

  “I know. I’ve barely known you more than a few days, and I can see that.” He let out a gruff laugh. “Hell, even your safeword—barricade—shows how much of a defensive barrier you have around yourself. Although, ever since you said it, I can’t stop seeing you as a member of the French Revolution.”

  She couldn’t stop the smile that pressed its way across her face. “You know Les Miz too?”

  “Every line.” He grinned. The firelight played on his face, highlight and shadow making him even more handsome. Then his smile collapsed a bit. “People put you down, but they don’t know you. They don’t know your life or the cards you’ve been dealt. It’s awful, losing your parents, no matter how much money you have.”

  It was something Roxy realized they had in common. They actually had a lot of similarities between them—their upbringing, their relationships with their fathers, their occasionally abrasive behavior.

  Roxy had been willing to trust him with her body. Maybe she could trust him with her heart too.

  “I don’t remember my mother,” Roxy began. Hunter said nothing in response to her sudden opening up. He simply sat there and listened. “She was an actress too, and when I was little, she’d play the piano, and teach me how to sing.”

  Roxy stared at the fire. Hazy memories sifted through her mind, distant and small, like images in a snow globe.

  “My father would sit on the couch and clap while mom played, and I’d dance around the living room and sing for them. After she died, Dad and I didn’t do that anymore.” She swallowed and kept talking, as if this were a soliloquy she’d memorized. “I started acting because I wanted to keep that memory alive. But then it turned into something else. Something I kept doing to get his attention. He made sure I got into the best drama academies, but my shows were the only time I saw him.”

  “That had to be rough. I’m sorry.”

  There was no pity in Hunter’s voice, and Roxy didn’t know what to do with that. She tried to what she always did—harden herself from emotion and close herself off, but for the first time, she wanted to open up, even if she couldn’t manage to look at him while she did it.

  “My dad taught m
e to be this tough girl, used his business practices as a way to parent me, but for the most part he wasn’t there. I always wanted to be closer to him, but I never knew how, other than to show him what a good actress I was.” Roxy’s mouth went dry. “And then he died.”

  She didn’t move, didn’t dare hazard a glance at him. If she saw any sadness in his eyes, she’d break.

  “Letting anyone get close to me is terrifying,” she told him. “Being…vulnerable with anyone is terrifying.”

  She hoped he understood what she meant. That allowing herself to be so bare with him the night before was the most unguarded she’d ever been with another person.

  “I know, sugar.” The pet name came out in a whisper. No longer condescending, it sounded sweet and soft and endearing. “But it doesn’t mean you have to keep the world at arm’s length.”

  Roxy sighed. Hazarded a glance at him. “I feel bad that last night ended in such a mess.”

  “It wasn’t a mess. It was my fault for pushing you too hard.” He reached up and skimmed the back of his hand over her face, tentative at first, then more tenderly when she didn’t shrink away. “I hope you know, the fact that you were willing to be like that is what made it so rewarding for me. It takes a tough woman to take down the walls she’s put up. Your surrender was that much sweeter because of how tough you are.”

  She liked that—both that she’d pleased him, and how he saw things.

  “I never thought I could be a submissive,” she said. “I always thought I was too stubborn to give up control like that.”

  “It’s not so different from being on stage. The submissive is the star of the show. Everything centers around her. She draws everything around her in.” His bright blue eyes searched hers, his hand cupping her face, thumb skimming over her cheek. “The same way you drew me in.”

  Roxy sat up straighter and smiled big and bright. The blanket slipped off her, pulling down the edge of her sweater as it went and exposing the bare skin of one shoulder. Hunter’s gaze dropped to it, followed by his hand. Light fingertips danced along her flesh until she shivered.