by Eden Bradley
A cool compress hadn’t entirely taken care of her swollen eyes. Crying herself to sleep for the second night in a row was something she wouldn’t recover from any time soon. Physically. Emotionally. She felt spent. Empty.
She didn’t remember this about a broken heart—that feeling of being drained dry, unable to feel anything at all but tired.
Miranda pulled her suitcase out from the closet. She’d already called Joely and told her she was on for that shopping trip to Miami. She was meeting her at the plane in an hour. She blindly threw a few items into the case. Didn’t matter. She could get what she needed in town. Mostly she needed to get away from this place.
Running again.
Yes. She damn well was. She couldn’t stand to be here while he still was. Maybe she’d rent an apartment for a few weeks in Miami, take a short leave of absence. She was due one. And she frankly didn’t think she could really function any time soon.
She got dressed, realizing only when she passed the full-length mirror on her closet door that she was wearing all black. Impatiently she off pulled the offending dress.
“No one’s died,” she grumbled to herself.
It felt as if someone had. It felt as if she had.
Biting her lip, she bit back new tears. The damn crying really had to stop at some point.
Pulling on a short, sleeveless blue dress, she realized it was the same turquoise shade as the bikini she’d worn on the beach with Roan. Damn it. She wanted to tear that one off too when she remembered but stubbornly decided to wear it. She added a pair of delicate gold and turquoise earrings, slipped into a pair of gold sandals and she was set.
Miranda left a quick message for Vardalos, letting him know she’d be gone. She had no idea what he’d do, what he’d think about her sudden departure, but she didn’t really give a damn at the moment. He could take his job and… No. He’d been kind to her. But like it or not, she was taking off for a while.
She went downstairs and one of the staff—someone new, thankfully, so she didn’t have to get caught up in unnecessary conversation—took her to the dock where Joely’s puddle-jumper bobbed cheerfully. She got out of the cart and the driver brought her suitcase and set it on the dock beside her.
“Joely?”
When she didn’t get an answer she moved closer to the plane. Stuck to the side hatch was a Post-it note. It said “Gone fishing. And you have company.”
“What the—”
“Miranda.”
She whirled to find Roan standing behind her.
“What’s going on?”
“A little friendly conspiracy between two people who care about you very much.”
“I’m leaving for Miami,” she said, helplessly, although that appeared to not be the case.
“Not yet. Not until you hear what I have to say.”
“I heard it last night, Roan.”
He stepped closer. Her pulse was hot and thready in her veins—partly nerves, partly hope she didn’t want to acknowledge.
He held a hand out to her. “Walk with me, Miranda?”
She wasn’t sure why she took his hand, why she let him lead her from the dock and onto the sandy beach. Why she silently left her hand in his—was it the strength of his fingers threaded through hers?—as he led her to a small cove of palm trees and blooming pink hibiscus. There was a cabana set with flowing white curtains blowing in the ocean breeze, a bamboo lounge on woven mats.
“Sit with me, Miranda. And I’m asking, not ordering.”
She nodded, sat, her heart a lump in her throat. What would he say? What could he say?
It shocked her when he got down on his knees in front of her and took both her hands in one of his—a naturally commanding move that thrilled her as it always did with him. She ordered her libido to calm so she could focus. But her body always melted at his touch. Damn it.
“Miranda,” he started, his gaze catching hers, holding it. “I spent most of last night thinking. About you and me. About possibilities. About worst-case scenarios, if you want to know the truth. And I have to admit I’m an idiot for not figuring it out sooner. And my idiocy has hurt you.” He squeezed her hands. “I’m sorrier for that than I can ever express to you. All I can do is ask your forgiveness. And ask you to come to London with me in four weeks’ time to meet my daughter.”
“I…what?”
She felt as if she were dreaming. But his grip on her hands was real. He was real. The emotion naked on his face was as real as everything she felt herself: shock. Pain. Love. Her heart was a hammer, threatening to burst through her chest. Did she dare to hope? Had she ever dared dream of being happy again? She was tired of being static, of choosing to be, but she was still scared.
“Roan, do you have any idea of how you hurt me?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“Yes. I think so. I know I’ve blown your trust, in every way. On every level. And if you’ll only agree to be with me, to give this another shot—here, and in the real world outside of this place—we don’t have to even play for a time. Simply be together. Rebuild the trust. I swear I’ll do my best never to let you down again.”
“If you’re doing this all like…like some kicked dog with its tail between its legs, I don’t think I can stand it.”
A small grin quirked one corner of his mouth. “Do I seem like the kicked-dog type?”
She had to smile. “No. Not ever.”
He moved in, his face drawing closer, his arms going around her waist. ‘Say you’ll come with me, beauty. Say you’ll be with me. I spent the entire night staring at the moon and the sea, making myself smart enough to realize what an ass I’ve been.”
“The entire night, huh?”
He lifted one of her hands and brushed a quick kiss over it, making her shiver. “There’s my girl. All fire and sass. And the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, in every way.” He paused, lifted the other hand, kissed it as well, firmly, his lush lips pressing her skin, and she felt it all the way down to her bones. “I love you, Miranda. And I’m not currently lost in some post-orgasm haze. I am not afraid to say it to you anymore. I want to say it. I want you to know. I love you. You have some idea how long it’s been since I’ve said those words to any woman. They’re important words. And you’re an important woman, important to me. Do you understand?”
She nodded, tears making her throat close up, aching in her chest. But they were happy tears—the first she’d cried in longer than she could remember.
“Ah, love,” he said, wiping her cheek with his thumb. “No need to cry, is there?”
She shook her head. It took her a moment to be able to speak. “No. No need. Not if you want me. If you love me. Because I love you, Roan. I have for…since the moment I met you, I think. It feels like forever but it’s been a whole five days. How crazy is that?”
“As crazy as the way I love you. The way I want to love you.”
“Yes. And I want to show you, too.” She bit her lip, making a quick decision. “Roan, will you meet me in Club Sin in an hour?”
“You’re serious?”
“That’s where this started. And there’s a reason for that, isn’t there?”
“Yes. I suppose Vardalos, or the island, or whatever goes on here—someone thought there was a reason.”
“And the island always knows what you need. Isn’t that what everyone says?”
“Yes.”
“Then what we need is the club. It’s almost a neutral territory for us. It’s where we are our most raw selves—isn’t that what you said?”
He smiled. Beautiful. “Something like that, yes.”
“Then meet me there.”
“Whatever you desire, love.”
She left him to walk back up the beach, found an empty golf cart and went straight to the dungeon. She didn’t need to change, didn’t require any props. She let herself in and found the low lights burning, casting golden shadows across the sleek black walls, the shining floors.
She undressed completely and cli
mbed onto a red vinyl-covered table hanging from the ceiling by chains at each corner, and knelt there. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scents of leather and the lingering desire these places always held—or that was how she perceived it.
She drew in a deep, meditative breath, then another, preparing herself, clearing her mind. Waiting with eager anticipation, her body and her heart blazing with a joyful need for him.
Roan.
She knew she’d been there for some time when she heard him come in and approach her where she knelt naked on the red table.
“Lord, Miranda. How perfect you are,” he said, awe in his low tone.
Opening her eyes, she blinked at him as he came nearer. She didn’t want to say anything just now. She simply wanted to be there with him. In the moment. In the way that had established such a powerful connection between them—that power guiding their relationship, an even exchange no matter that he was the Dom. This was how the power exchanged worked at its very best, and she was filled with gratitude that they had this amazing connection.
Sensing that conversation was done for the time being, he stepped closer, until he was standing before her. She let herself inhale, breathing him in: man and leather and something purely Roan. And love was like a high, thrumming note curling and spiraling through her system.
He leaned in and kissed her, a sweet press of lips, then again and again. She wanted to twine her arms around his neck but wanted just as badly to submit to him, to do only what he asked of her while they were in this space, these roles. It felt too important to give him that gift, to have him accept it. Because she wanted—needed—something more from him. She didn’t know if he would offer it, but she had to find out. She had to let love lead them both. Meanwhile, her heart fluttered in her chest, as if butterflies were caged there, beating their fragile wings against her heart. It was the loveliest feeling she could remember ever having.
He smoothed his hands over her shoulders, over the tops of her parted thighs. Then they came up to hold her face, cupping her gently.
“I love you, Miranda. Even more that you wanted to do this for me. For us. I can’t begin to comprehend how this has happened so quickly, but I’ve spent too many years overthinking everything. It’s time to simply feel. And what I feel is that you are mine. Do you love me, my beauty?”
She swallowed hard, her throat tight with emotion. “I love you, Roan. With all my crazy heart. Crazy because, as you said, this has happened in a matter of days, somehow.”
“Maybe that’s the only way the universe could sneak this past my guard, and yours.”
She smiled. “You might be right about that.”
“I’m right about something else, too. That we belong together. That I belong to you as much as you do to me. Do you believe that?”
“Yes. And Roan, I never thought I’d belong again. To anyone. But this is right.”
His fingertips stroked her jaw, her cheeks, as he stared into her eyes until she could feel the love pouring out of him, through her. Into her heart, filling her up. “Then, will you be mine, love?” he asked. “Will you take my collar?”
This was everything she’d been waiting for, everything she’d yearned for in those distant reaches of her mind and heart—those unacknowledged places—before she’d even met him.
There were happy tears in her eyes as she answered. “Yes.”
He smiled as he wrapped her in his arms, pulling her half off the table. And he kissed her so hard he took her breath away. When he set her down, he pulled a delicate gold chain from his pocket.
“I got this from Vardalos early this morning. I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t wait. I’ll have something custom-made for you, but for now, will you take this as a symbol of our connection, our commitment, our love?”
How was it that these simple words felt sacred to her? But she knew it, felt it to the core of her being.
“I will take it. I’ll commit to you. Belong to you. With you. I love you, Roan.”
His features were softer than she’d ever seen them as he fastened the gold chain around her neck, his hands gentle as he swept her hair aside. Then, with his gleaming green gaze locked on hers, he began with the pressure points that seemed to be what he particularly loved, and which she had come to love as well. It was what they needed to seal their collaring—that exquisite exchange of power that had brought them together, and which sealed them now.
He held her jaw in one hand, forcing her head up and back, elongating her throat, and pressed his thumbs against the tendons on one side. The pain lanced into her, just enough for her to feel it, to feel his sense of command. At the same time he reached behind her head and buried his hand in her hair, close to the scalp, grasping it hard. Something in her let go at that moment, her body submitting to his as if by muscle memory, and she loved that they had that between them.
Still holding her hair, he drew her head down until he could catch her gaze once more. There was power in that—in the way he watched her with such focus, such intensity.
He moved his hand down and pressed the delicate point below her collarbone, releasing only when she gasped. Desire flooded her along with the pain, as always. Desire and the hunger for more.
She pulled in a breath when he moved his hand down, finding the point on the side of her breast, finally letting her hair go so he could press on both sides at once. She breathed through the pain, and he leaned in until his eyes were inches from hers. Until she could feel his breath soft on her face. He pressed harder. She gasped and he released the points. Still watching her closely, he used one fingertip in the center of her chest. This point always made her feel utterly helpless. Controlled. Commanded. She loved it, even as the pain drove deep into her body. Pain and a flood of aching need in her sex.
He pressed harder and harder, directing her to lie back. Even once she was flat on the table, the vinyl cool against her naked flesh, he kept up the pressure. Finally, just when she thought she’d have to squirm, to cry out, he released it, and she drew in a deep breath. It was only seconds later when he chose a new spot lower down in the center of her ribcage, pressed. Commanded. Watched her intently, breathing with her as she panted in desire and pain.
He whispered, “Can you take more, my beauty?”
“For you, yes.”
“That’s exactly what I needed to hear, love.”
As he pressed harder she clenched her jaw against crying out—and let it go on a long sigh when he used his other hand to brush the wet and aching slit between her thighs. Pleasure rippled over her skin, sank deep into her system as his fingers sank deep inside her. She arched her hips.
“No, no, beauty. Still for me.”
She did, losing herself in the pain. In the pleasure of his slowly plunging fingers. In the authority and power of his command.
“Miranda, look at me.”
She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes. She blinked, then held his gaze.
His fingers slipped from her body.
“Roan, please…come back to me.”
“I am back, my beauty. My baby,” he said as he unbuttoned his shirt, stripped it off. “I want you never to have any doubt. I’m here. I want to be, always.” He grasped her hands and pulled her upright, parted her thighs, and she waited with breathless anticipation as he kicked his way out of his black jeans, until he stood as naked as she was. His eyes were burning with an unbanked green fire, and she felt the blaze in the deepest corners of her soul. There was love there. Passion. And it was all focused on her.
He moved in between her thighs, holding her face as he kissed her, and nothing had ever felt better—his wet mouth, the way he kissed her as if he could never get enough. The hunger was pouring into her body like liquid heat. Need for his body. Need for him.
When his sheathed cock entered her she cried out, hung onto him. Together they panted their pleasure, whispered their love for each other. They moved together, as if one body, one heated rhythm. Pleasure spiraled inside her. She felt the heated throb of
his cock, his arms tightening around her. He pulled back to look at her, and they watched each other as they came, both crying out, clenching and pulsing as pleasure washed over them.
They stayed together, with his strong arms around her.
“Roan.”
“Yes, love?”
“I need to tell you something. It seems as if somehow you’ve made all the old pain go away. The experience is still there, of course. Memories. Sadness at what I’ve lost. But finally, I’m okay. And I want to say it was you, but you were simply the catalyst that made me see I had to let it go. And I have.”
“I felt that myself last night. That sense of clarity. But I think I began the letting go after that conversation in your apartment. I knew I needed to. It just took a long, dark night for me to accept it. To process the idea. To know in the deepest places in my soul, places I’d been too damn stubborn to look at that I’d already healed from the loss. That wasn’t what I was hanging onto, exactly. All I had to do was make the decision to move on. I’ve moved. And ended up here, with you. This is exactly where I want to be.”
“This is where I need to be, Roan. Thank you for giving me this.”
“I think we have the island to thank. But does it matter as long as we’re here? Together?”
He was right—it didn’t matter how they’d gotten there. Whether it was some island magic or simply the two of them, as Roan had said at the very beginning. What mattered was how they felt, their willingness to let the pain of their pasts go, to let that simply be a common thread rather than an obstacle. What mattered was their commitment. The way they loved each other, no matter how different it might be from anyone else. What mattered in the end—the only thing that mattered—was love. Because life, as they both knew, was too damn short. Who knew how much time they’d have together? Didn’t matter. Because they’d both come to the same conclusion. They both knew the same truth—that love was the whole point.
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