Once or twice, while she lay in the hospital bed tormented by her remorse and sadness, she had tried to convince herself that Stefan’s pain was as deep as hers – that he had suffered by their loss in ways that she could not understand. Now she knew the truth. Stefan’s pain had been different – but not the same. She had the impossible burden of feeling responsible for the death of their child. Stefan’s guilt was in abandoning her. He had gone away to deal with the heartache, and in doing so he had left her to cope with deep turbulent emotions that she could not possible bear alone.
“I love you, Renee. I love you with all my heart. Does that still mean anything to you?” he asked softly, and she could not answer. Even in this moment of realization and understanding, she felt a rush of relief at the sincerity in his voice. Tears began to scald her eyes, and a different pain began to tear deep in her chest so that her shoulders began to shake as she cried.
It was the pain of longing and loneliness.
“I want to come home,” Stefan said into the silence. “I want to be there for you.”
“You had that chance, Stefan,” Renee said softly. “You had the chance I never had. I’ve had to endure it, Stefan. I have to live with it…”
“So do I,” he said, his own voice becoming thick with emotion. “And now I can, Renee. Now I’ve had the time to realize and remember all that matters to me is you. More than anything or anyone – it’s you I need. It’s you. As long as I have you, everything else can be endured.”
Renee stood, shaking wildly, feeling a rush of nausea and giddiness overcome her. The tears were choking in her throat.
Stefan heard the painful sobs across the line and the sound tore at his heart. “I’m coming home in the morning,” he said at last.
Renee swiped at her cheeks, brushing away the tears with the palm of her hand. “No. Don’t,” she whispered softly. “I won’t be here.”
Nineteen.
There were sheets of motel stationery on a small table by the room’s window. Stefan sat and stared out into the black loneliness of the night for a long time. Then – slowly – he began to write…
My darling baby Storm,
I miss you already, my baby girl, even though you were not meant for this world.
I will never get the chance to whisper how much I love you.
I miss the promise that you were – for you were the promise of hugs and kisses, and the promise of unconditional love.
In the years to come I will miss you more and more as all those things I dreamed for you can never be made real.
But you will live in daddy’s heart forever, my darling. And every night I’ll look for the brightest star in the sky, and know that it’s you – my Angel.
Stefan read the letter carefully, blinking a mist of tears from his eyes. When he was finished he folded the paper and slipped it into a corner of his wallet.
He knew it was time to go home.
He knew now that he could move forward.
Twenty.
Stefan was in the car, sober and driving before sunrise. He kept to the speed limit, following the signs back towards Bishop’s Bridge, growing more impatient and anxious as the miles flashed by.
He wanted the company of the radio, but he needed the silence to think.
How would Renee act when she saw him?
Would she be there – or had she gone to stay with Tink and Peter?
Would their lives ever be the same again?
What kind of future together did they have?
It was mid-morning before he was slowed by traffic on the outskirts of Bishop’s Bridge. Stefan sat drumming his fingers on the steering wheel until the township was finally in his rear-vision mirror and the winding road that snaked up into the mountains lay before him. He accelerated, knowing home was just fifteen minutes away; knowing he could not wait a moment longer for the answers.
When he arrived outside his house, Peter’s car was parked in the driveway. Stefan parked on the roadside and walked stiff and uncertain to the front door.
When he knocked there was no answer.
He knocked again. The house sounded empty. He waited for a full minute, and then unlocked the door.
“Renee?”
Stefan stood in the silence of the living room, staring. He noticed an unfamiliar handbag on the sofa – probably Tink’s. Peter’s car keys were on the kitchen counter. Stefan took a deep breath.
“Renee!”
The house was empty.
There was only one place they could possibly have gone, although Stefan could not immediately understand why. He pushed open the back door and strode purposefully through the yard, heading towards Picnic Rock.
* * *
It was a slow, painful climb up the mountain, and although Peter picked out the easiest path, Renee leaned constantly on his shoulder for support. Her teeth were gritted, clenched tight. Every step was a fresh agony, but she drove herself on. This was not something she wanted to do.
This was something she needed to do.
At her side, Tink worried constantly, and they paused often to rest and drink bottled water. It was a clear bright morning. The sun was rising warm in their faces against a cloudless sky. A gentle breeze rustled through the treetops. In the afternoon it would be warm, but now the air was still cool, and the shade from the heavy canopy of trees above them was a relief.
Renee paused, and she could feel the break of sweat under the light fabric of her dress, and the pumping of her lungs. She resented and despised the weakness of her body and the way her legs trembled.
She was weak. It was almost two full days since the accident, and now every bruised and wrenched muscle in her body ached fiercely. Her face was pale, her expression grim as she trudged onwards. She walked in silence, all of her concentration on merely putting one foot ahead of the other whilst around her Peter and Tink tried valiantly to lighten the mood with bright chatter and gasps of surprise when a deer or a beautiful bird crossed their path.
Finally the ground before them began to flatten, and then the plateau at Picnic Rock appeared through a curtain of foliage.
Peter had brought a plaid blanket with him. He spread it out across the sun-baked earth and Renee eased herself wearily to the ground. She drank thirstily, her breathing ragged as she gulped down the cool water. She was wearing a loose-fitting summer dress – it was the only clothing she felt comfortable in that did not rub against her injuries – and Tink fussed about her, trying to make her comfortable until at last Renee frowned irritably.
“I’m okay, Tinkerbell,” Renee snapped.
Tink looked suddenly crestfallen. It was the first time she had ever heard Renee use her full name. “I just need a minute to rest.”
Tink flapped her hands and bit her lip helplessly. Renee’s expression softened. “I’m sorry,” she smiled, but it was lopsided with her pain. “I didn’t mean to snap. You’ve been such a good friend. Please forgive me. I just need a little time alone.”
Tink nodded, her expression still stricken. She left Renee on the blanket and went back down the slope to where Peter stood. “We’ll just take a walk around to the other side of the crest,” she said, pointing to the vague outline of another trail that disappeared back into the woods. “We’ll come back in half-an-hour.”
When she was alone, Renee pushed herself back to her feet and went to stand at the edge of the precipice and stared down. The view was breathtaking; rolling green hills and forests bright in the morning light. She sighed.
It was the perfect place for what she planned.
She stepped back from the edge and looked around at her feet. There were dozens of small rounded rocks, each about the size of a fist. Renee began to gather the stones, selecting each one with concentrated care, stacking them until she had a cairn that stood two feet high. When she was finished, she stood back from the monument and bowed her head solemnly.
“I’m sorry, baby Storm,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry for what happened. I know I will never forgive
myself – but I hope one day you will forgive your mummy. I love you, my darling baby. You will be in my heart forever.”
“Amen.”
Renee looked up in sharp surprise, and saw Stefan standing at the edge of the leafy foliage, watching her quietly from the shadows. He came to her slowly, like a man approaching a startled forest animal, and she stood completely still, staring uncertainly at him.
The deterioration in Stefan shocked her. He was unshaven, and his features were drawn – made haggard by his grief. His eyes were red-rimmed, seemingly sunken into the sockets of his face. He looked as though he had lost weight. His shoulders appeared gaunt under his shirt.
“What do you want?” Renee’s voice faltered. Until that moment when she had seen him, she had not realized the extent of Stefan’s own tortured pain. She felt her instinctive compassion soften her tone.
“I want you,” Stefan said.
“Where were you when I needed you Stefan?” the sound of her voice was a whisper. “Where were you?” Renee’s back and shoulders took on a stubborn set as the color in her cheeks fled.
He shook his head, heavy with sorrow. “Fighting my own battles.”
He stared into Renee’s eyes, seeing them well with tears. Her expression was solemn, and beneath the swelling and bruising he could sense the traces of her ordeal in the tiny lines at the corners of her mouth.
He held his hands out to her, but Renee shook her head slowly from side to side. Her eyes slowly filled until they were huge and glistening. A single tear slid down her cheek. “I needed you to rescue me, Stefan,” Renee said suddenly, and there was anguish and pain in her voice. “Not with your fists. Not with actions – with deeds. I needed you emotionally… and you weren’t there. You left.”
He nodded again, his expression guilty and shamed and he cuffed at his eyes before he spoke again.
“I’ve laid my life on the line for you – and I would again, because it’s easy, Renee. It requires only instinct. It demands only that I act. It’s what I’m best at – what I’m most prepared for. But this…?” he spread his hands wide, “…. this horrible, dreadful tragedy was my failing. It demanded from me more than I was prepared for. I was not capable. I’m still only learning emotions, Renee. I shut down – and I’m sorry.”
She stared at him, silently. He took a careful step closer.
“I came back to be here for you today,” he said.
Her eyes darkened, snapping with defiance and an outburst of words seemed to boil behind her closed lips, but she said only, “I needed you two days ago when it happened, Stefan. And I needed you yesterday.”
He nodded. “And we’ll both need each other tomorrow. We’ll both need to cling to each other again and again in the months to come. Don’t hate me for not knowing instinctively what I should have done, Renee.”
Stefan turned away suddenly, staring out over the precipice, and when he looked back at Renee again she saw a flicker of the old Stefan behind his eyes. “I’m not a perfect man. I never dealt with Tiffany’s death – I ran from it. I hid my pain behind the disguise of a bdsm Master. And now I’ve done the same thing again. But I’m here now. I’m not hiding the hurt, Renee. I still don’t know how to deal with what lays ahead, but I do know I can’t live with myself – and I can’t live without you.”
Renee did not say anything immediately, but Stefan could see her agitation in the rapid rise and fall of her breasts under the cloth of her dress, and the way her breath caught in her throat. He went to her then, wrapping her within his arms but her body was rigid and unresponsive within the embrace, her lips thin and pale.
“Renee…”
“No,” she gasped. She tried to pull away. He tightened his hold, but she struggled in earnest, suddenly beating her fists on his shoulders and chest, crying out in her pain until he backed away, his eyes startled wide, his mouth open, shocked. “No,” Renee shouted. “It’s too late.”
Stefan reared back and stared in despair – and Renee was unprepared for the agony that she saw in his expression. “You don’t mean that, Renee,” he said softly. “We’re still husband and wife. We belong together.”
She stared at him for a long time, crying softly, her shoulders shaking. “Maybe we do belong together, Stefan,” she sobbed softly. “I don’t know what the future holds anymore. All I do know is that for now, we need to be apart.”
Twenty-One.
Stefan moved into one of the spare bedrooms at Peter’s farmstead. He took a bottle of whisky to his room, and when the bottle was empty he bought more.
For three days he drank, mourning the death of his daughter and the ruin of his marriage, and his despair darkened his mood until black clouds of depression threatened to overwhelm him.
For Tink, the devastation she saw in Stefan’s eyes was reflected in Renee’s, but in different ways. She visited Renee every day, and although their banter was light and superficial, Tink could see how brittle Renee was – how she stopped herself at sudden moments as the heavy shadows of her own sadness swept over her. Every exchange between them was fraught with perils. Mentioning the wrong word was enough to send Renee’s mood spiraling down into the depths of despair. She did not laugh. She did not smile. Every moment was fragile – and Tink fretted, weeping softly to herself each time she made the long drive back to the farm.
“Give them time,” Peter advised her.
Their relationship as Master and submissive was everything Tink had ever dreamed of. Peter was kind and caring; he put her wellbeing above everything else, and she loved him for it.
As his submissive, she adored and admired him. He was wise and thoughtful, and she turned to him often for advice.
In all physical aspects of their relationship, he was her Master, and she obeyed him willingly. No matter what his sexual needs, Tink thrilled at the opportunity to please him. Of an evening, they would talk quietly for hours, Tink curled up on the floor by his chair as he answered her questions about politics, history and art. But he did not seek to control her mind. She gave him the gift of her body, and in return he respected her independence.
Now, as they talked into the evening, he was careful to give her advice, not instruction. She was his sex slave, but she was her own woman.
“This tragedy will take them time to deal with and come back from, Tink.”
Tink nodded, slow and thoughtful – then threw her hands in the air in frustration. “You’re right, Master, of course – but I’ve seen them both. They’re not coping. Stefan stays in his room, looking for the answers at the bottom of a bottle, and Renee is so fragile. She cries uncontrollably and she’s not eating… This is tearing them apart. I can’t stand by and watch the two people I love most destroy themselves – and each other.”
“There’s no other way.”
“They should be together. It won’t diminish the tragedy, but they could lean on each other – help each other through the darkest times.”
Peter nodded sympathetically. “You heard Renee. She doesn’t want Stefan back.”
Tink shook her head again. “She doesn’t want him because she doesn’t forgive him yet. But she needs him.”
“Then talk to her, but go gently…”
“I’ve tried,” Tink sighed. “But each time I raise the subject Renee goes quiet, and I can sense her withdrawing. It’s like she is some hollow shadow of who she was just a week ago.”
“Then what other choice do you have? You can only do what you are doing, be there for them both when they need you. It’s all you can do.”
“I can talk to Stefan.”
Master Peter stiffened. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you…”
Tink looked surprised. “Why?”
Peter draped his arm lightly around Tink’s shoulder. “Men are different,” he tried to explain, “and Stefan is complex. I know him, we’ve been friends for a lot of years. He doesn’t open up, Tinkerbell. He’s not the sort of man to show his feelings easily. You might be able to approach Renee in gentle tones, but eve
n that might be too much for Stefan. He’s already retreating – shutting himself off from us, and the rest of the world. The slightest push from you could make everything worse.”
Tink climbed up and wiggled onto her Master’s lap. She was warm like a puppy in his arms. He stared into her enormous, serious eyes and softened the tone of his voice. “The only way to reach Stefan is with gentle patience.”
Tink laid her head against Peter’s chest and was silent for a moment. Her hand drifted down until it was casually resting on the swelling bulge within her Master’s trousers. “Can I at least try?” she asked for his permission sweetly, “If I promise to be patient and gentle?”
Peter closed his eyes. Tink’s fingers had begun to softly squeeze and encourage his erection. He sighed. “Do you promise?”
“Oh, yes!” Tink smiled. “I really do!”
And then, without another word, she slid seductively back off the chair, coming to her knees before him so she could demonstrate just how grateful she was that he had given his support.
Twenty-Two.
Tink spent the morning restlessly making beds and cleaning until Peter finally kissed her cheek and picked up his Stetson hat from the kitchen table.
“I’m going to spend a few hours in the top paddock,” he said. “Once I re-wire the fence I’ll drive you down to Renee’s for a visit.”
Tink smiled brightly. “Take your time,” she said. He ran his hands possessively across the firm curve of her bottom and she parted her legs to give him access. Her expression became instantly inviting and willing. Master Peter shuddered, and it took an act of will for him to still his hand before he succumbed to the temptation.
“Tonight,” he said instead, his eyes flashing. “I’m going to tie you up and take you in the Pleasure Room.”
She stood by the back door and watched her Master drive away, the tyres of the pickup spinning in the soft earth for purchase as Peter steered the vehicle across country. When the truck had crested the rise and disappeared from view, Tink slowly closed the door and her expression became fierce.
Her Master's Kiss 4 (Erotic Romance) Page 7
