by Riley Ashby
I tried to get him to focus on me again. “Do you want to have dinner tonight? On my side, I mean?”
He hesitated, clearly trying to think of a way to blow me off. I needed to lock him in before he could come up with something.
“When was the last time you cooked for yourself?”
He actually did laugh at that and didn’t cut himself short. “I’ve been living out of a hotel room for the past two months. I’ve eaten out for every meal.”
I nodded. “Exactly. I’ll make you a home-cooked meal. And … you can help with the emptiness.”
I hated to be alone. When I was by myself, I jumped at every sound. I had to turn on every light in whatever room I was in. If, for some reason, I was forced into the dark, I would walk with my back pressed against a wall to ensure no one would be able to sneak up behind me. No one could grab me or slit my throat. I craved company like I craved a hit, and Archer was my sole supplier.
Archer knew all this, but he still tried to distance himself unless I was actively having an anxiety attack. He said it was better for me to get used to being on my own again. I thought he didn’t want to be around me. Such a change from the nights he’d pulled his chair up alongside my bed and watched over me until I went to sleep.
He thought about my offer for a bit. Maybe the beer had gone to his head because he set the empty in the sink and reached for another. “Why the hell not? One night won’t hurt.”
I cocked my head. “What do you mean, one night won’t hurt?”
He covered his embarrassment with another swig of beer. “Never mind.”
I decided to let it go. He wasn’t one to open up, but if he kept drinking, maybe I could get him to say something later. “Well … an hour then?”
He nodded. “Okay.”
Only fifteen minutes later, though, I was opening the door to his side of the apartment again. He looked up from his spot on the couch, clearly annoyed.
“I don’t have any knives over there,” I muttered. This was mortifying; no one would let me near anything sharp. I’d hoped I’d get a blank slate out here, but someone had clearly been in contact with the management about my ... needs.
I expected a heavy sigh, but he stood without a word and walked into his kitchen. “Bring your ingredients over here,” he said.
I carried over everything I had gathered to make the easiest pasta dish I knew, and he set about helping me chop the peppers and zucchini. Silence settled over us as we worked, punctuated only by the chop of our knives against the cutting board.
Well, his knife.
I’d always been right-handed, but ever since the “accident,” I was clumsier with my dominant hand than I was with my left. My index finger had come off almost completely, and regaining the strength in its muscles and tendons was slow going. My entire palm had suffered third-degree burns; the skin grafts from my back and thighs were still a darker color than the rest of my skin and not quite as sensitive as I was used to. The result of all this being … it was nearly impossible to hold anything.
Archer noticed my struggle and reached for the knife.
“You really shouldn’t handle this at all,” he said. “You’re likely to cut yourself by accident.”
I huffed and wrapped my hand as tight around the knife handle as I could. “It’s fine. I can manage.”
“Josie.” He frowned at me. I knew that look. I wanted to give in right there and tell him he was right. It was silly of me to try to perform this task.
But I couldn’t count on him to stick around and help me every time I needed it. He didn’t want to be here, that much was abundantly clear, so he’d eventually be gone, and I’d have no one to help me.
“I need to learn how to do it.”
He could have pulled the knife from me. He was strong enough, but it would have hurt me. He loosened his grip enough that he didn’t yank the knife out of my hand.
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
We stared at each other for a long moment. It had taken a while before I could bear to make eye contact with him for longer than a few seconds.
“I want to try it,” I whispered.
He sighed and released the knife, snatching a kitchen towel out of a drawer and then holding out his hand. “This will make it easier to hold.”
I handed it to him hesitantly, but he did as he said and wrapped the towel around the handle several times. “Hold this tightly and go slow so it doesn’t slip. Do you understand?”
I nodded silently. I’d stood up for myself, and now I was being rewarded for it. It was hard to hide how pleased I was.
“Thank you,” I said meekly, cutting slowly as he commanded. My slices were larger than I would have preferred, but in no time, I had actually cut up half a pepper. When I looked up triumphantly, he was smiling at me. I grinned out of one corner of my mouth.
“Proud of me?”
He looked up and then laughed a little, reaching out and brushing his fingers across my cheek. “You have a seed on your face.”
I stopped breathing when he touched me, simultaneously bracing for a slap and wanting him to touch me more. He’d shown me over the past couple of weeks that he wouldn’t hurt me. I could trust his hands not to lash out. I didn’t need to live in fear anymore.
I leaned into his palm.
His face darkened, and he pulled back suddenly, wiping his hands down the front of his shirt and walking away. Red pepper juice stained the white fabric.
I panicked. “Did I do something wrong?” I shouldn’t have looked at him. Shouldn’t have leaned in. Fuck, I should have just let him take the knife, fall at his feet, and hope he’d feed me.
I wasn’t in LA.
I wasn’t here.
It wasn’t him.
“You really think you’re good enough to eat at a table like a real human?”
The man whose name I’d sworn to never speak again cocked his head at me, then pushed me from my chair. I didn’t flinch as I hit the floor. I should have known this was a trick. He’d never do something kind without an ulterior motive.
“Your bowl is in the corner, like always, but I think it will stay empty tonight. That should help you learn your place.”
I pushed myself onto hands and knees and shuffled over to the bowl where I took my meals, hoping that if I kept my head down, I could avoid further punishment. But I had only gone a couple of feet when his foot landed in my stomach and sent me falling to my side.
“I’m sorry,” I whimpered, curling into a ball at his feet and wrapping my hands around his ankles. Maybe a little groveling would get me out of this. “I should have known better.”
He crouched down and stroked my hair. “Oh dearie, I really shouldn’t expect too much from you. You can only teach a mutt so many tricks.”
Archer whipped back to face me, recognizing my tone. “Josie, you’re all right. You didn’t do anything wrong. Keep cutting the vegetables.”
I struggled to breathe. “Then why did you walk away? Are you angry?”
I started to drop to my knees, but he was there, grabbing my shoulders and pulling me back to my feet.
He placed his hands over mine, trying to ground me in the present. “You’re okay, Josie. We’re here making dinner together. You’re not in trouble.”
I closed my eyes and focused on the feel of his hands on mine, resting softly instead of pulling or squeezing on my skin.
“Are you sure it’s okay?” I whispered as he pulled me against his chest, stroking my hair softly.
“It’s really okay, Josie.” His voice dropped to that smooth baritone that always soothed me. “I overreacted. I’m sorry I scared you.”
“Why did you get angry?”
His beard scratched against my scalp as he shook his head. “It’s complicated.”
He held me for a while as I focused on my breathing, trying to bring down my heart rate. I was so used to being punished for the slightest infraction, even imagined ones, so it was a relief to be comforted instead of yelled
at. To have hands on me that sought to soothe rather than sting.
When I was first rescued, the counselors I talked to said it might be a long time before I could endure any kind of human touch again, let alone anything to do with sex. I knew from reading enough crime novels when I was younger that these kinds of experiences could ruin someone’s appetite for sex for the rest of their lives. But for me, it was the opposite. I needed someone to look at me like a woman, to lust after my body, to show me I hadn’t been ruined by what had been done to me. The closer I grew to Archer while he stayed in my room, the more I craved his attention. I noticed the way he looked at me and how he always ran to my side to help me stand even though I could do it on my own. I dreamed about what his hands would feel like on my stomach, my breasts, and my back without the barrier of clothing. And then that night I unwrapped my hand, when he let me pull him against me for the briefest moment, I’d felt free for the first time since I’d made the decision to kill myself. Something I’d been carrying around with me dropped away.
But then he started holding himself back.
I missed his touch like I missed the drugs in the worst of my withdrawal.
Now, though, he didn’t push me away before I was ready. He let me sink against him and run my hands across his chest. He was the only one here now, the only person to bring me down. His hands moved across my back and head, relaxing my tense muscles.
At times like these, I could pretend he wasn’t paid to be here.
As my heart rate slowed and I calmed, I forced myself to step back from him, but he surprised me when his arms tightened around me. I turned my head up to him and was concerned by the tense way his eyebrows pinched together and the twisting of his mouth.
“What is it?” I asked, reaching to place my left hand against his cheek.
“It’s complicated,” he repeated. His hand mirrored mine, his huge palm engulfing my cheek. He parted his lips a little bit as he stared at my face.
It was a stupid idea to start with. I shouldn’t have let myself be looked at like that; shouldn’t have let him hold my body so close to his. Whatever I’d been hiding in my chest, the feelings that stirred whenever he looked at me, bloomed and grew to full height while he put his other hand against my face and held me still while he stared into my eyes. And then, slowly, as if he were trying to keep from doing it, his eyes fell to my lips. As if he was thinking about kissing me.
God, it would feel good to be kissed.
He had never kissed me.
I gasped a little as he stepped closer, and I fell back a step before he caught me with one hand around my waist. My hands were flat against his chest, his nipples hard beneath my palms, and all I could think about was running my hands beneath his shirt so I could feel him skin to skin. I wanted to frighten away all the memories of the other man, the one who’d tried to teach me to fear this kind of touch. The thought of his hands on my skin made me shiver, and I whimpered a little as he pushed his forehead against mine. The same way we’d connected in the hospital. But this time, I wanted to go farther.
Archer let me go abruptly, not pushing me away but stepping back too quickly all the same. He went around to the far side of the counter and started chopping the vegetables again. Keeping his eyes fixed on the cutting board, he said nothing.
I stood still for as long as I could, damaged fingertips against my cheek, trying to hold on to the memory of his skin.
“Why did you pull away?” I asked, suddenly bold. He grunted.
“That was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want you to apologize. I want you to kiss me.”
“It’s a breach of trust. I’m supposed to protect you, not seduce you. I should have better control of myself.”
“You wouldn’t be giving me anything I don’t want.” Walking around to him, I put my good hand on his back and let it slide up his spine.
He slammed the knife on the counter, his palm flat against the handle, and turned toward me. “Why do you insist on pushing me?”
I held his shirt. “Is it really so strange that I want you? I want to feel like a real woman again with a man who wants me as much as I want him.” He had to see that I wasn’t afraid of him. Yes, some part of him appealed to a dark part of me, a shadowy place deep inside my soul that had learned to crave his power. But I sensed that giving myself over to him wouldn’t mean abuse or desecration. “I want to be treated right by someone. By you.”
If I had hoped that dropping pieces of my soul on the ground in front of him would soften his stance, I saw immediately how wrong I was. His eyes blazed with anger.
“You think I can help you?” he hissed, and then he was moving so quickly I didn’t even have a chance to step back before he was forcing me back. The second my butt hit the countertop, he clapped his hands over my hips and lifted me to sit in front of him. Pushing my knees apart, he wedged his body between my thighs. I gasped and grabbed his forearms, trying to hold him back, but he was too strong. His fingers dug in to my thighs.
What have I unleashed?
I had never been afraid of him before. Impossibly, even with the foreboding swirling in my chest, I reveled in having him so close, in having his hands all over me and the way he held me tight.
“You think any part of me could make you feel whole?” Something was wrong with his voice. It was … feral. “You’re wrong. Because I won’t do a single damn thing to help you control your body again.” He brought his face very close to mine. I tried to control my breathing, but I could feel myself getting lightheaded. He wrapped his arms around my back and pulled me forward to the edge of the counter so my thighs pushed against his hard stomach. “If you want to be with me, Josie, you won’t own a single part of yourself because I will own every. Last. Molecule.”
He leaned close and licked my neck, and I shivered in a sick combination of desire and apprehension. I should be afraid of him, and I was a little bit. But as intent as he was on creating new nightmares for me, the overwhelming sensation controlling my body right now was lust. I loved the way he talked down to me, holding me too tight and speaking too harshly. It made me sick how weak I was, but not sick enough to pull away from him.
So this was what I’d been made in to. A woman who craved debasement, who chased men who could hurt her as much as they could protect her.
“Your body will bend to my will when I say so, as often as I want, with no regard for your … desires.” He sneered as he said the last word as though offended by the idea I would have any autonomy with him. I squirmed as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of my shorts. My hands flattened against his chest, forcing distance between us until he raised his hands up my back and held me in place.
“Good,” I whispered.
He shook his head. “You have no sense of self-preservation. It’s going to get you hurt.”
I ran a finger down the center of his chest. “You’d better look out for me then.”
He held me for a microsecond longer before stepping back. He walked to the edge of the room, as far away from me as he could get, and then buried his hands in his hair, pulling at the strands as though he was going to tear them out. I wrapped my arms around myself as I stared at his back. My pulse thundered in my throat, my eyeballs, my toes.
“Do not push me on this, Josie. It’s beyond inappropriate. It’s unhealthy, and unethical, and degrading to both of us.”
I sucked oxygen into the bottom of my lungs, trying to remember how to breathe air without him in it. “I’ve been degraded plenty, Archer, and this feels like more than that.”
The look on his face when he raised his head made me quake despite my tough talk. “I said don’t push me. Don’t push me, and I’ll stick around. But if you’re going to make this hard for me, I’ll leave that much sooner.”
That finally got to me. I hadn’t thought he might run out on me because of something I was doing. My lips pressed into a thin line as I stared at my feet. He really still wanted to leave me?
“Go
sit at the table. I’ll finish dinner.”
I didn’t argue with him. I sat in silence while he cooked; we sat in silence together while we ate. And when we finished, I left my plate on the table and went back to my apartment, slamming the door behind me, only to have it open a second later.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” he warned. I spun to glare at him.
“Why do you give a shit?”
We stared at each other for a few tense seconds, and a battle of wills warred in midair. Me, demanding he show something for me besides professional disinterest; him, insisting I rein in my hunger for him.
Touch me. Hold me. Take me how you want; just erase these memories.
In the end, he won.
“I’m going to bed,” I announced, and he nodded.
“I’ll be checking on you. You can leave the lights on.”
I had to suppress a sigh. He still knew what I needed and didn’t make me feel ashamed for it. How could I stay angry with him?
“Thank you, Archer.” I forced my features to soften as I nodded at him. “I appreciate that. Truly.”
He returned my nod, his eyes following me as I rounded the corner to my room.
I heard him come to the door later after I was showered and changed and buried in cotton in the largest bed I’d ever slept in. He stood for I don’t know how long until my breath finally lengthened and deepened, and then, all at once, I was asleep.
I was going to hell.
I’d been assigned to this woman to help her heal and keep her safe while she did so, not to take advantage of her. She was my client, for all intents and purposes, and kissing her was an egregious breach of interest.
And I’d had enough experience crossing professional lines to have learned my lesson.
I knew she wouldn’t sleep without me there, so I walked over and stood in her doorway until I was sure she’d drifted off. I turned off most of the lights except the one in the hallway, then went back into my apartment, leaving the door between our suites cracked open. I was lucky she wasn’t prone to night terrors. Unless I woke her up, she’d sleep until morning.
