by M. S. Parker
As I often did when I thought of her, I put my hand on my hip. Beneath the comfortable flannel pants was a lily tattoo. No one had ever asked me about it, and I wouldn't have told them if they had. The pain was still too fresh.
Officer Lily Wright had been one of the people on the task force who'd come into my house that night. I'd been thirteen, underfed and terrified. I'd lashed out when one of the police men had tried to touch me and the only other woman present had given me such a look of disgust that I'd cussed her out. Lily had been the only one who'd cared enough to put her arms around me despite the filth I was covered in. She was the first person to show me true kindness and not expect anything in return. The only one who hadn't been paid to do it – until Rylan. My social worker and therapist had been good, but I'd always known I was their job. Lily had only been on site for crowd control. She hadn't needed to come to me, comfort me.
She'd stayed with me in the ambulance and at the hospital, holding my hand the entire time. She'd stayed for nearly twenty-four hours, and then she'd come back every day to visit until it was finally time for me to be released. That day, she'd brought me a lily and given me her card. She'd told me she'd always be there when I needed her. All I needed to do was call.
She'd kept her promise for two years. And then some bastards in a turf war had gunned her down. Hundreds of people had attended her funeral and the nineteen year-old who shot her got life in prison, but that hadn't been much comfort to me. It still wasn't. Those first two years in and out of the hospital, in group homes and talking to psychiatrists who kept wanting to put me on meds... I never would've gotten through any of that if it hadn't been for her.
“You look thoughtful.”
I jerked my hand back, hoping Rylan hadn't see or felt me touching him. He smiled up at me, but his expression revealed nothing. I pushed myself back and up, putting space between us as he sat up.
“I should get going.” I looked at the clock for the first time. “Shit! I really do need to go!”
He glanced over his shoulder and laughed, a genuine sound that managed to stop my frenzied movements. “I think your boss can excuse you.”
I started to shake my head as I walked around the bed and began picking up my clothes. “I don't want anyone thinking... I mean...”
“You'd rather both of us go in late, you wearing the same thing you did yesterday?” He raised an eyebrow, seemingly amused at my stammering.
I glared at him. “I'll go home and change first.”
“You wouldn't make it back to your place and then to work until after lunch,” he reasoned.
I threw down my clothes, annoyed. “Then what do you suggest?”
He folded his arms behind his head. “Well, considering I've already sent in an email saying that, due to us having to work late on a security glitch, I was giving you today off and I was going to take a day myself, I'd say the first thing I suggest is that you relax.”
“You sent an email,” I said.
He nodded and sat forward. “Last night while I was waiting for you to wake up.”
“Because you knew then that neither one of us would be getting much sleep?” I felt a tinge of heat in my cheeks and refused to let my mind go where that question wanted to take it.
“Because I knew then that you needed to sleep without worrying about going in to work.” He paused, the expression on his face sobering. “And because I wanted to talk to you and this seemed like the best way to make sure you didn't have any excuses to avoid me.”
“I haven't been avoiding you,” I argued.
“Good,” he said. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. At some point, he'd changed into pajamas similar to mine.
I wondered if he wore them all the time or if he slept in less...
“Aside from pajamas, I usually try to keep some clothes people can wear in a pinch. Generally, it's my sister or Zeke.” He stood and ran his hand through his hair as he yawned. He motioned toward the bathroom. “Towels are already laid out. Take your time, find something to wear and then come downstairs. Bottom of the stairs, turn left and keep going straight. You'll end up in the kitchen. We'll talk over breakfast.” He looked at the clock again. “Or brunch, more accurately.”
He didn't give me a chance to protest, to tell him that I was perfectly fine taking a cab back to my place and we could talk business at work tomorrow. My stomach twisted as the thought occurred to me that whatever it was he wanted to talk about probably wasn't work-related. He hadn't said so. In fact, he'd deliberately called us off work so we could talk here. If he hadn't been such a gentleman last night, I would've suspected he had something devious in mind.
What could he possibly want to talk about, I wondered as I went into the bathroom. It would've been a master bath in most houses. Marble countertops. Double sink. Large bathtub on one side and a glass-enclosed shower on the other. I wanted a nice long soak in water hot enough to make my skin pink, but I went for the shower instead. The more I put off the talk, the more anxious I would be.
I showered quickly, appreciating the assortment of available shampoos and soaps he had set out for his guests. Well, not him personally, because I assumed he had a housekeeper who did all of that, but the fact that he was willing to spend money on varieties of quality stuff for guests was nice. I chose lavender and let the scent soothe me as I cleaned up. When I was done, I headed into the bedroom and over to the dresser. I cringed as I looked through the selection there and in the closet. It wasn't that the clothes were tacky or cheap, they were generic. I shrugged. It didn't matter. They were clean and it wasn't like I was actually going anywhere.
I pulled out a pair of men's jeans – there was no way I would wear one of the dresses in the closet – and then cuffed the pants until I could walk. They hung dangerously low on my hips and if they fell even just a bit more, they'd show my lack of undergarments, but I wasn't planning on doing any sprinting or jumping jacks, so I figured I'd be fine. I was starting to get a bit chilly, so a hoodie came next. I didn't pick the biggest one because I would've been swimming in it, but I didn't choose the smallest either. I wasn't wearing a bra and didn't feel like making that public knowledge. Once I washed my face, dressed and ran a brush through my hair, I knew it was time to head downstairs.
I glanced in the mirror as I passed. I didn't wear make-up at home and there were plenty of times I lounged around in comfy clothes like these, sometimes even sans bra and underwear. I just never let anyone see me like this. Although, I supposed, after last night, this wasn't really a big deal.
I followed his directions and by the time I had gone a couple feet from the stairs, I could just follow my nose. Something smelled delicious. When I entered the kitchen, I was greeted by a sight I'd never thought I'd see.
Rylan was cooking. He was standing at the stove, wearing an apron and doing something with an omelet. There was a streak of flour on his cheek and his feet were still bare.
“You don't have a cook who does that for you?” I blurted the question out.
He jumped, apparently startled by my sudden appearance, but he didn't miss a beat with his cooking. The spatula moved from the pan with the eggs to another one where he flipped a pancake.
“I wasn't sure what you liked, so I made a little of everything.” He gestured toward each of the three pans on the stove. “Pancakes, bacon and a cheese omelet.” He glanced at me. “There's already toast, jam and fruit on the table.”
I stared at him.
“I know, more breakfast food than lunch, but on the rare occasion I get up late, I like to have breakfast anyway.” He turned off the burners and began putting the food onto a trio of dishes. “And to answer your question, no I don't have a cook. I have a cleaning crew who comes in once a week, but that's because the house is huge, and I have a grounds crew who keeps the outside nice because six acres is a lot to manage on my own.”
My jaw dropped as I watched him balance all three plates and carry them to a small table I hadn't noticed before.
; “I only use the dining room when there's more than a couple people here, or it's something formal.” He set down the plates. “Please, sit. The drinks are all here too.”
I walked over to where he stood and took a seat. He waited until he'd poured me a small glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee before he joined me.
“You wanted to talk?” I asked
“Eat first.” He pointed at my plate. “Then we'll talk.”
I expected the silence between us to be awkward, especially considering all that had happened in the past few hours, but it wasn't really. In fact, it was quite nice to sit and relax. Eating nice and slow, no rush with somewhere to be, no pressure to have to maintain a conversation or pretend like things were normal or that I was tough. I could just be and he was okay with it.
When we finished, however, I began to get nervous. One of the reasons I dressed the way I did was because I used my appearance as a shield, a protection from people. I still had the tattoos, piercings and hair, but dressed this way, I didn't feel the same.
He drained the last of his coffee and turned his chair so that it was angled toward me. I hadn't thought anything of it when he'd sat next to me instead of across from me, but now I realized he was closer than I thought. His knee brushed mine and a warmth spread through me from the point of contact. If that happened through two layers of clothes, I suspected I might combust if he did anything else. There was a tension between us that hadn't been there before.
“These last few weeks,” he began. “Working with you. Talking to you. Watching you with the others at the office.” His lips twitched. “With Christophe in particular.”
I pressed my hands together, forcing myself not to think of all the different ways this conversation could go.
“It's forced me to admit something I'd been trying to deny.” He leaned toward me, but didn't try to touch me. “Then last night, seeing you so... seeing how hurt you were, knowing someone had caused you so much pain...” His hands curled into fists. “I hate it. I hate that anyone could hurt another human being, but you...” He shook his head. “It tears me up that I can't protect you from your past.”
My heart did a funny skipping thing and it was getting hard to breathe. Not like before. This was different. Part of me wanted to tell him to stop right there, that I didn't want to hear what was coming next, but another part wanted to beg him to continue. It didn't matter what my internal debates were, however. He kept going.
“I care about you, Jenna.” He covered my hands with his. “I want to be with you.”
Chapter 5
I was already starting to shake my head before he'd even finished saying it. This had to be a trick. A lie. A joke. A misunderstanding. Anything but the truth.
“You can't, Rylan,” I said as soon as he paused. “I mean, the sex was good, but–”
“You think that's all I care about?” His fingers curled around mine and I couldn't deny the way the words and his gesture made my stomach twist. “I don't want to sleep with you.” He grinned, his gaze heating up. “That's not true. I do want to sleep with you, but that's not all I want. And if I have to keep my hands to myself to gain your trust, then that's what I'll do.”
I swallowed hard, my eyes dropping. Any other man, I would've called bullshit and maybe even given him a slap for good measure, but Rylan wasn't just some random man. He'd proven it more than once.
“Look at me, Jenna.” His voice was gentle.
I looked up and found my gaze captured by his. It was open and frank, letting me see everything he was feeling, thinking. I was drawn to what I saw there. He meant what he said. There was desire and heat, but it was tempered by tenderness and something that sent a thrill of fear through me. When he'd said he cared about me, I'd tried telling myself that he'd meant it as a friend and employee... just one with non-traditional benefits. What I saw there now, however, told me that when he said he cared, he meant that what he felt for me could become something more, something that terrified me.
“I know it's probably not a good idea, with you working for me and all, but I tried to just see you as an employee and it was killing me.”
I had to tell him that work was the last on a long list of reasons why this was a bad idea. He didn't understand what he was asking for and as much as my heart begged me to take this chance, I couldn't do that to him. He deserved so much better.
“Rylan, when I said last night that I was broken, it wasn't just the panic attack talking.”
He got out of his chair and knelt next to me. I had to look down now to meet his eyes. He reached up and cupped the side of my face. “Please, Jenna. If there's any chance you feel anything for me...”
“I...” How was I supposed to think clearly when he was touching me? “I don't know if I can, Rylan.”
“Let's start with full disclosure, then.”
Panic flared as he stood and held out a hand. I’d already shared more to him that I have shared with anyone for a long time.
“From me,” he clarified, his voice gentle. “There are some things about me that you need to know to make an… informed decision. Let me show you the rest of the house.”
The anxiety inside me lessened when I realized he wasn't going to ask me to talk about my past. I slid my hand into his, trying to ignore the tingles of warmth that went through me. I didn't know what I would do, or even what I wanted to do about him, but I was going with him now. I wasn't entirely sure why, only that I couldn't find it in me to put a stop to this now.
After first touring the bottom part of the house, we walked back up the steps and kept going until we past the room where I'd slept last night.
“Will you promise to hear me out? No matter what you think about what I'm going to tell you?”
Now I was curious. “I promise.” After all he'd done for me last night, listening was the least I could do.
“When we slept together, it was great,” he began. “But it wasn't the way I usually do things.” I kept glancing into the many bedrooms as we passed them, one more luxurious than the other until finally we stopped in front of the last door on the right-hand side of the hall. “I tend to be a little... less than vanilla.”
My eyes widened. Of all the things I'd expected out of him, that hadn't been it. Nothing about him had hinted to me that he was a bit kinky. Now, just how kinky remained to be seen. I wasn't exactly vanilla either. My stomach twisted at the thought of being able to share that part of me with Rylan. Then it twisted again – and not in a good way – as I thought about some of the things he might want to do.
He hesitated in front of the closed bedroom door and turned. “Well, that’s it. Let’s go back to the kitchen.”
He began to walk back the hallway but when I didn’t move, he paused.
“What’s behind this door?” I asked curiously.
Rylan took a deep breath and looked almost nervous. “This is – well, this is my playroom.” He gave me a grin, but I could see that there was some worry in that smile. He opened the door and stepped back to give me a look inside.
I stepped inside and felt him right behind me. I didn't look at him though. I was too busy staring at everything around me. The room itself wasn't red or black or any of those kinds of colors most people would associate with the room's contents. Instead, the walls were a light brown with a warm brown trim, the kind of color scheme that would've looked perfect in a living room or bedroom. In fact, it matched most of the other décor I'd seen in the house. This wasn't just a regular room though, even though there was a giant bed at the far wall.
That bed, however, had intricately crafted tall metal posts at each corner of the bed, the top two attached to the equally elaborate headboard. From where I was standing, I could see leather cuffs at the base of the bottom two posts and assumed there would be matching ones at the top. My blood ran cold. I knew what those were for.
Lining the walls on either side of the bed were chests of drawers. I didn't need someone to tell me that those drawers didn't hold clothes. At
least not like the ones I was wearing. Hanging on the wall to my right were a row of floggers, crops and paddles. On my left was a wooden X with leather cuffs at the top and bottom. I looked up. The ceiling was a bit higher here than the other rooms and in the center of the room were a set of chains. I knew if I followed them back down, I'd see a winch or something similar that would control how they would be lowered and raised.
I focused on my breathing, willing myself to stay calm. These things weren't the enemy. They weren't bad, just like my little kinks weren't bad.
“Most people don't understand this.” Rylan stepped up beside me and I noticed he was being careful not to touch me. “They think of S&M as being something with leather and chains and whips.”
I glanced over at him and then gave a meaningful look to the chains overhead. Sarcasm and attitude were two of my most often used defense mechanisms.
“You know what I mean.” A smile played around his lips and I could see a bit of relief in his eyes that I hadn't run away screaming. “The average person believes that BDSM is about pain and humiliation, but it's not.” He turned toward me, an urgency on his face. Without him saying it, I knew he was asking me to understand. “It's about trust.”
I swallowed hard. It was easier to breathe when I looked at him, but there was still that fear creeping up my spine. In this room were all sorts of things that triggered the darkest of memories. I focused on him, on what he was saying.
“It's about trusting your partner to say when they've had enough or trusting them to stop when you say the word. It's about giving and taking control. Letting someone take care of you, to know you so well that they know what you need even more than you do.”
