Living in Shadow (Living In…) (16 page)

A burst of complete rage filled him and he had to bend to put down his bottle on the floor before he shattered it. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said roughly, knowing it was a paltry thing to say, but not having anything else to offer her.

She drained her beer in one swallow. “Oh, I know that. Then again, he didn’t hold a gun to my head. I didn’t have to do it. I only made the mistake of being in love with him.” Her voice was flat, emotionless. And he knew why. She was distancing herself from it.

Well, no fucking wonder. He clenched his hands into fists, the urge to hurt someone vicious inside him. “It was bad, wasn’t it?”

Her lashes fell. “Yes.”

“Can you tell me?”

She had gone very still. “I don’t want to.”

He didn’t want to push, because she’d told him not to, and it wasn’t her he wanted to hurt. And yet… She was in pain already. Forcing away his rage, he said gently, “But you’ve told me everything else. And I think that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Abruptly she put her hands over her face. “I don’t want to.” Her voice was a whisper. “I can’t.”

Memories hurt—fuck, he knew that. And it wasn’t his place to make her relive hers. But that didn’t mean he had to stand by and let her suffer.

He reached for her, pulling her into his arms. Giving her the only thing he could—physical comfort.

Eleanor was shivering and she pressed her palms to his chest as if to hold him off. But then she buried her face in his neck, her body melting against his as if she were the one who was cold.

He didn’t have any words or advice to offer because, God knew, he was a fine one to talk when he didn’t want to tell anyone about what had happened to him. So he stood there and held her tight. Giving her back the warmth she’d always given him.

And even though his body responded to her heat and softness in the way it usually did, he didn’t make any moves. Because this wasn’t about sex.

At least it wasn’t until she shifted her head slightly. And he felt her tongue lick the hollow of his throat.

Chapter Eleven

He was hot and smelled of clean sweat and musk. And that was so much better than the memories in her head, than the pain she didn’t want to face.

So she licked his throat, tasting the salt on his skin. It was delicious. And it didn’t matter that he hadn’t showered. The way his skin had glistened when he’d opened the door dressed in nothing but a pair of sweatpants had sent a bolt of desire straight between her thighs.

Now she wanted nothing more than to indulge that desire, drown her memories in pleasure.

She licked him again, running her tongue along his collarbone, pressing her hands against his chest, feeling the shift and flex of his muscles under her palms. Christ, his body was a work of art and she ached to touch it. He hadn’t given her much opportunity on Friday night, and now she was hungry for the chance to explore him.

And then gentle fingers wound into her hair, her head being tugged back, and when she met his gaze, she saw his eyes were full of concern. “Eleanor, what are you doing?”

“I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to remember it. I just want…to break out of this fear, Luc. It’s like a cage and I don’t want to be trapped in it anymore.”

He studied her intently, concern shadowing his gaze. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. You were right. I’ve been letting it stop me from taking what I want for too long and I’m sick of it.”

“So you want to take it now?”

She nodded, stroking the oiled silk of his skin with her thumbs. “You can help with that, can’t you?”

“Yeah, I can.” His fingers tightened in her hair, pulling slightly, and the little prickle of hurt made her catch her breath, her thighs clenching around the ache between them. “You remember your safe word?”

“Yes,” she said unsteadily.

“And you know I respect it? That I would never ignore it?”

“I do.”

“Good.” He released her and stepped away, and she nearly reached for him, wanting that hard body and hot skin against hers. “Go into the bedroom and take off your clothes. Then sit on the bed and wait for me.”

“You don’t have to shower if you don’t—”

“Did I ask you to question me?”

Excitement twisted in her gut and she embraced it, biting her lip to keep herself from saying more. Wordlessly she shook her head.

“No, that’s right. I didn’t.” His eyes glittered as he searched her face. “You look like you want to say something, though. Argue with me maybe?”

She looked down, shaking her head again, her breathing getting faster. Jesus, he was so fucking hot.

“Just as well. Arguing with me earns a punishment and I don’t think you’re ready for that quite yet.”

No, she didn’t think she was ready for that yet either.

“Into the bedroom, Eleanor. I want you on my bed with your legs spread and your pussy wet, right now. Otherwise there’ll be hell to pay.”

She went, her heart beating loud enough in her head she was sure he probably could hear it himself.

In his bedroom, she shrugged off her jacket and unbuttoned her blouse. Took off her bra and pushed down the plain gray wool trousers she wore, stepping out of them and her underwear. She didn’t bother with picking them up and folding them neatly. She only left them there in a pile on the floor as she went over to the bed.

She was beginning to shake as she sat down on it and positioned herself in the middle of it, her body already gearing itself up for what was to come.

Lying down on her back and spreading her legs in preparation for him only made it worse. She flung her arm over her eyes, feeling vulnerable and exposed and yet not moving. It was her choice to obey him and she wanted to. God, she wanted to so badly.

She wasn’t going to let fear rule her anymore.

Some time passed, she didn’t know how much. She kept her arm over her face, listening to the silence of the room, anticipation building, ramping up her excitement.

If he already knew that a sub’s own mind could be the most powerful erotic tool then he was learning very, very quickly indeed.

Piers was good at the psychological seduction too, don’t forget…

Eleanor stared into the darkness behind her eyes. No, she would not think of him. She had Luc to give her better memories now.

The bed suddenly dipped and she gasped, freezing up. How the hell hadn’t she heard him? She should have remembered how silently he moved.

“It’s only me.” Luc’s voice was soft, dark. Then the heat of his hands on her inner thighs, pushing them wide. “And I said legs apart.”

She took her arm from over her eyes and blinked away the darkness.

Luc was kneeling between her spread thighs. He was completely naked, a stray drop of water from his shower making its way down the hard, cut muscles of his torso. His gaze was on hers, burning with a familiar intensity that made the breath lock in her throat. And there was something else there. Something more. Determination.

“Are you wet, Eleanor?” He covered her sex with his hand.

She inhaled raggedly at the touch. “Yes.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” His fingers slid between her folds, exploring, testing her gently. “Hmmm. So you are. Extremely wet. Good girl.”

He took his hand away and leaned over her, staring down into her eyes. “I’m going to hold you down with your wrists above your head. And I don’t want to hear a sound unless it’s your safe word.”

She gave a jerky nod, her heart racing. He was intent on something, she could see it in his eyes. It made her excitement twist even tighter.

Luc took her wrists in one strong hand and held them away, pressed into the pillows above her head.

Her breathing became fast, the old, reflexive fear lingering. But she’d chosen this, knowing what he would demand of her. And she’d trusted him before; she’d trust him again.

He held her wrists so gently and yet firmly enough she knew she couldn’t get away. His eyes scanned her body in a slow sweep, a dark flush of color staining the brown skin of his cheekbones. Like a man who hadn’t eaten for months surveying a banquet table and wondering where to start.

“You said they hurt you,” Luc murmured. “Where?”

“What? Who?”

“Those men.”

Oh fuck. She’d thought she’d escaped that. But… Her throat felt dry, memories scratching in the corners of her mind. Things she didn’t want to remember.

“Luc,” she said thickly. “I don’t—”

“Where?” His tone was insistent, brooking no argument.

She could say her safe word. She could say
truth
and he would stop.

Coward. So much for truth.

“My jaw,” she heard herself say hoarsely. “One of them slapped me.” She hadn’t liked being hit and Piers knew that. And yet he’d only watched as his friend hit her. Hard. Letting it happen. The shock of that had been worse than the pain. Worse than the bruise on her cheekbone.

Luc’s free hand cupped her chin, an intent look on his face. He stroked her cheekbone with his thumb, gentle, soft. Then he bent and brushed his mouth along her jaw, a series of featherlight kisses. Her throat closed up, her heart constricting.

“Where else?” he murmured.

“M-my neck. He tried to choke me.” Piers had told them that anything was allowed. She’d tried to say her safe word but she wasn’t able to speak.

Luc’s hand dropped to circle her neck, still gentle. He bent, kissed the side of it then nipped her softly. Another trail of kisses, ending at her throat. Then his teeth, another nip, sharper, an intense bolt of sensation that went straight down her spine.

She closed her eyes, shaking. There were tears behind her lids and she wanted him to stop touching her, stop making her remember because she didn’t want to. She
so
didn’t want to.

And yet at the same time she didn’t want him to ever stop touching her again.

“Where else, Eleanor?”

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. “My breasts.” One of them had bitten her, making her nipple bleed. Leaving bruises on her skin and definitely no pleasure.

Luc’s hand drifted lower, stroking the curve of one breast, caressing. His thumb circled around her nipple and he pinched her, but the sensation was nothing like the pain Piers had left her open to. It was sharp, yes, but it didn’t hurt. Only added to the exquisite tension gathering tighter between her thighs.

More tears pushed against her closed lids. Oh fuck. Why was she crying?

She wanted to throw an arm over her face again, hide somehow, but he was holding her wrists and she couldn’t. “Luc,” she whispered, “please don’t.”

He didn’t answer, nor did he stop, the heat of his mouth closing over her nipple, drawing hard on her, heightening the ache.

A sob caught in her throat.

“Where else?” he asked, his breath feathering over the sensitive tip of her nipple.

“No, I can’t do this.”

“Where else?”

“Luc…”

“Tell me.”

She shivered, keeping her eyes shut tight so the tears couldn’t escape. “It hurts.”

“I know.” The warmth of his hand moving down her body, soothing, caressing. “But if you want better memories, you need to let me take the old ones away. And I can’t if I don’t know what they are.”

But it was hard. She’d been avoiding those memories for so long, not wanting to relive them. Because it hadn’t been the physical pain that was so terrible. It had been realizing, slowly, that Piers didn’t give a shit about her. Why else would he have blindfolded her so she had no idea what was happening? So she didn’t know how many men were going to use her or even what they were going to do? Why else would he have ignored her safe word, no matter how many times she said it?

No, he didn’t care. And she’d prostituted herself for nothing.

“Did they hurt you here?” His hand brushed her stomach and down between her thighs, and instinctively she closed her legs, trapping him.

His breath near her ear, lips soft against her neck, his body shifting on the bed. “Did they?” The hand between her thighs didn’t move. “
Mon soleil…
Did they hurt you?”

She couldn’t speak. Tears leaked out the corners of her eyes despite her best intentions.

“You fucking love it,” one of them had said in her ear as he’d forced his way inside her while someone else held her down. They were in one of the private rooms, no one could hear them. “Hey, Piers, I think your little slut loves this.” And he’d kept talking. Talking right over her as she said her safe word over and over. Until it meant nothing.

While her husband watched. Letting it all happen.

The memory caught her, the shame of it a giant stone on her chest, crushing her. The pain. The helplessness. The grief.

Luc moved and she felt him begin to withdraw his hand. “No,” she managed to force out, her voice all rusty. “Don’t go.”

He stilled. “I can’t bear to hurt you too.”

“You were right. I want something else. I want something good. I want you there instead of them.” She could feel the tight clench of her muscles but she couldn’t seem to relax, a tremble shaking her.

A second passed, or maybe a minute. An hour even.

“Look at me,” Luc whispered. Another order, but a gentle one.

It took effort but she managed, opening her eyes, his dark, beautiful face wavering in her vision.

“Keep your legs spread.”

She forced herself to obey. His hand rested between her legs, the warmth and pressure of it both weirdly reassuring and intensely erotic.

“You feel where I have my hand?” he said in a low, fierce voice, gently squeezing for emphasis. “This pussy is mine. And I don’t want other men near it. I don’t want other men hurting it. So from now on, it belongs to me. Tell me.”

Tears were running down her face and she couldn’t understand why those possessive, territorial words should make her feel so safe and yet they did. Like he was reclaiming her from her memories. Reclaiming her from Piers. “Luc, I don’t—”

His hand squeezed again, his fingers pressing gently against her clit, an arrow of pleasure piercing her. “You don’t need to hold on to that bullshit anymore, Eleanor.” He looked into her eyes, pinning her there with the intensity in his. “So give it to me. Let me have it instead.”