Sweet and Dirty (20 page)

“There won’t be a Chase and Capture event tonight.” Sylvester’s resonant voice carried his words to the far corners of the large room.

“Says who?” White demanded.

“Says me.” Sylvester’s tone was final.

White handed Ryan’s leash to Black, then stalked toward Sylvester. “You’ve been looking forward to this one all weekend. The weather is perfect, Kiana is feeling better…so that’s no excuse. Kitten said even Mage would participate.”

“I doubt that’s the reason Mage wants to participate,” Sylvester said with a wry glance at Nora, before looking away from her once more. “Not that it matters now.”

“I was looking forward to it, too,” Master Andre cut in unexpectedly as he walked toward them. “Doubtless for the same reason.” He winked at Nora. “Why the sudden cancellation?”

White was shaking her head. As all of the people gathered around Sylvester, stern faced, he looked with surprise first at White, then everyone else creating the circle. One person made him frown. “Kiana, you should be lying down. Or at least sitting still.”

“The shot fixed me up. Thank you.” Her face remained pale, but now it had new strength and determination. “I think I may have said too much. About that rape accusation against you in Los Angeles. I apologize.” She took a deep breath, brushed strands of her long hair from a face still damp with the perspiration of recent illness. “In case any of you didn’t know, those charges were dropped. She lied,” Kiana explained to the group.

“No. She didn’t lie.” Sylvester looked above her head. His voice sounded flat, emotionless. “I’m a guilty bastard, all right.”

White made a rude sound. “Nobody believes that. We’ve seen how strict you are with checklists and safe words. How protective you are of everyone in your home.”

Sylvester gave a slight shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”

White glared at him.

Nora saw the way Sylvester’s lips thinned and tightened. Pained. This subject hurt him. Good, it should hurt him if he’d done such a horrible thing.

And yet…

She had to know the truth. She spoke up. “Sylvester, did you actually rape someone?”

He looked at her. “Yes. The blame rests with me, totally and completely. I couldn’t regret it more…but yes, I did it.”

White threw her arms up in a gesture of frustration. “Your guilty conscience strikes, and so you cancel the event you know you need, and that these guys have been talking about all weekend. Thanks a lot.”

Sylvester snarled, “My house. My rules.” His eyes blazed dark fire. He visibly gathered his self-control. In a tight voice, he explained, “I thought I was ready for it, but I’m not. Too bad.”

“Too bad? No, Sylvester.” White’s voice rose in anger. “I knew all about your reputation. I heard about Sylvester, the sadistic lover, the heavy top, the accused rapist, way before I met you. And the silly twit who went into it with her eyes wide open, then cried ‘rape’? Common knowledge. Everyone knows. You need to get over it. We all have.”

“Not everyone knows.”

Everyone looked at Nora.

S
he tilted her chin up, staring at Sylvester until a cool mask replaced his angry expression. Something about his control soothed her, gave her hope. Or maybe she just didn’t want to believe the worst. Even now, he radiated a vitality that drew her like a magnet. She tried to fight her physical response to him, to concentrate. “I’m new to the kink scene. All I know about any of you is what you’ve shown me. And I’ve never seen a more welcoming, caring group of people,” she said, looking at White, then Master Andre, then Little Peter, then Sylvester. “So, this rape accusation. Everyone seems to know all about it, except me.”

Sylvester’s nostrils flared for a moment. He said nothing.

White explained. “He didn’t know we all knew. He’s stunned.” Her lips twitched, and she almost smiled. “That’s his stunned look, don’t you know. Our Sylvester, he projects. He’s got emotional range like a Hollywood star.”

Nora stepped closer to Sylvester. There had to be a plausible explanation. She chose her words carefully. “You seem to feel very guilty about what you did. I’d be grateful if you’d explain what happened.”

He stared at her. Something was flickering far back in his eyes. He spoke, his voice neutral. “A scene went wrong. I misread it. I hurt her…raped her. She was…deeply affected by it. Damaged psychologically. I did it. I became a pariah in the kink scene there, and in my neighborhood, deservedly so. I ended up leaving, moving up here for a fresh start. Or so I thought.” He shuddered as he drew in a sharp breath. “The Chase and Capture is a bad idea. I can’t let something like that happen again. That’s it.”

“Bullshit!” White vibrated with ire. “If I’d known that’s what you thought of it, I’d have slapped some sense into you a long time ago.”

Sylvester turned a look on White that should have incinerated her where she stood, but even as he began to speak, Nora heard a loud thumping coming from the living room.

As a unit, the group turned toward the noise.

Osmond’s bag swung and jerked, spasmodic. When it neared the light-olive matte-painted wall, the impact of a bare heel thudded again. And the smaller thumps of hands, elbows, knees.

“He’s going to hurt himself,” Kiana fretted.

“He’s ready to come out. It’s time,” White said, anger fading from her face, replaced by eagerness.

“It’s early,” Black corrected. But the blond woman shrugged, her fingers playing with Ryan’s leash. “Osmond will be a preemie, I guess.”

Master Andre and Little Peter had already fetched the ladder kept near Osmond, climbed it. They brought his bag slowly down, absorbing the occasional kick coming from inside with stoic expressions.

Mistress Kiana dashed to the stereo, put on Native American flute music. The heavy drumbeat and male chanting gave the proceedings a portentous feel. White dimmed the lights to a soft, comforting glow.

Nora looked around, but everyone had dispersed to perform a previously assigned task. Even Ryan, with a mutinous expression, brought in more firewood under Black’s strict supervision to stoke the blaze in the living room’s fireplace. It already felt too warm for comfort, Nora thought.

And she’d lost the chance to question Sylvester, to get to the bottom of the crime he’d committed. If it had been a crime. If it had been nonconsensual.

Nora felt cramped, cranky, and suddenly more tired than she should be in the middle of the afternoon. This was pointless. She didn’t belong here. She looked for Sylvester. Found him stacking heating pads and spreading blankets not far from the fireplace. He wore the same pants he’d unzipped behind her at the schoolhouse.

When he crouched, then stood, his body moved with the same masculine grace she remembered. His rough-hewn face, arrogantly surveying his domain, was just as handsome to her.

Again she was assaulted by her sick yearning for him.

Kitten joined her, carrying a bottle of milk. She pressed it to her wrist. “Not too hot,” she murmured, her eyes not leaving the activity.

“I should go,” Nora murmured back, not wanting to disturb the birthing scene. “I don’t belong here.”

Kitten glanced at her in surprise. “Of course you do.” As Nora stared down into the large, innocent-looking blue eyes of the younger woman, she realized anew how young Kitten had to be. Twenty-two, twenty-three tops. How odd that being a submissive to Mage, the scariest and most scarred person in Sylvester’s house, hadn’t tarnished her innocence.

Kitten continued in a more practical tone. “Anyway, it’ll be good for Osmond to see an unfamiliar face or two here to welcome him. He really needs it, a fresh beginning where he can feel safe and loved, you know?” She tapped one pink painted nail on the hard plastic of the bottle, lowered her voice farther, until Nora had to strain to catch her words over the music. “His father killed himself when Osmond was fifteen. His mom had mental issues, and she abandoned Osmond later that same year. He grew up never feeling wanted, or anything better than unworthy and anxious and depressed. The only time he feels loved is when he wears diapers and people treat him like a baby.” She shrugged. “So this is a way to give him a new birth to maybe wipe the slate clean, maybe give him a sense of acceptance that stays with Osmond longer than just when he’s indulging his fetish. You know? It’s Sylvester’s idea.” She looked at Nora sideways. “He’s a good man.”

“Osmond is?” Nora stared straight ahead, tender feelings threatening to overwhelm her.

“Sylvester.” Kitten looked straight ahead, too. “It looks like Osmond’s a breech baby.”

Sure enough, a naked foot squeezed through the pink bag’s opening to rest on the blankets Sylvester spread. Another foot kicked the opening wider, and two bare, glistening, hairy knees appeared. Sylvester grabbed them, not ungently. He pulled. Osmond slid out.

Immediately, Kitten jumped. “Oh, that was fast. Come on!” she said excitedly, pulling Nora forward.

Master Andre wrapped the man in blankets, and Mistress Kiana hugged them both as Sylvester tucked heating pads in all the gaps. Little Peter touched one of Osmond’s feet and said, “Welcome. Happy birthday. You are loved,” before making way for the next.

Kitten hurried forward. She touched him on the brow. “Welcome, Osmond. You’re so loved.” She worked the snorkel free from his mouth, replaced it with the nipple of the bottle. Osmond suckled on it, his eyes still closed. “Happy birthday, sweetie.”

Kitten eyed her, looked pointedly at Osmond, then back to her.

Nora approached, reluctant. She felt awkward, at first. But with each step forward the ritual seemed to pull more strongly at her. She didn’t even know him, yet he needed her, depended on her along with the rest of them. She couldn’t let him down.

She looked at the naked man swathed in blankets. His moisture-darkened hair stuck to a face so thin its bone structure showed clearly. He had a cleft in his chin and tear streaks on his cheeks. She couldn’t remember ever seeing a more vulnerable-looking adult.

Her hand reached out as if it was under someone else’s control, touched the chin’s cleft. “Welcome. Happy birthday.” Osmond sighed, snuggled into his blankets. Her voice shook with emotion. “Welcome, Osmond. You are loved.” Strangely, as she said the words, they became true. No matter what had happened to this man earlier in his life to deprive him of peace and acceptance, he was here now, surrounded by caring people, and she was able to love him.

She let others nudge her away from him, and heard familiar voices welcoming Osmond. Kitten laughed, once, a carefree, happy sound.

Nora remembered Kitten had said Sylvester was a good man.

Giving in to the urge to feast her eyes on Sylvester again, she finally looked for him, her heartbeat instantly increasing tempo in anticipation.

She saw him not far from the cluster of people, straightening after giving Little Peter soft instructions. The service sub scampered past her toward the kitchen, but she couldn’t pry her gaze from Sylvester.

Sylvester looked at her as if trying to memorize every detail.

Her heart jolted in response, and her pulse began to pound. How could she still feel this way? How was it possible to want him so much after what he’d admitted? He was so disturbing to her in every way.

Little Peter placed a glass in her hand, and immediately filled it with Dom Pérignon. His impish smile was infectious. “To Osmond!”

“To Osmond.” She sipped, then simply held the glass and looked at the birthday boy. Kiana wrestled with one of his legs, trying to thread a large diaper through his crotch. Laughter and the clink of glasses filled the air. Even the music had turned lighter, happier, the chanting giving way to a soaring, exultant choral. Black and White sandwiched Osmond, holding him and rocking him slowly back and forth.

It was a scene of such warmth and tenderness it made Nora blink back tears.

It was Sylvester’s idea. The entire healing scene, Sylvester’s doing.

She looked at Sylvester, and the heat of his gaze made her draw in a sharp breath. It seemed he hadn’t stopped staring at her. His eyes met hers without flinching. The cord of tension stretched tight between them. A delicious shudder stirred her body. He was a good man, damn it. Why shouldn’t she have him?

She sipped again, for fortification, then walked across the carpet runner to stand before Sylvester. She tilted her chin up and met his gaze squarely. “Maybe you shouldn’t cancel the Chase and Capture just yet.”

As she’d expected, he showed no reaction. But a small tic under his left eye jumped. Also, if she wasn’t mistaken, he’d stopped breathing. “Sylvester, ever since you mentioned the event, I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind.” She laughed, a little nervously. “It’s the only role-playing game I want. But it’s not just a game. Not really.” She looked deeply into his eyes, was satisfied with what she saw there. “You want the same thing.”

She could sense him struggling against his own lust. He couldn’t hide it from her. Her desire for him briefly made way for a passing admiration for his control. Then the lust rose up, swamped her once more, setting off tremors in her body.

“I won’t damage anyone else due to my dangerous proclivities.” His voice was soft, reasonable.

“Safe, sane, consensual. We’ve got all three.” She shrugged and tossed her hair over one shoulder in a gesture of defiance. “Catch me if you can?”

The ghost of a smile played about his lips. His gaze speared her. “You are incorrigible. Brat.”

“Punish me for it. If you can catch me. I gather the event’s outside? Is it like a game of hide and seek? Or tag?” She touched his arm, playful. Its hard stillness gave her more shivers. “You never explained the rules,” she said, and hoped he didn’t notice the catch in her voice. His proximity kindled feelings of fire. She peeked up at him through her lashes.

“I haven’t said we’ll be playing.” Male amusement, mixed with confusion. “I can’t believe I’m even discussing it.” He looked at her. “Why aren’t you afraid of me? You know what I am.”

Nora thought about it. She stared up at him. Try as she might, she couldn’t see a criminal. He’d shown her too much thoughtfulness, too much caring for the feelings of his guests. Too much guilt. “She signed up for it, didn’t she? On a checklist.” She waited for his nod. “I’m guessing she didn’t use her safe word either.”

Sylvester shook his head. He looked uncomfortable, his lips tight with sudden tension. “No. But it doesn’t matter.” He drew one hand through his dark hair, making it even more unruly. “People made me into the devil. There was this one time, not long after the accusation went public. Afterward. In a parking lot, right? This woman. Sloppy housewife type, her lips loose and her hair this bleached-straw gray-blond. She tore the plastic lid off her fountain drink and came at me. She tossed the whole drink at my crotch and started screaming about marking me so women would know I’m a cum-stained rapist, a piece of shit, a kiddie raper—I don’t know why she called me a kiddie raper, maybe so someone would hear it and beat the crap out of me?—and she didn’t stop screaming the whole time I got in my truck and drove out of there.” His dark eyes had become dark and unreadable as stone.

“And then the woman—your victim—dropped the charges.”

“And then she dropped the charges.”

She swallowed, holding raw emotion in check. How he must have suffered. And he was still chewing himself to bits with guilt. Nora leaned toward him, exhaling with agitation. “Sylvester. You said it yourself: it was a scene that went wrong. Horribly wrong. But it wasn’t all your fault. It wasn’t even mostly your fault. You’ve paid. Let it go.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Nora.” His voice was chill and exact.

It heartened her. Anything but the raw, desperate tone he’d had when he spoke of the housewife in the parking lot. “I’ll do what I want. That includes you.”

He blinked, then made a small sound that might have been a suppressed laugh. “Do you think so.”

“Depends. Will you still have the Chase and Capture event?”

He stared at her for so long apprehension flicked through her. When he spoke his silky voice held a challenge. “You do realize I wouldn’t be the only man chasing. Another might capture you.”

Nora managed not to cheer. He was going to do it! “I’m a runner. I doubt anyone here can catch me.” Her words were a deliberate goad. She smiled at him, feeling bright with confidence and eager as hell for him. “The real question is, would you know what to do with me if you did?”

His lips quirked briefly into a knowing smile, but his words were serious. “Be sure of this. I won’t hold back, I won’t be gentle. It will be real. Your safe word limit is sacred, but every bit of you outside that limit is fair game. I don’t want to hurt you. But I might not be able to…” His resonant voice trailed off, as if the motivating power behind it waned, a brownout. He seemed overcome by just the thought.

Nora stared in fascination, but his face gave so little away. A moment later, he turned a stern, dispassionate gaze on her. “I might hurt you.”

She spoke from instinct. “You need this, too. You need to accept your desires just as much as I do. It’s consensual. It was then, and it is now. Sylvester, forgive yourself.”