Wicked Lovers 07 Ours to Love (34 page)

Yes, she loved them . . . and she still couldn’t expose herself this way. She was
going to disappoint them regardless. Why not stay safe doing it?

Javier narrowed those piercing blue eyes at her. “Can’t, sub? Or won’t?”

“We’re deeply disappointed, London.” Xander looked ready to tear the big steel door
down with his bare hands. Or maybe he looked ready to grab her shoulders and beg.
Anger and pain and defeat tightened his features.

That she could reduce these wonderful, proud men to this kind of angst shamed her
to the core. And even that couldn’t make her give them what they so desperately wanted
from her. Was she so damn broken that she shouldn’t be wasting their time at all?

At the thought, she ripped out the clip in her hair and let it cover her back as she
dropped to her knees and began sobbing.

“London?” Javier asked.

She heard his steps coming closer and shook her head furiously. He couldn’t see her.
He couldn’t touch her. Neither of them could or she would fall apart.

“Ford,” she croaked out the word, then looked up to find their faces frozen and stricken.

Hating herself, she backed away from the cross and grabbed the trench coat from the
table Javier had placed it on when they’d entered the room. As she donned it, she
ached to go to them, let their arms enfold her, feel them around her again. But if
she couldn’t be the woman they needed, she had to stop wasting their time.

“I’m sorry.”

Turning, she wrenched the door open and ran out.

Chapter Seventeen

L
ONDON
had barely run three feet out the door when she bumped into a solid wall of flesh.
Heart pumping, tears flowing, she looked up, blinking against the club’s harsh lights.

Thorpe towered over her.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” She tried not to sniffle and failed. “Excuse me.”

When she tried to race around him, he grabbed her arm. He might look elegant, but
under that impeccable suit and those cool gray eyes, he was shrewd and far stronger
than she expected.

“Did you use your safe word?”

How had he guessed?
Though her head was full of landmines exploding with pain and regret, she managed
to nod.

He sighed. “Come with me.”

She followed because he really left her little choice. When he didn’t lead her immediately
back to Javier and Xander, but rather down another hallway and through a door he unlocked
with a key, then up a flight of stairs, London was more puzzled and relieved than
worried.

“You’re obviously upset. Would you like to talk about it?”

The room was dim, but she caught sight of a plush chocolate velvet sofa. It invited
her to curl up and sob her eyes out, but the man standing in front of her demanded
an answer with nothing more than his direct stare and a raised brow.

“No, Sir.”

What else could she say? She was a coward who’d failed the two men she loved. She
lacked the courage to believe that anyone could overlook her flaws enough to care
for her, scars and all. She didn’t have the strength to risk seeing the horror on
their faces. Maybe she wasn’t giving them enough credit. Maybe it wouldn’t matter
to them. But it mattered to her. She wanted to be perfect for them.

And she never would be.

The thought caved her chest in until she thought she would implode. She curled her
arms around herself and couldn’t quite stand upright as another sob wracked her.

Suddenly, warm arms wrapped around her, and Thorpe crooned in her ear. God, he even
smelled expensive. The inane thought came from nowhere as he led her to a sleek leather
club chair near a huge wall of tinted windows that overlooked the interior of the
club.

He set her in the chair, then rose and poured a crystal decanter full of an amber
liquid. He handed it to her. “Drink.”

Clearly, he spent a lot of time in this room, overseeing Dominion.

London clutched the glass. She really wasn’t supposed to drink with her medication,
but the whole night was irrevocably in ruins, so what the hell? She lifted the glass
to her lips and gulped down the contents, barely tasting. It smelled like alcohol,
soft spices, with a hint of something floral. It burned gently going down. Best of
all, it infused her with warmth right away. A moment later, it made her head slightly
fuzzy. And it relaxed her.
Ahhh
 . . .

“Thank you.” She glanced up at him gratefully.

Thorpe smiled wryly. “You’re welcome. Most people savor a glass of Cuvée 1888, but
if the cognac calmed you, that’s good enough for me.”

She winced. Chugging very expensive booze was a no-no. “Sorry, Sir.”

He waved her off and looked out the window, into the leather – and latex-clad crowd
below with an overseer’s stare. “Did they hurt you or force you past your limits?”

“No.”

“Good. If you’d rather not talk, I respect that, but for your safety, I can’t let
you wander the dungeon floor without a Dom at your side or a collar around your neck.
You’ll be eaten alive.”

London flushed and was thankful the room was probably too dark for Thorpe to see.
She should have thought of that. It was a sex club, and with this many potential predators
roaming about, she should have realized that some Doms might construe her as prey.

“Of course. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Neither were Xander and Javier. Clearly.”

“I ran out and—”

“They allowed it.”

Yes, they had. Because she’d disappointed them—probably for the last time. Worse,
if she had to make the choice again, nothing would change. A crushing sadness pressed
down on her shoulders. It wasn’t as if they loved her or anything even close. Somehow,
she needed to move on. They would.

And not for anything would she confess all this to the elegant, perfect stranger before
her.

“I should go. Would you escort me out?” She rose to her feet on wobbly knees.

Thorpe zipped a pointed stare directly at her. London sat again, and he nodded with
satisfaction.

“Would you like me to call a taxi for you?”

She’d left her purse—her phone, her meds, her money—back at the hotel room.
Stupid, stupid, stupid
. “No, thank you. I’ll walk.” Where to, she had no idea.

“You’re not walking alone in this neighborhood.” His stern expression backed that
up. “And contrary to what you’re thinking, Xander and Javier don’t appear willing
to leave without you.”

Whipping her gaze around, she looked out the big, slanted window, to the floor of
the club below. Within seconds, she spotted them both, searching the dungeon for her.
Xander tried to search unobtrusively, scanning the participants, then creeping past
one station after another.

A beautiful blonde made her way toward him on towering silver stilettos. Her mile-long
legs gleamed tan and bare under the lighting. The cheeks of her perfect ass were high
and firm in a little lacy thong as she approached. The shirt she wore . . . calling
it a tank top would be generous, with little glittering straps and a silky, shimmering
material that draped elegantly around her slender figure.

The woman slid to her knees before Xander, head bowed, offering herself—and exposing
her bare, utterly perfect back from her nape nearly down to the crack of her ass.
For a terrible moment, London’s heart stopped. She pressed a hand over her lips as
more tears burned her eyes. She bit her lip to hold in the sob. Thorpe must already
pity her. No way was she going to give him more reasons to feel sorry for her.

When Xander splayed his palm on the crown of the sub’s pale head and bent to whisper
in her ear, London tore her gaze away. She couldn’t watch. The moment was a stark,
ugly reminder that Xander wasn’t really hers. She’d been something between a convenient
distraction and a way to help his brother. The other woman was a beauty Xander would
likely welcome, particularly after her own failure. London had to face facts. A gorgeous
billionaire who could have—and had—taken any woman he wanted to bed would never choose
the scarred, chubby girl. She’d been living in a fantasy world to ever think that
was possible for longer than it took for him to have an orgasm or two.

She turned and caught sight of Javier on the other side of the room, still searching
for her. Apparently he didn’t give a whit for being polite. He barged in on a Dom
who towered over three subs on leashes crouched on all fours. After inspecting their
faces, Javier ripped away, crowding a Dom who’d restrained a squirming sub to a table
wearing only a leather hood that concealed everything but her nostrils. Blond hair
cascaded around her, covering most of her breasts.

London knew Javier was going to burst into the middle of the Dom’s scene. She didn’t
know a lot about this world, but she couldn’t imagine that behavior would be welcome.
It had to be like the doorbell ringing in the middle of sex.

She gasped, and looked to Thorpe, who’d gone tense.

“I can’t let this continue,” he bit out.

“I understand.” Javier couldn’t be allowed to act like a bull who’d make a china shop
out of his business.

With her heart in her throat, she glanced back over to the spot where Xander had been
with the kneeling sub. They were both gone, and knowing him, well . . . he’d soon
be inside the perfect blonde, giving her the kind of incredible ecstasy London knew
she’d never feel again.

Barely holding in her tears, she whipped away from the window and paced across the
room.

“Wait here,” Thorpe barked.

Gladly
. London didn’t dare look out the glass again. But when she turned, the phone on the
little coffee table taunted her. She could call Alyssa and plead with her cousin to
pick her up. Immediately, London dismissed the idea. Lafayette was six hours away,
and she couldn’t take the busy woman away from her businesses or her toddler. Alyssa’s
plate was already full. London knew she had to find her own way out of this mess.

She collapsed onto the sofa, leaning on the soft arm, and sobbed until she felt spent
and sick and so wretchedly empty, she had no idea how she’d ever feel whole again.
By now, Xander had undoubtedly given the mystery blonde a slew of orgasms. Maybe he
would want his brother to join in as well and help him devour their new, unblemished
conquest. An ice pick to the chest would hurt less, but the other woman was probably
what they both needed.

It certainly wasn’t her.

Suddenly, Thorpe opened the door again. “Come with me.”

Where?
In the end, London didn’t ask. She didn’t care. She just wiped her tears and rose.

When he offered his arm, she slipped her shaking hand around the hard strength of
his biceps.

Without a word, Thorpe led her out of the room, down the stairs, and into his private
office. Besides an industrial desk and a sleek laptop, culture abounded here, too.
Expensive art. Glass and stainless steel. Within these four walls, sleek, practiced
women knelt for Dominant men’s pleasure. She wore nothing but a trench coat and smudged
mascara. Less than a week ago, she’d been a virgin.

She didn’t belong here.

A moment later, the desk chair swiveled, and Javier stood, looking both furious and
relieved. He slammed an empty glass on Thorpe’s desk and barreled toward her. With
a snarl, he grabbed her shoulders, pushed her against the wall, crowded her body with
his. He smelled of vodka, hunger, and determination. Her breath caught, and her womb
clenched.

Of course she wanted him, but she couldn’t be selfish. She’d always love him and Xander
with all her heart. Right now, she’d assure them she was fine, then quietly slip out
of their lives. But she couldn’t, in good conscience, stay when she couldn’t be what
they needed.

***

GRABBING
her face in his hands, Javier stared down at London’s wide blue eyes. He gripped her
possessively, torn between embracing her from now until the end of time and turning
her over his knee to blister her ass red.

“Don’t you
ever
put yourself in danger like that again. You don’t know who the fuck is stalking around
a club like this. Sick freaks who devour innocent little girls for dessert.”

“I do screen my clients, thank you,” Thorpe drawled from the doorway.

Javier turned on the guy. “And your system is foolproof? I notice that you didn’t
let her alone on the dungeon floor.”

“Touché.” Thorpe ignored him to regard London. “He’s right. This isn’t anyplace to
be independent. Play nicely, Santiago. I’ll send your brother in and leave you alone
to . . . talk.”

When the man bowed out, Javier watched London drop her gaze to the slick marble tile.
His heart ached. He and Xander had pushed her too hard, and Javier kicked himself
for not listening to his brother’s instincts more. But London’s fears went deeper
than tonight’s fiasco. He didn’t know what it would take to reach and reassure her,
but whatever it was, he wanted to do it now. As soon as Xander showed, they would
talk to her, listen and negotiate, let her know how special she was . . . tell her
that they loved her.

“Don’t run out on us, London. If you’re not ready for everything we’ve demanded, then
okay. But don’t leave. Talk to us.”

“He’s right.”

They both turned to find Xander standing in the doorway, his mouth tight, his shoulders
tense. Javier sensed that his own anxiety and anger were mirrored in his brother’s
mood.

“Weren’t you busy with the perfect blonde?” London clapped her lips shut as soon as
the words left her mouth. “Never mind. You don’t owe me anything, and it’s none of
my business.”

“You don’t like the thought of me with Whitney? Good. I’m not interested in her. She
offered. I refused. She did me a . . . favor a few weeks ago, and it didn’t work out
as expected.” Xander slanted a glance at him, and Javier winced. “I apologized to
her. Then I looked for you again until Thorpe sent me here. What the hell are you
thinking, running away?”

London’s face crumbled into something so sad. “This isn’t going to work. Us.”

Javier’s stomach clenched, dropped. Dread and denial ripped through his system a second
later. When he was with her and his brother, it felt so natural, like breathing. He’d
never been happier. They’d made her happy, too, goddamn it. He’d seen that on her
face, in her radiant smile, the light glowing from her eyes.

“Bullshit.” Xander stepped in and slammed the door. “That’s utter fucking bullshit.
It’s fear talking. It’s you refusing to believe or trust that we care enough to stay,
despite whatever you’re hiding. So we didn’t get to see your back tonight. I’m disappointed,
but I can be patient.”

“I don’t think I can ever show you.” She tried to wiggle from his embrace, but Javier
held firm. “You’ve done everything, given me everything, but that doesn’t change who
I am. My limitations. What I fear. Let me go. Really, I just can’t . . .”

“You’re choosing not to,” Xander argued calmly.

Javier saw red. “So are you giving us that old line? It’s not you, it’s me?” The thought
that she’d even try that crap on them made his head want to explode. “Don’t. I swear,
just . . . don’t. You’re the first person or thing I’ve given a damn about in years.
I’m not letting you go.”

“Javier—”

He cut her off with a kiss. No goddamn way was he going to listen to her excuses and
self-doubt. She’d pulled him out of a mental hole so deep, he’d been sure he’d never
come out. He wanted to do the same for her. Of course he understood that she felt
overwhelmed, vulnerable, and scared. But if she’d let them, he and Xander could make
her feel so loved that she’d never want to leave.