Yield (12 page)

She blinked at the word daughter. She looked down her ribbon, mentally mapping the way the ribbon made the knots. Being called Jace’s daughter by someone made her body tingle while her heart felt like it was trying to explode from her chest.

“Oh, that’s it. That’s the one.”

She looked at the dress in the mirror, turning in the chair to stare. It was a soft silver color and was the prettiest thing she had ever seen. She wanted to stroke her hand over the fabric. Thin strips of fabric reminded her of ribbons. Along the top and the straps were shiny silver sequins.

“The color isn’t what they wanted, but if we put her in a bold color with a heavy fabric she’ll be overwhelmed. Go tell Jace’s stylist we changed the color. Must have them coordinated.”

“The bitch with the bump?”

“She’s a big girl.”

Reaching out, Kate brushed her fingers over the fragile strips. “Wow,” she whispered. They dressed her, and sent her off. Shaelynn was in a body-hugging red dress that showed the world she was going to have Jace’s baby. Her hair looked like gold had been poured over her. Jace looked bored as he stood there in black pants and a pale grey shirt.
 

“Okay, try to look like you give a damn,” Charles said as he came over to study her. “Not the look I was wanting, but there is something to you. Okay, happy faces, Jace, and let’s save your ass.”

She watched as Jace popped a pill and chased it with scotch. He handed his glass to his assistant and flashed a smile at her.
 

Just like the house, she was going to pretend. She was going to pretend this was real because she wanted it to be like this. Not just Christmas, but every day. If she believed in Santa, she’d ask for this moment to last forever and to be real. So, she pretended it was because she was had little hope in Christmas really being like this. She wanted this magic. She wanted Jace to smile at her, to see her.
 

Always wanting
.

Chapter 9

For the first time in a long time, Kate dreamed of him. He slipped through the cobwebs of her dreams. He slithered like a snake and hunted like a shark. The predator to her prey and her brain told her that this wasn’t real but he was there. “Hello, pretty little No One.”

With a gasp, she sat up and was momentarily confused. Not her room. Once that registered, she kicked off the sheets and tumbled out of Doyle’s bed, sprinting for the bathroom. The tile was icy beneath her feet and hurt when her knees crashed down. At least she wasn’t throwing up on his deck. Stupid thought as she heaved over the toilet. Light exploded, making her head hurt because this much light was too much. A much larger hand than hers gathered up her hair but she didn’t want him touching her. Not now. Not with
him
there. “Don’t.” She pushed against Doyle’s stomach, moaned, then let the acid out, let
him
out.

Doyle crouched down beside her and she just wanted him away. “Go. Away.” She shoved him as she screamed and he caught her hands.
 

“Okay.” He squeezed her fingers and left her as she felt her throat squeeze and twist. Her stomach rebelled.

The tears came as the bathroom was plunged into darkness. From the other side of the narrow tiled wall, she heard the roar of water as he filled the tub. More tears came because he hadn’t left her. Her hand was shaking when she flushed the toilet and she leaned against the wall, too beaten down to get up. That was when Doyle appeared.

“Rinse, girl.” He held a glass out to her and she took a mouthful of minty water, swished, and spat it into the toilet. Another rinse and he tucked a toothbrush in her hand with a brisk, “Brush, girl.”

She brushed, rinsed the last of the acidic taste away and watched, too limp to move, as he took the glass and toothbrush from her. He was back, scooping her up like she weighed nothing. The tub was filling with water and bubbles and tears escaped because no one had ever prepped a bubble bath for her. He stepped in and sank down, lowering her into warm water. Doyle stretched out at the other end, watching her. Always watching.

You know your tub is big when Doyle Kole could sit in it with room to spare.

When the water reached her breasts and the bubbles were a fluffy, cool cloud at her shoulders, he turned off the faucet. Staring at him was too much. She turned, rising onto her knees so she could look out the window, see his reflection in the glass. With her breasts flattened against the wall of the tub, Kate pillowed her head on her folded arms and gazed out at the night.

A bare foot slid up and down her back, contact so she would know she wasn’t alone. That was, however, the extent of their communication.

She didn’t know how long she ignored him, though it was hard to ignore Doyle. The bubbles popped and he added more hot water, but he didn’t say anything. He was just there.

It was enough.

“I used to watch you do that with Claire. She’d be kneeling on the floor, and you’d rub your foot over her back. It took a while to figure out why she was always kneeling. She was your sub.”

“Yes. The floor was her choice though. Try explaining why your eight month pregnant wife prefers kneeling. It was a little easier when Willy was born because there was a visible reason of why Claire was down there. She still kneels; just for someone else now.”

Kate cupped some water in her hand, spilling along the smooth surface of the tub, watching it trickle into the bath water. She peeked at the window and saw Doyle sat with one arm bent, his head resting on his fist as he watched her. Watched over her.

“I used to wonder if you married her because she was pregnant but that would’ve been a pretty epic pregnancy. I mean, that’s why everyone else got married.”

“I married Claire because I loved her. Antiquated idea, I know.”

“What happened?” She shifted sideways so she could see him. He ran his foot up her side to her arm and back to her hip. “Can I ask that?”

Dark eyes watched her. “You can ask me anything you want, Katey. I got clean. When we learned she was pregnant with Willy, she told me to shape up or ship out. It was a moment of clarity. I loved her. I didn’t want to lose my wife. I didn’t want to lose my sub. I didn’t want to lose my daughter. I didn’t want to lose myself. It was happening. I could see it, reflected in Andy. My drugs were getting harder and he gave me some bad shit. I wound up in the hospital. There was my pregnant wife, crying because she was so scared I was going to die on her, but if I did that would be okay because she was tough enough to raise the baby on her own. Nothing like learning you’re superfluous.”

He let out some of the cold water and refilled the tub with hot, watching the flow. “So I checked myself into rehab. There are few people I want to emulate. Anderson Reeves and Jace Jennings are on that short list. Detoxing is hell. Don’t go through that. Your body turns inside out and you can feel your soul being strangled in all the shit that’s oozing out of you. We were good for a while. I was a better version of me but I was still me.” He flicked off the water and returned to his position.

“I was still an asshole, still full of anger and hate, but only now I had nothing to hide behind. When Willy was born, there was this perfect human being
I
was responsible for creating. Jesus, Katey. She was beautiful. Is beautiful. Then came Dani and it was like my life was getting better and better. Sober I was way better as a dom, which works when you’re a kinky couple. Problem is when you find your wife fucking someone else you realize you were shitting yourself, that the dream was fragmented all along. We fought. About stupid shit. I was never around. Why did she have to deal with potty training? The baby was sick but what good was I if I was in Germany? Who was I fucking? It just swelled until the walls collapsed and it was over.”

“She slept with Jace. Didn’t she?”

His gaze locked on hers and he nodded once. “On purpose. Knowing they’d get caught. Knowing I hate that cocksucker. Because someone needed to pull the trigger and Claire felt that was the only way.”

She rested her cheek on her knee and looked out the window. Jace Jennings was a horrible human being. “Am I here out of some form of revenge? He slept with your wife so you’re fucking his daughter?”

“No.”

He didn’t say anything further. The water rippled against her as he moved. An arm hooked around her waist and he drew her between his legs.

“Nobody is in this but you and I, Kate.”

She rested against him and traced one of the tattoos on his forearm. “Why are these so dark and twisty?”

“Aside from Andy, we all came from shit. When you come from the shadow places, it leaves an impact. These all represent what I saw when I looked in the mirror.”

“And now?”

He pressed his lips against her shoulder. “They still resonate.”

That made her sad. He turned his arm so she could trace the words
Do not go gentle
that met a sinister moon. On his other inner arm was more of the Dylan Thomas poem
Rage against the dying
that met a candle snuffed out.
Out of all his tattoos, the poem quotes were the ones that got her the most. “What is this? You said this, but what is it?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. Tell me about this.” His hand dipped beneath the water and his fingers circled her own tattoo.

“I wanted to be
able
to look in the mirror. To not fear. To remind myself sex isn’t about hate and evil.”

His sigh rubbed against her back. “Claire was right. You
are
strong. I want to push you, to get it all out but I’m won’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know for me. I want to know who so I can hurt him. I want to make him bleed. I want him to know fear so that when he hears a Cyanide song or sees me, I’m a trigger for his fear. I want to put him in the ground.”

“It won’t change anything, Doyle.”

“Don’t care.”

She touched the evil moon, tracing its cynical smirk. A part of her wanted him to push, to make her tell him everything. A larger part wanted it to not factor at all. For the most part it didn’t. He didn’t haunt her thoughts or waking hours. “I made a promise to myself a few years ago.”

“Tell me.”

“That only two people would ever control me, would ever have power over me. Not the ghosts of my past, not the demons who stalked them. Me and—”

She cried out, arching as he suddenly pushed two fingers hard into her. “Me,” he growled in her ear. Oh. Oh, God. The cooling water lapped against her skin as he moved within her, his touch conquering and erasing her thoughts while wiping away the nightmare. Against the small of her back she felt the hot press of his cock, his other hand sliding between her legs where he rubbed and pressed against her clit.

Her hands gripped the hard swells of his biceps, surging with every push.
My dom,
she finished her head, unable to voice the words because that meant thinking. Her feet skated along the tub, trying to find a purchase until his legs trapped them.

She felt his teeth close over the tendon at her neck, scraping just hard enough so she could feel each tooth. Her brain emptied at all he did.

“Ready?”

“Yes, Sir.” Her neck arched as he bit the curve at her collarbone.

“Take it in.” He slowly bit his way along to her shoulder, every time just a little bit harder. That pain coupled by what he was doing between her legs made her feel like she was sinking into the water, being swallowed up. Reaching up to cup the back of his head to give him more of her arm, she could only gasp at it all. Her other hand reached down to grab his thigh.
 

“God, you’re so fucking wet, so already there, aren’t you, girl? I can tell by the way you gasp, draw in your breath, the way your cunt welcomes me inside. Already there,” he murmured as he sucked on a spot where he had bitten. “I want to beat you and fuck you.”

The words made her gasp audibly, arching from him in an attempt to get closer.

“You have no idea how badly I wanted to tie you to that railing in the club, bend you over so I could turn your little ass red, sinking my cock so far in you it would take hours to get out.”

“Oh. Oh, God.”

“See what you miss out on when you run?”

She was going to come. She felt it brewing just beyond where his fingers touched and tormented. “Doyle!”

“I like Sir,” he whispered. “Hold it in.” His fingers slid from her and she whimpered at the sensation. The solid presence of him vanished from behind her but the hand on her shoulder kept her upright. Her body was humming from the heady combination of pleasure and pain, of the overwhelming presence that was Doyle. There was a roaring in her head and she swore she could feel the blood in her veins as it traveled to all the sensitive spots from his bites to her clit. He lifted her out of the tub, the gurgle of draining water letting her know what the roar was.

“Hands like this. Don’t move.” He braced her forearms against the cool glass, her palms flat, and she stared blankly at the glitter beyond her. Lights. Window. Doyle. She watched his reflection as he used his foot to spread her legs. He grabbed a towel from under the sink and she watched him leave her there, canted forward and Vancouver on the other side of the glass.

Water slid down her body, slipping over skin that felt hypersensitive from the orgasm that hovered just out of reach, denied by him. Between the cool window and the heat still clinging to her from Doyle, it was all about contrast. The dry air on her wet skin, the unquenched ache in her pussy, the pleasant hurt from his teeth.

The soft slap of bare feet, but she didn’t look. Looking meant moving.

“Nice. You’re responsible for this.” He lifted her left hand and pressed a foil packet in place then laid her hand back down. At the feel of the condom, her knees went watery. A condom meant sex and that made things want. His hands at her ankles made her stare at the ghostly reflection as he set the spreader bar in place.

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

“If you drop the condom,” Doyle warned in an evil voice, “I won’t fuck you. Do you want me to fuck you, Katey Jay?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Don’t drop it.”