23. Dane
23
DANE
A bigail’s face is upturned to catch the sun, as though she’s a freshly bloomed flower soaking in the warm rays. In the bright light, her dark freckle stands out in fascinating contrast with her porcelain skin. Her cheek is flushed slightly from the summer heat, but I’m reassured that she’s not getting burned. I helped her put on her sunscreen before we left her place, where we stopped off to pick up her clothes for this outing.
The memory of her soft body beneath my hands is enough to tempt my lust, so I take a breath and do my best to suppress it. We’re on a public beach, and I don’t need an erection right now.
Her outfit is simple and inexpensive, but the style is classic. The bright blue bikini brings out the lovely hue of her eyes, and a pale pink sarong is wrapped loosely around her hips.
Abigail clearly has good taste, even if she doesn’t have much money.
Very soon, I’ll be able to dress her up in whatever pleases me most. I anticipate some defiance when it comes to me spending money on her, but I already have a plan to subdue her.
She signed herself over to me. She belongs to me.
I don’t want to change her—I covet everything that she is—but she will obey.
“What are you thinking about?” That clear, open gaze is fixed on me again, but her lips are curved in a small smile rather than a concerned frown.
She isn’t scared of the darkness that lurks in me. When we were together last night, I allowed my civilized mask to fall away entirely, and she didn’t run screaming; she came so hard that she passed out for twelve hours.
“I’m thinking how lucky I am to have you as my pretty pet.” I don’t bother to hide the wolfish edge to my grin.
I never realized how heavy my mask is until I allowed it to drop in her presence. I feel free in a way I’ve never experienced before, and it’s all because of her.
Her cheeks flush a brighter shade of pink, and she quickly glances around to check if anyone overheard.
Even my chuckle comes with shocking ease—a sound of natural pleasure rather than a carefully constructed social response to appear charming. Normal.
“No one heard me,” I reassure her.
The beach is crowded today, but everyone is too concerned with their own lives to listen in on our quiet conversation. The crashing waves and cawing gulls overhead provide a backdrop to the buzz of dozens of conversations. It’s more than enough to grant us privacy, even if we are surrounded by people.
“And you were right,” I drawl. “ Pet is a Yorkshire endearment.”
I pause, relishing the soft downturn of her lips and the small furrow in her brow. For a moment, she’s disappointed. She wants our game to be real. She wants her new title to be more than a casual endearment.
Another low laugh rumbles from me. “But don’t worry. We both know what it really means: you’re mine.”
Her breath catches, and her pupils dilate. Then she huffs and lightly slaps my chest.
“Don’t mess with me like that,” she admonishes, but her voice holds a sultry edge. She’s turned on by my possessiveness.
My grin sharpens, and I grasp her hand, holding it so that her palm is pressed directly over the center of my chest. There’s that steady thrum again, the beat slightly elevated.
“You love it when I toy with you.”
She scoffs and tosses her hair, but she doesn’t try to pull away.
“You can’t hide from me,” I taunt. “Complete honesty, remember? Unless you already want another punishment.”
Her blush is delicious. She’s wearing the sarong to cover the beautiful marks left by my cane. I caught her admiring them in the mirror this morning.
She’s perfect for me.
Her rosebud lips press together, as though she’s debating another retort. She wants to see how far she can push me.
“Go on.” I dare her to try it. “Defy me, and see what happens.”
She blows out an exasperated sigh, but she sways toward me, drawn in by my cruelty.
I lift her hand to my lips and brush a kiss over her knuckles. “Such a good girl.”
I’m baiting her. I’d love a reason to hurt her again, to indulge in the darkest parts of our intense connection.
She practically squirms at the praise. She likes it, even if my patronizing tone makes her bristle.
I’ll break her of those notions of pride and independence. She doesn’t need them anymore. Not when she’s mine to care for.
She shakes her head. “I’m not falling for that. Bait me all you want. I’m not going to give you a reason to punish me so easily.”
I press another reverent kiss to the back of her hand. A strange, giddy thrill soars through me. I’m more pleased by her response than I could’ve imagined. She’s not defying me, but she is trying to deny me. Abigail won’t walk into my traps so easily. It makes our game more complex, and I’ll never get bored.
“Are you forgetting the part where I can make you suffer at my whim?” I challenge. “I don’t need a reason.”
“Dane!” My name is a breathy admonishment. “We’re in public. This is too much.”
“I rather like seeing you blush and squirm for me in front of all these people. Do you think they know how wet you are right now?”
“Dane!” She’s almost alarmed this time, but that flush deepens to the prettiest shade of pink, and she licks her perfect lips in open desire.
My arrogant laugh seems to affect her even more, because she tears her gaze from mine and stares out at the ocean. Her chest rises and falls more rapidly as she draws in little panting breaths. I shift my hold on her hand so that I can test her pulse at her wrist. It’s racing for me, elevated with lust and an edge of fear at public exposure.
“I can be a merciful master,” I allow, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “We’ll discuss this more later.”
She releases some of her tension on a relieved sigh. “Thank you.”
I caress her cheek, lingering on her pretty freckle. “Such a sweet, grateful pet. How did I get so lucky?”
Her teasing smile is wide and brighter than the summer sun overhead. “You’re welcome.”
I hum my approval and wrap my hand around her nape to pull her closer. “I’ll tame this sassy mouth later.”
I press a quick kiss to her parted lips, relishing her little scandalized gasp.
“I am lucky to have you, Abigail,” I say earnestly.
One way or another, she was always going to be mine. But I captured her with such ease. I didn’t even have to remove a man from her life to gain access to her.
Although, there is still the irksome issue of the man who hurt her in the past. The one who made her thorny about financial control and skittish when I kissed her the first time. Someone has abused her, and I won’t be satisfied until I make him suffer. His actions made it more difficult for me to win Abigail’s trust. He’ll pay for that.
“Tell me about your relationship history,” I say. “How is it possible that such a stunning woman was single and waiting for me to come along?”
The question is meant to soften my intense inquiry, but she edges away from me slightly. I’m not sure if it’s my compliment that’s making her uncomfortable or the prospect of talking about her painful past, but I won’t relent until I have answers. I want the name of her abuser.
“You don’t want to hear about my past boyfriends,” she says with a dismissive wave.
“I’ll be the judge of what I want to hear,” I admonish. “Tell me.”
Her brows lift. “Is that an order?”
“Yes.” I don’t bother to hide the warning, cold edge to my tone.
She considers me for a moment, then shrugs. “There’s not much to tell. I’ve only had one boyfriend, and it wasn’t that serious. We dated for about six months during my freshman year at College of Charleston, but he transferred to a different school for sophomore year. The relationship was never significant enough to warrant trying long distance.”
“Is he the one who hurt you?” I ask, my voice dropping even colder.
She blinks, as though caught off guard by my question. “No. He was a nice guy. We just didn’t have much chemistry.”
Some of the violent tension eases from my muscles. “So, he’s the one who couldn’t satisfy you.”
I’m still annoyed that the fumbling fool is the one who made her think that her body isn’t capable of experiencing pleasure. She was painfully tense when I was gentle with her that first time. He probably reinforced that stiffness with his inept attempts at seduction. I wonder how many times she forced herself to endure the pain to soothe the boy’s ego, the way she’d tried to do with me when she faked her orgasm.
He might not be the one who hurt her, but he should suffer for that sin against her.
“What’s his name?” I demand.
“Devin.” Her brows are drawn together in a small, concerned frown. “What are you going to do, fly to Seattle and beat him up for being too nice?”
I force my body to relax with considerable effort. She can see me so clearly. I don’t want her to read the extent of my vicious intentions in my eyes. I’ll take care of her, but she doesn’t need to know my violent plans for the men in her past.
“How do you know he’s in Seattle?” My tone is light, as though it’s an offhand question. “Are you still in touch?”
She huffs an exasperated breath. “No. That’s where he transferred for college. I don’t know if he’s still living there. Can we please change the subject? I’d rather spend time getting to know you than talking about my ex.”
“I’ve never been in a serious relationship,” I offer in order to placate her.
I’ll have to return to this line of questioning later, when I’ve managed to get my new, surging emotions under control. I won’t risk scaring her off if I reveal the extent of my violent nature. She craves my erotic cruelty, but I suspect she’d be upset if she saw it directed at others.
“I’d rather not hear about your womanizing,” she says frostily.
Fuck.
Sometimes, I feel like a fumbling idiot when I’m around her. I never lose control of a conversation like this, but I’m saying all the wrong things.
I’d meant to reassure her that I’ve only engaged in casual flings to sate my needs. I’m skilled at BDSM because it’s provided an outlet for my darker urges, even if I’ve never been fully satisfied. I’ve kept my mask firmly on, and the women I’ve been with never knew anything about my family or my past. I didn’t put myself at risk for them. I didn’t make myself vulnerable.
I can only be this way with Abigail.
“I’ve never wanted to be with anyone before I met you,” I say earnestly. “That’s all you need to know. You make me feel things I didn’t know I was capable of feeling.”
That seems to be the right thing to say, because she softens, and her frown eases.
“Sorry, I’m being insecure.” Incredibly, she’s the one offering an apology.
That throbbing beat starts up in my chest again. I can hardly believe I’ve captured this sweet woman. She possesses her own inner darkness, but she’s nothing like me. She doesn’t have a cruel bone in her body.
Distant thunder rumbles, breaking the intense moment. I blink and tear my gaze from her x-ray eyes. Dark clouds are rolling at the horizon, the storm drawing closer to the beach.
“We should go,” I say, but she pulls her phone out of her bag.
“Just a few more minutes,” she requests, taking a picture of the encroaching storm. “This is my favorite weather.”
“Ah, yes. I noticed your preference in your paintings.”
She sets her phone down and focuses on me again, brows raised. “At the market that day?”
Fuck.
She thinks I’ve only seen her work one time: on the day I came to the market to save her from the thief.
She has no idea that I stare at scores of her paintings every day. And she doesn’t know that I’ve found her darker art that she keeps hidden in her closet.
I manage to keep my expression neutral and nod.
“Do you always paint landscapes?” I ask, pushing her to confess about her stunning, erotic work.
Her eyes cut away from mine, fixing on the horizon. “It’s what always resonated with me most. And the tourists seem to like them.”
She’s not lying, but she is evading me.
“What do you like about them?” I press.
She blows out a sigh. “This will always be home,” she admits, keeping her gaze fixed on the coming storm. “I have a complicated relationship with my family, and I sometimes feel resentment about my inability to leave them far behind. Like you did.” Her clear eyes finally focus on me again, peering straight into my soul. “You managed to go to an entirely different country. I’ve only been able to move a few cities away.”
“Why not go farther?” I’m hanging onto her every word, craving more of her intimate confessions.
“I can’t afford it,” she admits. Then she sighs. “But it’s more than that. I don’t think I’m capable of leaving. This is home,” she repeats, but the declaration is soft with something like regret.
Does she feel trapped by her affinity for this place?
“That’s why you favor the storms,” I surmise.
Her paintings are beautiful, but her most powerful landscapes provide a glimpse into her tumultuous emotions when it comes to her home.
“Yes,” she admits. “How did you manage it? Leaving home, I mean.”
Something twists in my gut, a painful twinge. I breathe through the strange pain.
“Yorkshire is beautiful, but I’m not the sentimental type.”
She’s looking at me with that keen blue gaze. She’s holding nothing back, and she expects the same of me.
“I didn’t want my title,” I confess. “The only way my father would accept that was to leave and not return.”
“Why not?” She seems just as desperate to know me as I am to learn all of her secrets.
I find that I don’t want to hide anything from her.
“My father is not a good person,” I say, and it’s almost as though the words are issuing from someone else’s lips. “He uses his title and his wealth to cover his sins. He’s a selfish, weak man. I refused to take up the same mantle. I want nothing to do with him.”
For an awful moment, I see the blood, hear the incessant blaring of the car horn where my father’s unconscious body is slumped over the steering wheel.
I shake off the childhood memory before it can fully form. I haven’t thought about that night in years.
“And your mother?” Abigail asks softly, coaxing.
I sneer. “She just wants her comfortable lifestyle. She will accept anything my father does, as long as the family keeps up appearances.”
As much as I loathe my father, I disdain my mother. He’s a weak coward, but she’s calculating. She’s the one who ensures he goes unpunished and untarnished for his sins.
Abigail covers my hand with hers, calling me back to her. “I have a complicated relationship with my parents too.”
Before I can press for more of her secrets, fat raindrops begin to fall. I realize that the other beachgoers have fled the storm, and we’re alone. The waves creep closer, crashing in furious roars as the wind whips by us.
But the rain is warm. Cleansing.
Abigail closes her eyes and turns her face toward the sky, as though she’s soaking in the storm. It suits her more than the sunshine. She’s in touch with the natural world in a way I’ve never known, and I understand why she’s so deeply rooted to this place she calls home.
Her hair is already drenched, the purple curl relaxing under the weight of the water. The rain runs down her cheeks like cathartic tears, and her expression is soft with something like rapture.
Hunger knifes through my gut, and I capture her nape to pull her to me for a vicious, covetous kiss. I want to consume her. I want to feel the depth of her emotions. If I kiss her deeply enough, maybe I can sink into them like she does. To lose myself in the terrible beauty of the storm and the calm that will come in its wake, when the wind and rain have swept the grime away from the world.
She opens for me, meeting me with equal fervor. Her lips are feverish on mine, wet with purifying rain. The storm has broken the midday heat, but fire courses through my veins. I’m burning for her, desperate for more of her sweetness, her purity, her darkness. She’s the most delicious contradiction, the only puzzle I’ve never been able to solve.
Sheet lighting flashes behind my closed eyelids, and thunder cracks, far too close.
I want to linger in this moment, but her safety is more important.
I tear my lips from hers and gather her up in my arms, lifting her to her feet. We grab our soaked towels and start to run.
She tosses her wet hair back from her face and releases a joyous laugh as our feet pound the sand. It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard, and it takes all of my considerable willpower to stop myself from pulling her into the dunes and fucking her while the storm rages around us.
Instead, I clasp her hand in mine, and my own laugh sounds a touch cruel as it wars with the thunder.
Mine. She’s all mine.