Chapter 12 #2
At Whitmore, they claimed her panic attacks were further evidence of her instability. Perhaps they were right.
Being gaslit as much as she’d been in the past year left her with a pockmarked memory. Events blurred with delusions and memories lost all tangible ties to reality. Maybe she imagined the worst of it. Maybe they were actually trying to help her.
But then she recalled Jordan’s rage and the way he slammed her head into the wall, spittle coating his lips and spraying in her face with every profane threat.
And at Whitmore… She could still taste the rubber. She could feel the orderly’s weight pressing into her… Taste the blood… Smell the urine…
“I’ve got you, printsessa. Just breathe…”
She frowned, her thoughts occurring on a delay.
Ash said to breathe until the inner storm settled.
He said it as if he’d felt what she was feeling, as if he’d been in her position before.
But that was impossible. Men like Ash, Stone, and Hunter could never fill a submissive role.
They were dominant predators through and through.
But somehow he knew she was battling an erratic storm inside.
She curled tighter to his side, her mind as wild as the ocean and his stability the breaker she needed to crash upon.
A new sense of shame awakened as she accepted this existential appeal he held.
Danger masquerading as safety. Logic couldn’t deter her from feeding that need for comfort and playing into the lie.
It felt good to be held. That was all that mattered.
The consequence would eventually come, and it might be the worst yet, but her short sighted heart needed this tenderness now.
She could face the fallout later.
“Ash…” she whispered his name like a prayer, a plea that he be careful with her delicate heart.
“I’ve got you.”
Stone showed her where pleasure and pain blurred into something transcendent and terrifying.
Ash blurred something far more dangerous.
He was teasing her with intimacy and fake acceptance.
He was pretending he cared. And her battered heart had been through so much, she was falling for it, even while consciously recognizing that it was all an act.
But the way he held her went beyond courtesy or surface concern. It felt sacred.
She was too emotional for this. Too vulnerable.
Stone had taken her apart with surgical precision.
Stripped away every defense, every pretense, until she was nothing but raw need and desperate submission.
He’d pushed her to places that should have frightened her, places where her mind went quiet and her body became an instrument for him to master.
Beautiful. Necessary. Dangerous.
But what Ash was doing seemed worse.
Stone left her in pieces, and Ash was collecting all the scattered, sharp edges to put her back together again.
She tried to pull away, but his palm pressed her back down to his chest. “Not yet.”
Was he getting something out of this as well?
She feared he might get aroused, but there was only one way to find out, and she wasn’t going there. He had to have something to gain, some ulterior motive for treating her so gently when it was apparent none of them trusted her.
His touch stayed steady, grounding, while her psyche knitted itself back into something resembling wholeness. She must have drifted off in his arms, because she stirred when she felt him slip out from under her body and try to replace himself with a pillow.
Leaning up on an elbow, she looked at him through blurred eyes. The glass in the tall windows was now dark. How long had she slept?
He returned to the bed with a glass of water. “Thirsty?”
She actually wasn’t since Stone had made her drink so much to stay hydrated, but she sat up anyway.
When she reached out with shaky fingers, he gently brushed her hand away and pressed the glass of water to her lips, supporting her head.
The cool liquid soothed her raw throat, each swallow a small act of reclamation.
“Good girl.” The praise wrapped around her like warm silk, different from Stone’s cutting approval but no less potent. “Such a good girl for us.”
Fresh tears burned her eyes. The thrill of his praise was quickly tinged with shame. She couldn’t mistake their possession as softness or affection. These men wanted to harm her. They were not her protectors.
But the tears wouldn’t subside. They weren’t from pain or fear, but from the overwhelming vulnerability of being seen like this. Trembling. Needy. Cracked open and spilling over with emotions too big for her body.
“Let the tears come.” Ash’s thumb traced softly across her damp cheek, the gesture impossibly tender for hands that could snap her neck without effort. “You were so strong for him. So perfect. But you don’t have to be strong right now.”
More permission. What was wrong with her that his authorization intensified her feelings? He had no power over her mind, yet his words gave her the freedom to feel every emotion honestly.
“Let it out, printessa.”
His words broke something loose inside her.
Sobs wracked her frame, ugly and cathartic, while Ash held her through each one.
He murmured praise in Russian and English, voice a constant rumble that vibrated through her bones.
His hands never stopped moving—stroking her hair, rubbing feeling back into sore limbs, tracing soothing patterns that pulled her consciousness back into her body.
“I don’t understand why I’m crying?”
His soft laugh was teasing. “No? You’ve been through quite a bit.”
“But I’m not a crier.” She wiped the embarrassing proof of her fragility away, only to have more tears fall. “It’s infuriating.”
“I’ve watched men three times your size break down far worse from far less. It’s the paradox of playing with strong power dynamics. The rougher the play, the softer the landing needs to be.”
Was that it then? This was all a result of what Stone had done?
He hadn’t just played with her body, he toyed with her mind, scattering her psyche like dandelion seeds into the wind. She hadn’t shed a single tear while he put her through the motions, but his abandonment afterwards and Ash’s attentive care were her disgraceful undoing.
“It’s perfectly natural to feel emotional.”
She accepted his reasoning and nodded. “Thank you.” Ugh, and now she was thanking him?
But without Ash gathering those pieces, without this careful tending, she’d be left fragmented. Suspended between spaces. Lost in a fall back to earth that could turn transcendent experiences into trauma.
“You’re almost through it now, Zayka.” Ash tilted her chin up, ice-blue eyes scanning her face with an intensity that made her feel precious. Cherished.
She looked up at him and sniffled. “What is Say-kah?”
He chuckled. “Zayka. It means little rabbit.”
She smiled.
“You like that?”
“It’s better than little thief.”
“I suppose it is.” He rewarded her with one of those rare smiles that transformed his face from dangerous to devastating. “Though, I’m not so sure you have the heart of a small creature. Especially when I sense the mind of a printsessa.”
She smiled, trusting the compliment and not looking further for hidden meaning. His words gave her strength in a way that repaired her and helped her feel grounded again.
She glanced up at him. “What happened to your eye?”
“It’s nothing.”
It wasn’t nothing. He’d had it before the fight with Hunter, but she still suspected he was the source. “Did Hunter do it?”
“I deserved it.”
She wanted to ask if it had something to do with her. “Why?”
“Because I took something I shouldn’t have.” He shifted and let out an exhale. “Think you can eat something?”
The thought of food made her stomach turn. “I’m not hungry.”
“That’s because you’re still coming down. It’s important you enjoy some creature comforts.” He tucked a lock of blonde behind her ear, letting his fingers trail over her collarbone and dangerously close to her chest. “Water. Food. Warmth. Touch.”
Her nipple hardened, and snuggled closer. Dear God, was she leaning into his touch?
He gazed at her questioningly, his hand no longer moving.
Her lips parted, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to whisper a plea or apology. “I…” Her lashes lowered in more shame. Living in a facility for the mentally ill didn’t make her feel half as imbalanced as a few hours in this house with these men. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
Pulling back, she put some space between them and closed her arms around her chest, hiding her aroused breasts. “I don’t know. I’m…confused.”
He gently pried her arms away. “Don’t hide yourself.” Softly, he dragged the back of his knuckle between her breasts. Goosebumps rose on her flesh and her nipples pulled tighter. He watched her carefully. “May I?”
His request threw her off. She was theirs. They had full authority over her—or else. The ice around her heart softened and she nodded ever so slightly.
Slipping a hand under her knees and behind her head, he lowered her to her back.
Warm breath tickled over her neck as soft hair teased her skin.
First, he merely nuzzled her breast with the side of his nose and groaned.
He traced the tip of his tongue slowly, swirling over her curves and building anticipation.
He was delicately teasing her, making her want his mouth even more.
When he finally closed his lips over her nipple, she sighed in sweet relief. Her body arched and her legs slowly scissored as pressure built low in her belly. Those soft kisses were perhaps some of the gentlest kisses she’d ever been given.
Then his teeth loosely trapped the tip of her nipple his tongue swirling decadently against her flesh. She moaned and instinctively ran her fingers through his soft hair, but he caught her wrist and pressed it into the mattress, holding her hand down as his fingers formed a sort of monocle.
“Is this too much? I know you’re tired.”