Chapter 17 #2
“Mom did. She majored in classical fiction and taught high school English.”
“An English teacher. No wonder you Wares have unusual names. Atticus is for Atticus Finch; Sawyer for Tom?”
“Yep. And my youngest brother is Hector from the Iliad. His dog is Andromache; Andy for short, since Hector can’t stand Greek mythology.”
“Is he still in Idaho?”
“Mmmhmm. Kept the ranch, although he sold off a corner so I could buy acreage here.”
Gin studied him. “Was he making you a gift or did he sell your own portion of the property?”
“Part of mine.” He resettled her, tangling his fingers in her hair.
The firelight danced over the fine strands, bringing out different shades of red, making her fair skin glow, deepening her green eyes.
He doubted Helen of Troy could have been lovelier.
And no one had a more generous heart than this woman in his arms. “Now, let’s talk about what you were up to this afternoon. ”
She huffed. “You certainly have a violent reaction to getting a blowjob.”
“Violent? Let’s go for honesty here, pet. Considering where you work, you’ve seen real aggression.”
“I—” Her gaze took in his serious expression. “Okay, fine. You walloped me, but you weren’t angry.”
His lips quirked. “Difficult to be, since I got a blowjob. Which you’re incredibly good at, by the way.”
Her smile held the delight of a submissive who’d been complimented by her Dom. Damn, he loved that look on her face.
Then shame filled her gaze. “I’m sorry, Atticus. I think I’ve been working in the prison too long. The inmates excel at manipulative behavior, and I tried the very same thing on you.”
“Yep. Tell me why.”
Emotions chased across her face like clouds in a brisk wind. “It’s odd. I love doing things for you—especially now that I realize I serve you because I like to. But you never ask for anything. And I wanted you to…to use me sometimes. Even if I know I’m being weird.”
Hell, he’d figured it correctly. She needed to know she wasn’t asking more than she should, which meant he had to explain his own behavior. But, talking about the past? He’d rather shoot himself in the head.
With one hand tangled in her hair, he rubbed his thumb over her cheek.
“You’re not weird at all. You’re submissive, Virginia, and one kind of submissive delights in giving.
Making people happy. Filling their needs.
It’s probably why you chose counseling for a career.
You’d be even more driven to offer your talents to your Dom. It’s normal, babe.”
“Normal.” She relaxed with a wry comment, “Feminists would burn you at the stake for your stance.”
“Nah. See, submission and giving are true with male submissives too. Equal opportunity service, got it?”
She had an adorable smile. “Yes.”
“As for me…” Explaining his behavior wasn’t simple. “My stepfather’s treatment of my mother makes me…hesitant…to do anything where I feel I’m taking advantage of a woman.”
“I had a feeling your past might be affecting you.” She frowned. “Your stepfather ended up in jail. Did your mother finally turn him in?”
The memory was foul. “Once. But he didn’t hit her where it showed and she didn’t see a doctor. So he was assigned anger management therapy and behaved himself until his therapy was over. Then he strangled Sawyer almost to death. Said he’d kill us if Mom had him arrested again.”
“And that right there is one more reason you don’t—didn’t—trust counselors. No wonder,” Gin muttered. “So, what happened to get him in prison?”
Her understanding created a warm glow in his belly—that didn’t erase the chill of having to talk about his past. “He came home shit-faced one night when I was twelve.” Stumbled into the kitchen, gunning for a fight.
Any excuse would have sent him over. Atticus could still feel the dread infusing the house.
“He decided he didn’t want fried chicken and started to throw the pan at her. ”
Gin stared. “Hot grease?”
“She’d have been burned. Blinded. I charged him, knocked it out of his hand.
” They’d both been splashed with the grease.
A punch sent Atticus to the floor. A kick curled him up like a pill bug.
“He was…enraged. Sawyer—being a bright lad—called the cops before jumping in. He got thrown into the wood stove. I thought the bastard had killed him.”
“Oh heavens.” She touched his cheek and drew him back from seeing his brother’s body on the floor.
“He was drunk.” Atticus had staggered to his feet. Dizzy, sick. Didn’t matter. He’d put his head down and charged. “I was fast. Mom and Hector threw things. We kept him going.” For a while.
She must have seen the expression in his face. Her question was right on target. “You were only twelve. Did he get his hands on you?”
“When the cops came, he was whipping me with his belt—buckle and all. They heard my mother’s screams and busted in the door.
” Sawyer had been unconscious. Broken. His mother unable to rise.
Hector curled in a pain-ridden ball. Atticus covered in blood.
“Got my fondness for law enforcement right then, I think. Even more, when he got shipped to prison.”
Her brows drew together. “First conviction. He wouldn’t get too long.”
“He was out before I enlisted. Moved back to town and behaved while on probation.”
“And when he got off probation?”
“I was in the service when Mom reported he’d visited her and was aggressive.” Atticus eyed Gin. She should know the truth about him because, if needed, he’d do the same thing all over again. “I took leave and paid him a…persuasive…visit.”
Her eyes widened and then she gave him her quirky smile. “Good for you. And?”
“He decided the weather was nicer in Arizona. Never returned.”
She patted Atticus on the chest as she might one of her clients. “For some reason, I have a very primitive delight in knowing how protective you can be.”
“Jesus, you’re something.”
“We’re something. I worry about giving too much. You’re concerned that asking might be abuse. Can this relationship be saved?”
“You finally admit we have a relationship?”
“I—no. I mean, that’s the title of a column in a women’s magazine.” Her face had turned the delightful color of a summer-ripe tomato.
Unable to resist, he said, “But, sweetheart, if we don’t have a relationship, then why are we talking like this? Fuck-buddies don’t need to talk, do they?”
“We’re more than…” She glared. “You’re baiting me.”
“Hell, yeah.” He tugged on her hair. “Babe. Haven’t you noticed we’re in a serious relationship—a monogamous, we’re-dumping-the-condoms relationship?”
Her face paled.
Stubborn female. Any other woman would be badgering him for a declaration.
After a second, he ordered his thoughts. “Back to the subject.” He manned up, though this was like stepping into a firefight without body armor. “As your Dom, I’ll up my demands. In turn, I expect you to tell me if you need more. Or if I ask for something you’re unwilling to give.”
“Huh, I should have complained this afternoon,” she grumbled. “I had an entirely different kind of blowjob planned for you.”
“Don’t bullshit me, pet. You loved it.” He’d been a Dom a hell of a long time, ever since his Captain had taken him to a BDSM party and then mentored him in the lifestyle as well.
Atticus ran his knuckles down her cheek.
Yeah, he knew when a submissive hit her happy space from being controlled, being taken, being pushed into serving.
Her attempt at a pout was spoiled by her smile. “I did.” And then she showed the courage he adored and took the next step. “We’re in a relationship. Yes. Dump the condoms.”
He kissed her soft lips, tucked her head against his shoulder, and relaxed. They really were a pair. Both of them scarred up from the past, wary as jackrabbits when the coyotes were yapping.
But it didn’t matter what battles they’d run into in the future. For now, all he needed was right here in his arms. Mine.