Chapter 27
LUCY
Oh god.
Everything fucking hurt.
My head, my body…my left wrist.
I opened my eyes to the room swimming in front of me. I blinked, and everything straightened out.
Coach sat in a chair facing me in an unfamiliar bedroom.
Where was I?
I glanced down at the brace around my wrist.
Oh, right.
The night before came flooding back: Wearing Emory’s jersey to the hockey game, Blake benching him temporarily, finding out about his “date” with my professor, stealing his car and ending up at a random bar halfway between Gehenom and New York City, getting attacked by those men, his rescue, the hospital.
A lot had happened in very little time, and all were things I needed to parse through, both on my own and in a deep and probably heavy conversation with Blake himself.
Speaking of which…
“Every time I look at that brace, I want to kill those men all over again,” he growled. Even with as nauseous as I felt, the growling was still hot.
I tried to sit up too quickly, and the room spun around me.
Blake was suddenly out of his chair, gently but with firm hands on my shoulders, lowering me back down to the bed.
“I thought you didn’t kill them,” I said.
He stared at me, face impassive. “Not for you to worry about.”
“Okay, but I am worried about it. What did you do, Blake?”
“I went back to the bar, hunted them down, and finished the job.” He shrugged like it was nothing. “Called in a favor. Like I said, it’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“You…you jeopardized your entire career? Your freedom? For me?”
“Troublemaker, sweetheart…don’t you get it?” His face softened and he brushed hair out of my face. “I’d do absolutely anything for you. Cross any line. Killing some assholes who hurt you doesn’t even come close to it.”
“Oh.”
I wanted to soak up his words, maybe record them so I could listen to them over and over, but right now I felt too nauseous to do anything but close my eyes.
“You need to sleep some more,” he said from somewhere above me. “You’re hungover.”
“Where are we?”
He handed me painkillers and an open bottle of water.
“Airbnb I rented. I wanted us to have some time together away from campus so you could heal.”
“But the team—”
“Trey’s taking care of them. You’re more important.”
You’re more important.
They were the three prettiest words in the English language, even if they weren’t the ones I longed to hear from him. I’d never been more important than anything or anyone before. Not to my parents, not to my friends, and as far as I knew, not to Blake.
“I’ll let you rest.”
I immediately opened my eyes and put my hand on his. “Don’t leave me.”
He snorted. “Wasn’t planning on it. Aside from taking care of those assholes, I’m not letting you out of my sight. Might even get you a leash and collar.”
Even though I felt awful, my pussy clenched at the words.
His eyes darkened, but all he said was, “Trouble.”
“Can you…”
I didn’t have to finish the thought. He nodded, and then he was lifting the comforter, sliding into the bed, and gently pulling me into his arms.
I settled against him, sighing.
“How long do I get a reprieve for?”
“Until I’m sure you feel well enough to take what’s coming your way,” he said, the threat dark and delicious.
Sighing, I shut my eyes and fell right back asleep.
The next time I woke up, I was face down, ass up on Blake’s lap—and trussed up like a chicken.
My arms were tied to my sides, my bare breasts pressed against his thigh.
My legs were fully bent on either side, shins and ankles tied tight to my thighs, and then another rope went around my shins, forcing me into a frog-like position.
I was open, available, and vulnerable, my pussy and ass exposed for anything and everything that Coach wanted.
My stomach and core spun tight and sweet at the thought, like I was woven in cotton candy and not rope.
Was this a very sexy dream?
“What the fuck?” I asked, groggily…
…until a smack sounded and my right ass cheek burned.
There went the grogginess.
“What the hell, Blake? What happened to kissing the princess awake instead of spanking her?”
“The princess—”
Smack.
“Didn’t steal the knight’s car—”
Smack.
“Ignore her phone—”
Smack.
“And get drunk out in the middle of nowhere where anything could—and almost did—happen to her.”
Smack. Smack. Smack.
My asscheeks stung, my whole body was hot…
…and I was already soaking his thigh.
I pretended it wasn’t happening. “Are you victim blaming me?”
His hand stopped peppering my ass with spanks, and he sighed.
“You’re right, that was shitty. What those men almost did was gross and not your fault. But you still put yourself at risk, and I’m unwilling to let that go. The reckless decision-making has to end, Lucy. I know you did it because you wanted my attention, but you’ve got it now.”
I glared at the floor.
“You think I ran off because I wanted your attention? No, I left because I was angry because you had fucked me but were about to go on a date with another woman. Can you untie me while we have this conversation?”
Blake lifted me up so I could face him, placing me on his lap.
“I was never going to go on a date with another woman,” he said, voice solid. “We’ve discussed this already.”
“I know that now, but then…” I could remember the way she’d touched his chest, and it still burned in my own. So I took a big risk, my voice trembling, unable to look him in the eyes as I whispered, “It hurt, Blake.”
Blake gripped my chin, turning it back to him.
“Sweetheart, I promise you, I never was going to go on a date with her. There are no other women. I haven’t been able to get hard for anyone else since you came sashaying back into my life during orientation.”
“You hurt me,” I repeated.
He sighed, kissing my forehead. “I know.”
“And I was pissed.”
He kissed my forehead again. “I know that, too. But that’s no excuse to put yourself at risk. I’d rather you have bitched me out in public, slapped me, thrown something at me, than gone running off like you did.”
“Noted. So can you untie me?”
He shook his head.
“No. Because I need to punish us both. And a spanking isn’t going to do anything but excite us. This is a teachable moment.”
He rose, depositing me back on the bed, still trussed up and unable to go anywhere or do anything but watch as he shook out his hands and showed them to me.
His knuckles were cracked, a little bruised…
probably from beating the shit out of and possibly killing those men last night.
I tried to feel bad about it, but I still felt nothing but satisfaction.
What that said about me, I wasn’t entirely sure, but then I was a woman who had little to no recourse in this society when it came to men who wanted to hurt me, so having someone in my corner who was willing to get the revenge I so sorely needed felt too good to deny.
If that made me bad, well…it was nothing new.
I hated that he’d bruised up his hand though.
“Does it hurt?” I asked.
He gave me a wry smile.
“Not yet.”
Then he approached the wall next to the mirror.
“God, this is going to cost me a fuck ton of money—and destroy my rating on this damn site,” he muttered.
Worry pooled in my stomach.
“Coach. Blake. What are you about to do?”
“Do you have any idea what it was like, Lucy, knowing you were somewhere, possibly unsafe, and that I might not get to you in time? And then finding you in that dark hall at the bar with those men’s hands on you? Knowing it was my fault that you were in that position in the first place?”
“No…” I trailed off. “Blake.”
He made a fist out of his left hand, thumb on the outside, and glanced behind him to look at me.
“It was the worst feeling in the world. The terror literally hurt…more than this is going to.”
And then he motherfucking punched a hole in the wall.
I screamed.
And then I screamed again.
“No, stop it!”
The sounds—my scream and the impact of bone and flesh on sheetrock and plaster—echoed in the room, making my chest squeeze tight. I couldn’t breathe.
“What the fuck, Blake?! Stop!”
“No.”
He punched the wall again.
And again.
“I’ll stop when you get it. When you understand what you’re being punished for, and you understand how it feels when someone you—someone you care about is hurt.”
I tried to wiggle off the bed and go to him, to stop him, to make this horror stop, but I couldn’t.
My arms burned as I tried to pull them free, my legs, too.
I could do nothing. Absolutely nothing. I cried then, completely helpless, forced to watch him hurt himself, and that helplessness was too much to bear, so I shut my eyes instead.
“Lucy, if you don’t fucking open your eyes and watch me right now, I’ll drag you to the kitchen and you can watch while I set my hand on fucking fire.”
My eyes shot open.
He watched me in the mirror as he punched, and punched, and punched, not making a single sound of pain, blood seeping between his knuckles and painting the white wall.
“Please, please, stop,” I begged, full on sobbing now. “Stop it, stop it.”
“No, I deserve this as much as you do. I deserve it for not being honest with you and hurting you, and you deserve it for not being honest with me and hurting yourself.”
“Blake, stop, I’ll do anything, I swear to god, just stop, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I promise I won’t be reckless anymore, I won’t do bad shit to get your attention, just please stop…”
He stopped immediately, shaking out his bloody hand.
“Motherfucker, that hurt,” he muttered, and then he was crossing the room toward me and lifting me with up with both hands, one clean, one bloody, getting his blood on me. And I hated it, hated him, and hated myself more.
“I hate you,” I told him.
His eyes were gentle.
“No you don’t.”
“I do.”
“You don’t, Lucy. If you did, you wouldn’t care. This wouldn’t have hurt you. I won’t make you say the words now, but we both know how you really feel.”
He sat down, placing me on his lap so I straddled him, and rocked me, and I let him, even though he was getting blood everywhere, because I couldn’t stop him, and because after everything he’d just done, being held this way felt soothing in ways I’d never known I needed.
Finally, I said, “Can you untie me now?”
He stroked a bloody hand over my back, leaving remnants of his guilt and atonement all over my body.
“Not until I do this first,” he said, and as he leaned toward me and tilted his head down, my breath caught.
Was he about to…?
“Blake…”
“God,” he groaned, his lips practically touching mine so we were breathing the same air. “I’ve been dreaming about this for so long. You know I’ve never done this before, right?”
My heart stopped.
“Wait, what are—”
But before I could finish my question, he kissed me.
And I lost my breath entirely.
He was gentle at first, a barely there brush of his lips against mine, once, twice, three times, before he rested his mouth on top of mine, breathing slowly.
Just touching, nothing more, but the softness and the slowness cracked open something inside me, and a seed planted so, so long ago, but had never seen light, began to bloom.
As it unfurled, so did my heart, with the sweetest ache. Tears came to my eyes, and he must have felt them as they dripped down between our faces, because he pulled back and brushed my hair out of the way, looking at me.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asked.
“Not what’s wrong, what’s right,” I said, leaning back in and trying to capture his lips with mine again, frustrated that I couldn’t move my arms to grab him around his neck and pull him toward me.
I had no choice but to take what he gave me.
And what he gave me was slow and steady, tender and caring, solid and sweet.
I inhaled the peat and honey scent of him as he kissed me again, harder this time.
“Open your mouth, Lucy,” he said against my lips, and I did.
Immediately, he surged inside, his tongue thrusting and licking into my mouth, groaning as he clutched me tighter.
He tasted so good, fresh mint and honey, and I chased his taste, chased his tongue, completely uninterested in being demure or coy, fully invested in tasting as much of him as I could.
He tasted me right back, his tongue tracing patterns on the inside of my mouth before going to war with my tongue, doing his best to dominate mine.
I fought back, but he fought harder and won, forcing me into submission as he took, and gave, and I gave, and took, forgetting everything and everyone until all that existed in this moment was his mouth and mine.
A supernova began to form inside me, my thighs wet with need and my body burning bright as he declared me his with every lick, every kiss, every bite of my lips.
“Mine,” he growled against my mouth.
“Mine,” I growled right back.
He laughed, the feeling resonating through my whole body, and, without warning, bright light exploded behind my eyes as I came from nothing but a kiss, writhing in his lap, riding him, his pants the only barrier between my opening and his cock.
Finally, he pulled away, breathing heavily.
“Oh, sweetheart, that was better than anything I could have imagined,” he said.
“Was that really your first kiss?”
He nodded. “You were my first—and you’ll be my last.”
Oh.
My.
God.
“Can you untie me now?” I asked again, gasping.
This time, when he laughed, it was dark, not sweet, and filled with depraved promises I knew he’d fulfill.
He stroked a bloody hand over my back.
“Not until after I fuck you,” he said. “And sweetheart, after that kiss, it’s going to be hard and long and relentless, so I hope you’re ready.”
I wasn’t.