Chapter Twelve #4
Lane went upstairs without another word, and he followed. He waited in her bedroom as she showered, sitting on the edge of the bed listening to the water run. Lennox was trying not to replay every second of the day until anger swallowed him again.
She’d gone alone and almost walked into that apartment alone. If he’d been ten minutes later, Daryl might’ve gotten impatient, and Jeanette folded under pressure if the drugs and desperation kicked in.
Lennox closed his eyes, remembering she was safe and sound.
The rest was a conversation for when she wasn’t held together by exhaustion and grief.
When Lane came out in soft shorts and an oversized T-shirt, her face freshly washed and eyes puffy from crying, Lennox felt something in him drop to its knees.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m breakable,” she rebutted.
“You’re not breakable.” He stood and crossed to her slowly. “You’re tired.”
She let him pull her into a hug with no protest, and that alone told him everything about how tired she was.
They climbed into bed without talking much as Lane curled on her side with her back to his chest, and Lennox fit himself around her.
He kept one arm around her waist and one hand over hers, holding her the way she seemed willing to be held.
For several minutes, the room was quiet, and Lane whispered, “You’re still mad.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, I meant it when I said I’d let you help. I got scared of bringing harm your way,” she let him know.
Lennox pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “I know.”
Her fingers tightened around his. “Don’t leave.”
The words were so quiet he almost thought he imagined them as Lennox closed his eyes, breathing through the words that dared to expose his vulnerability.
“I’m not going anywhere; I need you,” he whispered in her ear.
She nodded once, small against the pillow. He held her until her breathing evened out, then waited another few minutes before speaking.
“Lavender?”
“Hmm?”
“When our schedules wind down, you willing to take a little weekend trip with me?” He asked.
Her body shifted slightly. “Where?”
“Winston Hills.”
She turned enough to look back at him. “Why?”
“I’ve got a friend I want you to meet,” he replied.
Suspicion appeared in her eyes. “What kind of friend?”
He smiled faintly. “Calla Black. She’s also known as The Black Dahlia.”
Lane blinked. “That sounds like either a perfume, a threat, or a woman with excellent posture.”
“All three, actually.”
“What does she do?” Lane inquired.
“She’s a dominatrix.”
Lane went still for half a second before she turned a little more in his arms. “Excuse me?”
“She’s a performer in her own way,” Lennox said. “She commands any space she enters with ease. She knows how to walk into a room and make it hers.”
Lane stared at him, unsure of what to think, but she asked anyway, “And you want me to meet a dominatrix in Winston Hills?”
“Yes.”
“Robot.”
“Lavender.”
“Are you trying to tell me something about your hobbies?”
His mouth twitched. “Not tonight. I want you to meet her because I think you’d understand each other,” he said, softer now.
“Not because your stories are the same. They’re not, but Calla knows what it means to take control of a room before the room tries to take control of her.
She knows what it means to turn power into protection.
She knows what it means to be seen as intimidating when really, some part of you just learned early that softness needed security. ”
Lane’s face changed. The joke in her eyes dimmed, but it didn’t disappear completely. That was Lane. Even wounded, she kept a blade close.
“She performs?” Lane asked.
“In a private venue that’s consent-forward. Everything you witness is beautifully consensual. You get to witness art with no shame.”
“You’re inviting me to watch your friend dominate somebody?” She needed to know.
“I’m inviting you to see a woman own every part of herself without apology,” Lennox said. “And afterward, if you want, we’ll go backstage and talk to her.”
Lane looked toward the window, where the dark pressed gently against the glass. “What makes you think I need that?”
“I don’t know if you need it,” he said as his thumb brushed over her hand. “I just think you might appreciate it.”
She was quiet for a while.
Then she asked, “You planning anything illegal?”
“Not for the trip.”
“Robot,” she fussed.
“I’m kidding,” he chuckled.
“Were you?” She asked with a raised brow.
“Mostly,” he winked.
A tired smile tugged at her mouth. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No,” she whispered, settling back against him. “I really don’t.”
Lennox’s heart went dangerously still as he held her tighter. “I want you to myself for a weekend,” he declared softly.
Lane yawned, her body finally surrendering to the weight of the day. She told him to ask her again after she got some sleep. He hadn’t booked anything yet, but he had a game plan drawn out in his mind.
As she dozed off, he joked as he kissed her neck, “See? Growth.”
“Suspicious growth,” she mumbled sleepily.
“Still growth,” he chuckled.
Lane’s breathing slowed, and a few minutes later, she was asleep.