Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bryn
Mac comes back to me, troubled. There’s blood on his knuckles, but that doesn’t disturb me as much as the way his eyes look. They're distant, and I suspect he knows things he can't tell me.
I'm tempted to ask him to tell me everything, but I don't want to put him in an awkward position. I don't want to make him choose between his family and me. We both know eventually he'll probably have to make that choice, but it doesn't have to be now.
So I doctor up his hand, and can’t help but kiss each bloody knuckle. I run my fingers gently down his back, and he closes his eyes as if relishing my touch. I want him to touch me this way. But something happened back at the main house that's changed him.
“Are you going to cash in on that rain check?” I ask him, my heart smacking in my chest with sudden nerves. I don't feel any of the confidence I felt before he left, even after that scorching kiss he gave to mark me. He’s holding something back from me, and it’s made me nervous as hell.
He shakes his head. “No, lassie. We need some rest. Tomorrow’s the big day.”
“You’ll sleep better if you let me —”
But he takes my hands off of him and gently pushes me away. “Get ready for bed, Bryn.”
“Mac —”
He gives me a look that brooks no argument, stern and commanding. “Are you talking back to me?”
We’ve enjoyed some push and pull. I crave his dominance and strength, and like to tease him into asserting himself over me. But this… this is different.
“Well, no, I just—”
He pushes himself to standing and scowls at me. “Then do what I say. Now. And don’t question me again. If I come back in here and find you haven’t done what I said, there’ll be consequences.”
He stalks out of the room, slamming the bedroom door behind him. I sit on the edge of the bed, a bit stunned. He definitely doesn't like to be disobeyed, and I know that. But this is the first time I've really been tempted to do just that.
I consider chasing after him. I consider following him, asking him what the hell his problem is. It hurts to be rejected like this. This is no playing at dominance. There’s nothing sexy about this.
But at the same time, I know who he is. Maybe he just had to do something that's put him off-kilter, something violent or dangerous or unsettling in some way. And if I do care about him at all, doesn’t that mean I have to accept that?
Give him some space to process whatever it is that just happened?
But there’s another part of me that wants to talk back, wants to disobey, just to see what he’d do. If he punished me, at least I’d know he cared.
Wouldn’t I?
But I don't want to manipulate him. The very decision to not allow my father to control the situation is because of that, because I don't want to use him.
I want to be honest. I want whatever's to be between us to be sincere.
So even though it hurts my heart to be rejected, even though I dislike that he walked away from me like that, I do what he said.
I get ready for bed and crawl under the covers. Alone.
I don’t fall asleep right away. My heart hurts, and I want whatever this chasm is between us to be swallowed up again. I don’t want this great divide between us.
I feel a lump rising in my throat. And for the first time in a very long time, I know I'm going to cry. I do my best to keep quiet. I don't want him to hear me. I don't even want to see him right now. But I'm so confused, so concerned, and I want so desperately to be his.
I don’t know how I can make that happen.
I muffle my mouth with the pillow as the tears begin to flow. But as soon as they start, I feel as if something breaks inside me, and I can’t seem to stop them. I weep, sobbing into the pillow. It quickly dampens, and the harder I cry, the bigger the sadness welling inside me becomes.
I don’t hear him until he’s right up next to me, crawling into bed. He rolls me over, tucking me up to his chest, holding me in silence. Instead of sobbing into the pillow, I sob onto his t-shirt.
“Shhh,” he finally says. “Why are you crying? I only walked into the other room. I’m not cross with you. Is it something else?”
It’s so much else I wouldn’t even know where to begin.
I’m going to tell him the truth, I know I have to. I open my mouth to begin, to tell him everything, but I’m paralyzed with fear.
It was only moments ago I saw that hardness in his eyes. Only moments before that, I washed blood off his hands. I’ve seen how my father treats my mother.
I’m not safe telling him the truth here.
But Mac will never hurt you.
Is that true? Is it really?
I don’t care. I don’t fucking care.
“Just so many things on my mind,” I tell him, half lying.
“I hated how you walked away from me like that. I wanted to keep you here with me. I felt so rejected…” but as my words flow, I feel so foolish and silly, like a little girl.
“I was half tempted to disobey you, just to get a reaction out of you.”
He raises a brow at me in that way that makes my heartbeat quicken. “You considered intentionally disobeying me?”
I nod but don’t reply.
He brushes my hair out of my eyes, bends, and kisses my cheek. There’s no humor in his gaze. Nothing but cold determination.
“Have you done something that’s earned punishment?”
My mouth goes dry, and a tingle slides through me. I’m playing with fire, and I know it.
“Maybe I have,” I whisper. “Maybe I haven’t.”
He shakes his head from side to side. “Which is it, darlin’?”
“I want you to punish me,” I whisper.
He holds my chin in his hand, making me meet his eyes. And when I look into his gaze, my heart softens. I’m not angry with him. Was I ever? I’ve put him in this position. I am the one that put us here.
“Why?” One word, but his voice is so steely, I flinch.
This is my chance, my chance to tell him everything. Behind him, a shadow crosses the window. The guard.
If I told him I betrayed him, he could order them to take me back to the main house. He could kill me, even. My father’s men would, anyway. And is he really that much like my father?
Seeing his guard outside his window, I'm reminded that it's too dangerous to tell him the truth. I tell myself it's because I don't want to hurt him. I don't want to see his eyes wounded. I may have told my father that I’ll do what he asks, but I won't. I fucking won't.
I open my mouth to tell him the truth. “My father…” I begin, but the words are strangely clogged, as if I’ve been cursed not to be able to speak.
He doesn’t release me but holds my gaze.
“What about your father?”
“He knows I’m here,” I whisper.
“Aye. You’ve told me that. Nothing wrong with that. Is there something else you’re hiding?”
“I lied to you.”
His stubbled jaw firms, and his eyes narrow. “Did you?”
I squirm, the truth playing through my mind with vivid clarity.
He wanted me to betray you.
He told me to seduce you.
I promised him I would.
“Aye,” I finally say, quaking in fear at what would happen if I told him the truth.
“I told you I didn’t know Fran was friends with your sisters.
” This is partially true, but it isn’t the whole truth.
“I knew, though. I’ve seen them in town together.
But I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t want you to think I was spying. ”
His fingers trail from my jaw down the column of my neck and flex. I take in a trembling, jagged breath as he cages my throat.
“That was a very naughty thing you did.”
There's a fine line between sexuality and fear, between correction and eroticism. His lecturing tone makes me shiver in anticipation, caught halfway between fear and sexual desire.
I hang my head in shame, but it has everything to do with the actual guilt I feel for being less than honest with him. I’m a coward, a fucking coward, and I hope he punishes me hard for this. I want to be punished. I need to be.
“I know,” I say with regret. “I should’ve told you the truth.”
I should even now.
He nods and tucks me against his chest.
No, I scream in my head. Don’t be so tender. Don’t be so bloody perfect. I need you to hurt me. I need you to punish me.
“I understand,” he says, and I swear for one second I feel as if he actually truly understands the difficulty of my situation. “But I agree with you.”
My palm flattens on his chest, and I can hear his heartbeat. A little thrill goes through me at the feel of his erection pressed firmly against me. He’s turned on by this. Dammit, so am I.
“Agree with what?”
“That you ought to be punished.” His large, rough hand pushes me off his lap so I’m standing in front of him. “Strip.”
“Strip?”
Leaning forward so his elbows are on his knees, he nods. His eyes narrow.
“I’ve made you come straight through your clothing. I’ve even punished you over your clothes before. But tonight, I want you bare-arsed.”
I feel my jaw slacken as I stare at him, all sexy-rugged alpha.
His black hair falls across his forehead, the blue of his eyes icy and brilliant.
His lips are pressed thin, his strong, muscular body tense as I slowly begin to obey.
Leaning his elbows on his knees, he gives me a stern look that makes me quake.
I’m so nervous with anticipation, my hands shake as I step out of my joggers and top, the clothes tumbling to the floor. When I reach for my bra clasp, I fumble with it, nervously meeting his eyes. He watches me, and I see him grow hard straight through his trousers.
I pause when I reach my knickers, my fingers on the lacy edge.
“Off with ‘em,” he growls. “And be quick about it or your punishment worsens.”
I step out of the knickers and they join my bra on the floor, as he slowly rises. He towers over me, stern and foreboding. He reaches for my hand and drags me over to him. Wordlessly, he arranges me over his lap.