Having Her: Lies We Tell, Book 2 Page 15

  He hadn’t known how close to the edge he was until that moment. Until that sight had kicked him in the guts. Perhaps if he hadn’t just had the news about the baby, he’d never have lost it like he had because violence wasn’t his thing. But seeing Ellie and Hunter together had been the last straw. His friend was a good guy but Vin knew how screwed up he was. Not someone you’d want banging your sister that was for fucking sure.

  His hand ached at the memory of his knuckles connecting with Hunter’s hard jaw. The red mist that had descended in front of his eyes as he’d pulled the other man to the ground. He’d wanted to lash out, to hurt him. Full of rage at the betrayal.

  But of course it wasn’t only the betrayal, was it? The issue wasn’t Hunter. Or Ellie.

  The issue was himself.

  He’s just playing out a fantasy, Ellie. A sick, fucked-up fantasy where he gets to be the one in charge.

  Vin had yelled those words at her. Careless, unthinking words. He’d meant them for Hunter but they could easily be applied to himself.

  Because it was him and what he was doing that was the problem. He was the one playing out the sick, fucked-up fantasies. Where he got to pretend a woman—his own sister’s best friend for God’s sake!—was his personal property, to do whatever he wished with. Treating her as his sex slave. Getting off on her obedience. Indulging his possessive streak, that fact that she was his and no one else’s. Giving her a collar with the word mine engraved on the padlock. Jesus.

  Slowly Vin’s grip on the wheel tightened even further, the blood on his skin stark against his white knuckles.

  He was supposed to protect people. He was supposed to look after them, make sure they were okay. His mother. Ellie. Kara. And to some extent Hunter. But they weren’t okay.

  His mother was surviving in the community only barely. Ellie was opening herself to a world of hurt with a man who had more baggage than a 747 could cope with. Hunter had just stood there and taken the hits Vin had given him, as if he’d welcomed the beating. And Kara…

  Kara was pregnant with his baby because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. Because he’d put himself and his needs first.

  Consequences. There were always fucking consequences.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn’t get it out immediately, a sudden foreboding twisting inside him that it would be Ellie telling him Hunter needed to be taken to the hospital or something because that was just the type of day it had been.

  Getting it together, Vin finally pulled the thing out of his pocket and glanced down at the screen.

  It wasn’t Ellie. It was a text from Kara. The slave requests her master’s presence.

  Shit. No way. She wanted this now? After what she’d told him?

  Without his conscious permission, his body began to harden, not giving a crap what his mind thought.

  Vin bit off a curse. His hands were all bloody and he was still full of rage and self-loathing, and compounding what had been a giant mistake in the first place by going back and doing it again was the very last thing in the world he should be doing.

  And yet he wanted to. Wanted to escape from all this shit by being the master. Take control of his slave girl.

  Your pregnant slave girl.

  Jesus Christ, this was so fucked up. He began to type out a refusal and yet somehow the text that he sent wasn’t no. It was yes. And when he put the car into gear and pulled back into the traffic, he wasn’t heading back to the office to crash, but to Kara’s apartment.

  She met him at the door in her slave costume and he didn’t miss the fact that despite his last order to her, she wasn’t wearing the collar he’d given her, only the cheap one that had come with the costume. She didn’t say anything as he pulled the door shut behind her, only turned without a word and went down the hall to her tiny, chaotic little lounge. He followed her, finding her kneeling in the middle of the room when he got there, her head bent submissively.

  His cock was already hard, the shaking in his hands no better than when he’d left Hunter’s. All the rage seemed to have coalesced into a deep, raw hunger that felt like it had settled right down into his bones, become part of his DNA. A hunger that he would never be free of.

  Kara knelt there, a figure painted in differing strokes of gold. Pale honey for her skin, rich tawny for her hair, gilt for the bikini she wore. Even the blue tips of her hair seemed stained with gold.

  He didn’t know why it should be this way. Why he should want a sexual relationship that was as far from right and normal as it was possible to get. Why he couldn’t seem to escape the need when for years he’d managed to control himself. He’d never gone out to get trashed with the boys. Never spent his weekends getting laid or getting high. He’d never been able to and hadn’t had a problem with it. He had too many other responsibilities.

  Yet now he was face to face with his own personal crack—Kara Sinclair in a slave costume with him holding the chain.

  “This is the last time,” he said into the heavy silence. “I’m not doing this again.”

  “I don’t please you, master?”

  He’d almost never called her by her name while they were in their respective roles. But he did now. “Kara.”

  “Don’t.” She raised her head and he saw she still hadn’t put contacts in. Her eyes were dark, the color disconcerting him. “I want the fantasy.”

  Yeah. The fantasy. Yet looking down into her eyes, somehow all he could see was the stark whiteness of her face as she told him she was pregnant. The fear there. The vulnerability.

  And with that between them there could be no fantasy. Not anymore.

  “We need to talk about this.”

  “No.” The finality in the word was crushing. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She leaned forward, ran her hands up the backs of his thighs. “I want to be your slave. I want you to use me.”

  And of course his bloody dick hardened even more at her words, at the feel of her hands, at the press of her body against his legs.

  Sick, fucked-up fantasy…

  “This isn’t the time.”

  “The hell it isn’t.” Her hand moved, pressing hard against the fly of his jeans, finding the hard ridge of his aching cock, squeezing.

  Pleasure turned on like a light inside him, the thrill of it shooting straight down his spine, the breath hissing in his throat. “Kara—”

  “I’m not Kara.” She pulled at his fly, reaching for his zipper, tugging it down with one hand while with the other she loosened the tie of her bikini top, letting it fall off her.

  And he, sick fuck that he was, couldn’t stop looking at her. The curves of her full breasts as she freed them, tight, pink nipples. She looked up at him again, her fingers pressed against the cotton of his boxers, her thumb running up and down the ridge of his erection. “I’m the slave. Your slave.”

  He put his hand over hers, holding it down against his groin. Hard. So she couldn’t move it. “No. This has to stop. Things are different now.”

  She stilled then leaned forward, her forehead pressing against his abdomen. “Please.” Her voice was quiet, devoid of her usual snark. “Please. Just tonight. I need…I need this.”

  “Baby—”

  She lifted her head and for a second he glimpsed desperation in her eyes. “Please. I’ll beg if you want me to.” Beneath his imprisoning fingers, her hand moved lightly over his aching shaft. “I just want a night.”

  The hunger inside him began to shift and turn like an animal making a home for itself. Settling down to stay.

  You want it. Don’t deny it.

  Yeah, of course he did. Hell, he’d already made one catastrophic error with her—what was another? And shit, why not include beating Hunter to a pulp and nearly turning on Ellie too?

  It wasn’t like the day could get any worse.

  He moved his hand, gathering the softness of her hair into his fist. Then he pulled and her head came back, the sound of her sharply indrawn breath loud in the room.

  “One nigh
t,” he said. “Then we talk.”

  “Okay.”

  “So what are you waiting for? Get naked.”

  He didn’t miss the flash of relief that crossed her face as he released her and he didn’t try to kid himself he didn’t like that. Or the way her hands shook as she quickly undid the bikini bottoms she wore and stepped out of them.

  His desire coiled tighter as she stood there naked. Soft and vulnerable and female. And all his to do whatever he wanted with her.

  Yeah, it was sick. It was fucked-up. But it was his fantasy and he would live it one more time.

  “Why are you wearing this?” He tugged on the chain attached to the cheap collar. “What happened to the collar I gave you? I ordered you to wear it.”

  She didn’t look at him or offer any kind of explanation. “I’m sorry, master.”

  He could push but he wasn’t going to. Not tonight. “On your back.”

  She obeyed without a protest, lying down on the multicolored rugs that lay all around the apartment, golden hair spread everywhere.

  “Spread your legs.”

  Again she moved obediently, letting her knees fall open. She was looking up at him, eyes dark. She wasn’t wearing her glasses today and for some reason he was very conscious of the fact. As if her glasses were a mask she’d taken off, showing him the woman behind it.

  He swallowed, his throat thick with an emotion he didn’t want to name.

  God, she was so vulnerable. She hid it well beneath her snarky, prickly exterior but he knew. He saw just how vulnerable she was. And tonight he seemed to be even more conscious of her vulnerability. They’d pushed the boundaries with his anger once before but now it just didn’t seem right.

  She deserved more than to lie on the carpet with her legs spread, waiting for him to screw her. She deserved to be looked after. Taken care of. Especially now. Because he had the feeling that Kara Sinclair hadn’t been either looked after or taken care of much in her life.

  Vin shifted, aware that his hand was aching. That the rage had seeped away, leaving him feeling empty and tired and weirdly lost. He didn’t want to be the master, ordering her around. For the first time what he wanted was to wrap his arms around her and hold her soft warmth against him. Make love to her. Not screw her on the carpet.

  Slowly he dropped to his knees. “Sit up.”

  She blinked, then frowned. “What—”

  “Don’t question me. Sit up.”

  Kara pushed herself into a sitting position. “Master, I don’t—”

  He pushed his fingers into her hair then leaned down and covered her mouth with his. She gave a little sigh, leaning into the kiss, lips parting, letting him taste her. He kept things gentle, kept it sweet, his tongue tracing the line of her lower lip. She tried to make it more intense, kiss him more aggressively but every time she did, he pulled back. He’d had enough of aggressive tonight.

  Kara made a soft sound in the back of her throat. “More,” she murmured against his mouth. “Harder.”

  He curled his fingers tighter in her hair, tugging her back again. “No. Not tonight.” He freed one hand to stroke her bare shoulder, caressing her.

  She stiffened. “I don’t want that.”

  He didn’t stop, his hand dropping down her spine, lightly stroking that too. “You don’t want what?”

  “Gentle. I don’t want gentle.”

  “Why not? What’s wrong with it?”

  Her gaze slid away. “I just don’t want it.”

  “This isn’t about you, remember? You’re here for me.” He trailed one finger down her arm, moving lightly over her golden skin, watching the goose bumps rise as he did so.

  She’d gone still under his touch. He let his fingers trail over the dips and hollows of her collarbone, the graceful arch of her throat. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “You know that, don’t you? Kara, you’re—”

  “Stop.” The word was hard and sure.

  Vin paused. Looked into her eyes. And the expression in them was just as hard and sure as that word had been.

  “You told me that if you did anything I didn’t want, all I needed to do was tell you to stop, right?”

  Oh yeah, he remembered. “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m telling you to stop.”

  Chapter Ten

  Vin’s eyes darkened and she saw something she could have sworn was pain flash through them. But she didn’t back down. She couldn’t back down.

  Her whole body was trembling, fight or flight reflex kicking in. It was the sound of her name that had done it. She’d never liked it when he turned gentle. When he became tender. It made her feel threatened in a way she couldn’t have articulated. But it hadn’t been until he used her name that she’d realized she had to stop this.

  It broke the fantasy. And tonight of all nights, she’d needed the fantasy. She’d even pleaded with him for it, for God’s sake.

  “Why?” he asked. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” Shit, if only he’d hurt her. She could use a little pain right about now. “But I’m not your bloody girlfriend, I’m your slave. I don’t want to be treated like fine-freaking china.”

  His expression hardened. “Why not? You don’t think you deserve to be treated like fine china?”

  Kara turned away, the panic from earlier curling fingers around her throat again. “I just don’t want it, okay?”

  “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

  “We’re not having this discussion.” She got to her feet. “If you’re not going to give me what I want then perhaps it’s best if you leave.”

  Vin stared at her. Then he rose in one smooth, athletic movement, making her aware of how fluidly he moved and how much that turned her on.

  Man, this was all so insane.

  She was just like her mother, escaping reality with something that would only screw her up more. Only with her it wasn’t alcohol. It was a slave fantasy with her best friend’s older brother.

  While she was pregnant.

  Self-loathing twisted, the sharp edges digging into her. An old, familiar pain. Like whenever she got one of the letters she sent to her mother back again. Unopened. Unread. A silent, envelope-shaped rejection. A reminder of the guilt she never seemed to be able to escape from.

  “I thought you wanted this,” he said. “You begged me.”

  “Yeah, well, I changed my mind, okay?”

  “Why? Because I treated you like a human being for once and not a slave?”

  “Hey, you were the one with the slave fetish, Vincent. Not me.”

  His whole posture went rigid. “You didn’t want it?”

  She cursed under her breath. Because she couldn’t lie. She’d wanted it. “I…I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Then what the hell did you mean?”

  “I meant, we had rules with this…whatever we’re doing. We had boundaries. And I was okay with that. I don’t want it to change.”

  “Bit late for that now, don’t you think?”

  Kara took a breath. “Look, all I wanted was a quick, hard fuck. If you can’t give that to me then piss off.”

  The look on his face had become unreadable. And she gradually became aware of the aura of leashed violence around him. That he had blood on his knuckles and circles under his eyes. He looked tired. Like he’d had something taken out of him. By force.

  She’d always tried not to be curious about him. Tried to keep her thoughts of him purely sexual because that was easier. Safer. And yet now an unfamiliar and unwilling sympathy tightened her chest. What had he done after she’d delivered her bombshell? Where had he gone?

  “Vin, I—”

  “Save it.” His expression shuttered. “You wanted me gone, I’m gone.”

  He turned then disappeared down the hallway and she heard the front door slam shut after him.

  Pain bloomed inside her.

  Fuck, it was always this way, wasn’t it? She seemed to screw up no matter what she did. But how could she tell him that tenderness hurt fa
r worse than violence? That gentleness cut far more deeply than being rough ever could? He wouldn’t understand.

  Her throat closed up, her eyes burned. But she wasn’t allowed to cry. And the one release she used to allow herself she’d promised her favorite social worker she wouldn’t do anymore.

  For long minutes Kara stood naked in her lounge, as a familiar pressure began to build, the burning behind her eyes becoming more intense. A pressure there was only one way of relieving.

  She hadn’t had it this bad since she was sixteen.

  Kara wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold. The pressure grew, pushing against her skin from the inside like a tire constantly filling with air, becoming harder, tighter.

  There’s razors in the bathroom.

  Oh God, so there was. But she’d promised that social worker she wouldn’t cut again. Promised she’d make a go of trying to fit in with the foster family she’d been placed with. And she had tried, getting rid of the razors, allowing the scars to heal. She hadn’t touched one for ten years, using a razor only to shave her legs.

  Only a couple of cuts. Ease the pressure.

  Ten years, hell, that was a long time. She’d never even had a slip up. So would having one now be a bad thing? She’d feel better afterwards. She always did.

  Kara turned and went down the hall to the tiny bathroom. She tried to avoid her reflection in the mirror as she pulled open the drawer in the vanity, but the movement of the stupid slave chain fastened to the collar around her neck kept catching her eye.

  The pressure thickened, the burning sensation behind her eyes even worse.

  She was such a mess. All she’d wanted was normal. That was all she’d been looking for. And what had she got instead? A master/slave fantasy where she got off wearing a collar and a chain and taking orders from her best friend’s older brother.

  Maybe she couldn’t do normal. Maybe she’d never be able to do normal.

  Some life you’re going to give your baby.

  The pressure constricted in her throat.

  Of course she couldn’t do normal. She didn’t even know what normal was.