Having Her: Lies We Tell, Book 2 Read online

  Tearing off the collar and chain so she stood naked in front of the vanity, she then took a new razor from the drawer and pulled open the packet. The metal gleamed in the light, comforting. She extracted it, holding it lightly between her fingers then turned her other wrist over. There were faint, pale lines on her skin, the legacy of her troubled teenage years. Her foster mother had seen them, thought she was doing drugs and had threatened to get rid of her.

  If only it had been drugs. At least she’d have gotten some fun out of it.

  Gently Kara laid the edge of the razor against the delicate skin of her inner wrist.

  Like pricking a balloon…

  That’s what she used to tell herself. When the pressure behind her eyes and the pain in her heart got too much she’d feel like a balloon too full of air. All she needed was a way to release the pressure, let it out. A small cut and all the air would escape, the pressure would ease. She’d feel better.

  Lightly she drew the razor across her skin, careful not to cut too deep. It stung but it was a good pain. An easy pain. She let out a shaking breath as red sprang up in a line across her wrist, the blood a rich contrast to the pale flesh beneath.

  It felt a little better but one cut wouldn’t be enough. It never was.

  Kara laid the razor on her skin and cut again. The pain deepened. Just a little more maybe.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Kara?”

  She whirled around, her mind blanking with shock.

  Vin stood in the doorway, a look of such incandescent rage on his face that she took a helpless step back. He moved, so fast she couldn’t stop him. Clamping strong fingers around her bleeding wrist, he then reached for her other hand, twisting it so she gasped and dropped the razor.

  “Are you trying to kill yourself?” he nearly shouted. “Is that what you’re doing?”

  “No! God, no, of course not.” She hissed in pain as his fingers pressed down hard on the cuts. A line of red had run down her arm, dripping onto the floor. “Vin, stop it.”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” He hauled her close, staring down at her. “If you don’t want the baby there are easier ways to go about it!”

  The pressure was back, as was the fierce burning behind her eyes, the tightness in her throat, her heart swelling up with guilt and pain and fear. “What are you doing here?” she croaked. “I thought you’d gone.”

  “Clearly you did. Is that what you were waiting for? Me to go so you could slit your fucking wrists in the bathroom?”

  The stormy blue of his eyes had darkened into black, fury staining his high cheekbones red. An avenging angel. An angel with a sword sharper than any razor. “I-it’s not what it looks like,” she forced out, a wave of shame swamping her. Of all the people to catch her cutting it would have to be him.

  “Then what the hell is it?” he demanded. “You have scars on your wrists. Scars you wouldn’t talk to me about. Are they from a previous suicide attempt? Don’t lie to me, Kara.”

  The humiliation was like acid, burning her. She tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let her. So she did what she always did when she was threatened. She attacked.

  “I’m not trying to kill myself, Vincent,” she said, enunciating his name sarcastically.

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “I’m a cutter. You know what that is? I cut myself with razors.”

  Shock passed over his face. “Why?”

  “Because I like it. Because it makes me feel better. Because I have to get this pain out any way I can!” The words spilled out of her like the blood out of her cuts, helplessly, hopelessly. Words she’d never said to anyone else. “Because it hurts. It hurts so much. I just wanted normal. I just wanted sane. But I’m not. I’m screwed up. I always have been, I always will be and now I’ve screwed up your life as well as my own. This kid doesn’t stand a chance. And I can’t cry about it. I can’t even do that one, simple thing!” Her voice echoed around the tiny space of the bathroom and the shame of the admission was so intense she wished she could die of it. But there was no escape from herself or those piercing blue-gray eyes of his that stared into her, through her. Seeing her like no one else could.

  “Don’t look at me,” she cried, desperate. “Don’t look at me like that!”

  For a long moment he said nothing. Then with a sudden, violent movement that took her by surprise, he turned her in his arms so she ended up facing the mirror, not him. He still gripped both her wrists, the hard warmth of his body pressing against her spine.

  “I won’t let you hurt yourself,” he growled in her ear.

  “Then go away. You don’t have to watch.”

  “I want to help you.”

  “I don’t want your bloody help!”

  “Yes, you do. You need it. You need someone, Kara.”

  “Yeah, okay, you’re right. I do need someone. I need someone to hurt me.”

  The statement had the desired effect. She could feel him go rigid behind her, the grip on her wrists faltering. Good. Perhaps he’d go away. Leave her to deal with it herself in her own way.

  Oh yeah, because that way worked so well in the past.

  “Hurt you?” Vin echoed.

  “You said you wanted to help.” She could see him in the mirror, the achingly beautiful lines of his face set and hard. His body tall and broad and powerful behind hers, somehow emphasizing her nakedness. Making her feel small and feminine and vulnerable. Defenseless.

  She dragged her gaze away, looking down at the sink instead. “And that’s what I need. I need pain. Because it makes everything else easier to bear.”

  He said nothing. But the warmth at her back didn’t move.

  Oh God, why wouldn’t he leave? She’d been torn open, the darkest parts of herself spread out for him to see and now she was drowning in humiliation. Suffocating. And the pressure was still there, building and building. No way to escape it or release it.

  Kara struggled to breathe, tried to pull away.

  And Vin bit her.

  Shock froze her to the spot.

  He’d sunk his teeth into the sensitive cords at the side of her neck, sending a bolt of pain right down her spine. She inhaled sharply. His head moved and he bit her again, a little lower this time but no less hard. Kara let out a gasp because it hurt.

  He released one of her wrists, the one that wasn’t bloody, sliding his hand across her stomach. And down.

  She stiffened. “What are you—”

  “You want pain. So I’ll give it to you. But I’m doing this my way. If you don’t like it, all you have to do is say stop and I’ll stop.” His hand pushed through the tangle of curls between her thighs, long fingers finding her clit. Stroking her. And this time when she gasped, it wasn’t because it hurt.

  He moved his head, biting the other side of her neck, his fingers stroking, rubbing gently, around and around. And the pain of his bite began to mesh with the pleasure of his fingers on her. Becoming something else. Something even more powerful.

  Kara couldn’t stop the moan that tore from her throat. This wasn’t right. Pain couldn’t be pleasure. She wasn’t allowed a release like that. She’d managed to stop herself from having it that day he’d screwed her up against the wall in her hallway but this, tonight, was different.

  Tonight she was broken. Was raw and bleeding, and although she knew she didn’t deserve it, she couldn’t bring herself to say the word that would end it.

  He bit her shoulder, dropping her bleeding wrist to cup her breast, pinching her nipple hard. Then the hand between her thighs moved, a finger sinking inside her. The pain and the pleasure twined around each other, making her cry out. Another pinch, another bolt of hurt. Another finger pushing into her, deeper, harder. She moaned helplessly.

  Vin’s thumb brushed over her clitoris, circling as his fingers moved inside her, and she found herself arching against his hand, panting. The pressure began to change, no less demanding, no less intense, but more focused. All it would take would be another brush of
his thumb, another movement of his fingers. Another pinch to her nipple and she’d come.

  Like the cut of the razor, the climax would bring such relief.

  “Please…Vin…please…” She’d never used his name during sex before. But she was so far gone, she hardly noticed.

  He said nothing. One hand came to rest on the back of her neck then pushed her forward and down, so she was bent over the vanity. The hand stayed there, a strong, dominant hold, keeping her cheek held against the cold porcelain of the sink.

  She began to shake. Her neck stung where he’d bitten her and she knew she’d have bruises. God, she hoped so.

  Behind her came the sound of a zipper being drawing down and her muscles tightened in response. Oh, Jesus, please let him take her. Use her. Hard and rough. The razor would never be enough now. She needed him. Needed the release only he could give her, an outlet for the anguish, the guilt and the shame that she never seemed able to leave behind no matter how hard she tried to escape.

  The hold on the back of her neck eased as his fingers tangled ruthlessly in her hair, pulling her head back with a sharp jerk. Pain prickled all over her scalp and she gasped, the sound turning into a cry as she felt him spread her open with his other hand. Then the push of his cock into her, a harsh thrust rather than a slow slide.

  He went still, deep inside her, the tiny bathroom space full of the sound of their ragged breathing.

  The edges of the vanity dug into the tops of her thighs, her head pulled back so far it was uncomfortable. His fingers twisted tighter into her hair, tugging harder.

  Kara shut her eyes, the pain and the discomfort merging with the feeling of him inside her, the heat of him against the backs of her thighs. The pleasure and pain of it promising a release that would probably break her in two.

  Vin began to slide out then back in, a few shallow thrusts, teasing her. At the same time, he pulled her hair, increasing the tension, little barbs of agony piercing her scalp. Kara shuddered, light bursting behind her eyes, pleasure building like a fiercely burning fire.

  His free hand slid around her front, stroking her clit as he thrust. So light and gentle in comparison to the punishing grip he had on her hair. The contrast brought strangled sounds from her, gasps and moans she had no control over.

  He began to move deeper then, a hard rhythm that turned the sounds into something more raw and desperate. The pressure inside her crushing.

  This was going to destroy her. Shatter her.

  In some dim part of her brain, a warning screamed. Telling her to say the word that would end this before her defenses broke down. But it was too late for that. She was too far gone to turn back now.

  She would fall apart when this was over and she didn’t think she’d ever be able to put herself back together again.

  It’ll be okay. He’s here.

  She didn’t know where the reassurance came from. But it was enough.

  Kara squeezed her eyes tighter and ignored the warning, embraced the intensity of the physical sensations, throwing herself into them. The hard push of his cock inside her, the sharp edges of the sink, the pain in her scalp, the light brush of his fingers against her clit.

  He slowed his movements and she moaned in protest, shifting restlessly against him, desperate now for release. But he ignored her, his touches becoming even lighter, delicate brushes that only prolonged the agony. Every inch of skin began to feel sensitized, the pull of his fingers in her hair the most delicious pain. He eased slowly out of her, so damn slowly she nearly screamed in frustration. Then back in, just as slow. She pushed back with her hips, wanting more.

  “Keep still,” he ordered in a low, guttural voice. “You wanted pain. I’m giving it to you.”

  Yes, this was pain. Caught on the cusp of an orgasm so intense she’d probably scream herself hoarse when it overwhelmed her. Pain and pleasure so inextricably twined she couldn’t work out which was which.

  She was shaking, her knees buckled against the vanity, only the press of his body keeping her there. The pain in her wrist was a dim memory compared to the agony of pleasure coursing through her now. And still he went on and on, building the ecstasy slowly but surely until she was mindless with need. A creature aware of nothing but her own, desperate hunger.

  Someone was begging in a low, hoarse voice. Saying his name and please over and over again. Her.

  “Kara,” Vin said softly.

  He gave one deep thrust that shoved her hard against the vanity then jerked her head back sharply. Her spine bowed as the pain shot down it. As the pleasure exploded like a magnesium flare behind her eyes, bright, shining. Incandescent.

  She screamed as she fell over the edge. And screamed again as his fingers brushed her clit, the sensation so acute she almost couldn’t bear it. A delicious torment that seemed to go on and on, overwhelming her so that all she could do was press her hot cheek to the cold porcelain of the sink as her voice ripped itself raw.

  Broken, all right. Into tiny little pieces. Shattered beyond repair.

  The deep, gut wrenching sob that welled up inside her seemed torn straight from her soul, wrenched into the light of day by the intensity of her release. She tried to bite down on it but it came out of her mouth anyway. A long, low moan that turned into a cry of pure agony. She had no energy to keep it down this time and it escaped, ten years of anguish finally given voice.

  Vin’s arms came around her, strong and sure, pulling her upright. Holding her tightly. And she couldn’t seem to stop the sobs. Couldn’t find the will to push him away even though every part of her wanted to run and hide.

  He turned her so she faced him then pressed her head against his chest, giving her a measure of privacy and she took it. Sobbing and sobbing against his T-shirt. A never-ending well of tears that soaked the cotton.

  She cried until her eyes felt swollen shut. Like she’d never open them again. Until her voice was thin and ragged. Until she felt empty. All the air inside her had gone, leaving her nothing but a hollow shell.

  Vin said nothing. Instead he calmly turned on the shower, took off all his clothes and pulled her into it with him. He began to wash her gently, cleaning away the blood, the salt from her tears. Washing her hair too, his fingers massaging her scalp, easing away the pain.

  She didn’t want him to take care of her like this. It was dangerous. But she couldn’t remember why and it was good having someone touch her so carefully. Good to feel as if someone cared. Especially him. So she let him do it, let him dry her, put plasters on the cuts to her wrist. Let him wrap her in the blue Chinese silk robe she loved. Even let him pick her up in his arms and carry her back to the lounge.

  She kept her eyes closed the whole time. She felt so tired. And when he finally sat on the couch, with her in his lap, she let her whole body go limp, relaxing into his warmth. Allowing herself the luxury, just this once, of letting someone else take care of her.

  Silence fell. A deep, abiding silence that she felt no inclination to break.

  And sometime after that, she fell asleep.

  She felt so warm in his arms, the gentle weight of her relaxed against him in sleep. Vin looked down at her face now wiped clean of makeup. Of tears. Her expression peaceful, her breathing even. But still he could see the dark circles under her eyes, the lines of pain around her mouth.

  He’d never hurt a woman like that. Not deliberately and never during sex. But he hadn’t been able to think of any other way to help her. And he had to help her. He just had to.

  She was a woman in pain. A pain he’d never realized the depth of until he’d seen her standing naked in her bathroom holding a razor, her wrist bleeding.

  He’d come back because he’d known the moment the door had shut behind him that he couldn’t leave her. That he should have remembered that when she got sharp and snarky it was because she was hurt and trying to protect herself.

  Except he didn’t know what he’d done to hurt her except try to be gentle.

  Well, perhaps he understood a l
ittle more about that now.

  Vin brushed aside a long golden strand hat had fallen across her face.

  Pain. I need pain.

  Why? What had happened in her life that she had to hurt herself in order to feel better?

  I just wanted normal… I’m screwed up… It hurts so much…

  A heavy, sharp stone seemed to rest just above his heart. He’d known she was vulnerable and yet he’d worked his own sick shit out with her all the same. Sure, the first time they’d been together it had helped her. But that’s where he should have stopped. He should never have kept going. Kept using her to service his own needs.

  He hadn’t wanted to hurt her tonight, really hadn’t wanted to. But he’d seen, perhaps for the first time, that Kara’s needs were different. And that perhaps it was time to give her what she truly wanted. Help her the way she wanted to be helped.

  So he had. He’d given her the pain she demanded. But he gave her pleasure too. Because whether she thought she deserved the pain or not, she had to have with it pleasure. She totally deserved that.

  Kara shifted in his arms, turning her head against his chest.

  And he had the odd impression he could sit like this forever, just holding her. And he wouldn’t mind. Wouldn’t mind a bit.

  Vin settled back against the couch. Tiredness crept up on him. They had so much to talk about, so much to discuss. But now wasn’t the time.

  Tomorrow. It would have to be tomorrow.

  He shut his eyes. Just for a moment.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was the sensation of feeling trapped under a heavy weight that woke her. Kara cracked her eyes open to find herself lying on her side on the couch, a heavy male arm snaking across her chest, holding her tightly, warmth like a fire against her back.

  Vin. Who’d apparently stayed the night.

  A strange sense of peace stole through her. She’d never slept with anyone before and she hadn’t known how comforting it would be.

  Not just anyone, girl. Vincent Fox.

  Who’d discovered her shameful secret.