Authors: Joey W. Hill
he seized her throat, bringing her to a
ful halt, holding her
stil with his weight and strength. She
shuddered and
quaked against him, her pussy
rippling against his cock.
“I don’t need a col ar to know I’m
your Master, Rachel.
And neither do you. You curse at me
like that again, and I’l
have my cock down your throat for
the entire ride home. I’l
pul your wrists back and tie them to
your ankles so only my
fist in your hair keeps you on your
knees while you’re
sucking me.”
Something broke then, something that
deflated
everything in her…desire, passion,
anger. She went limp
and shuddering beneath him, the
throbbing of her pussy
like a tiny ticking clock in an empty
room, evidence of the
life that was there, but so much
space, a space that echoed
in the pit of the bel y and made the
heart ache.
He could have pushed her on to
climax, but he knew her
body’s arousal had balanced her
emotional pain. He’d
leave the two at odds for now, and
give her what he most
wanted to give her. When he
cautiously eased his hold, she
had her head pressed to the carpet,
sobs now taking her
ful y. He slid out of her, rearranged
his clothes and then
picked her up. Bringing her back up
to one of the seats, he
cradled her close in his arms, holding
her fiercely, her face
tucked into his neck as she cried.
“I’m here,” he muttered. “I’l never
leave you alone. You’l
never be lonely again.”
But as she cried, her knees drew up
against his side, her
arms folding over her chest. Those
sobs seemed to have
the power to break her, no matter
how closely he held her. It
alarmed him, how it suddenly seemed
she was more alone
than she’d ever been, more shut away
from him than he’d
yet experienced.
The Master in him could reach her
body, certain parts of
her soul, but how did he reach her
heart if grief and loss
amputated it? What if it was now out
of anyone’s reach,
even her own?
* * * * *
Once the tears stopped, she didn’t
want him near her.
She didn’t fight him, didn’t draw
away, but he felt it in every
resisting line of her body. She looked
brittle as glass, her
face tired and worn, makeup
smeared. She sat docile,
unresponsive, as he used ice and his
handkerchief to clean
up her face.
After they reached her place, he told
Max they’d get a
few things and then be back down.
He didn’t want her at her
apartment tonight, and maybe not
ever again. She could
bring the things she loved to his
place, and turn her back on
the isolation, loneliness and escape
her home had too
often represented.
When they got to the fourth level, one
of her neighbors, a
sharp-eyed older woman with a smal
load of laundry
topped by a spy novel, was coming
from the elevator. As
they passed her, Jon nodded
courteously, but Rachel
stopped, reached out and touched the
woman’s arm. “Mrs.
Lowery, can you hold on a moment?”
Turning on her heel, she faced Jon,
extricating her elbow
from his grasp. Her hazel gaze was
as flat and empty as a
swimming pool. “Thank you, Jon. I’m
staying here tonight,
and I need you to go home and leave
me alone.”
Mrs. Lowery, in that unfortunate way
that women had,
intuitively picked up on the vibes of a
sister in need of
backup. She put down the basket.
“Rachel, don’t do this.” Jon glanced
between them, trying
to look genial and concerned, rather
than simply hiking her
over her shoulder and taking her the
rest of the way down
the hal , Mrs. Lowery be damned.
Rachel quivered, seeing
it in him, and though Mrs. Lowery
would interpret that quiver
as the wrong kind of fear, Jon knew
differently. Yes, it was
fear, but fear of herself, not of him.
Rachel had far more
experience shutting people out than
letting them in, and she
was using that skil now. Her eyes
were fil ed with dul pain
that he wanted to soothe, even as he
wanted to give her the
spanking of her life.
“I need tonight, Jon.” She cleared her
throat, her fingers
pressing into Mrs. Lowery’s arm.
The woman patted her
soothingly, eyeing Jon. Not an ounce
of fear in her
expression, which clearly said,
I can
start screaming and
bring the entire complex out here on
your ass, bucko.
Any
other time he would have been thril
ed that Rachel had such
a diligent neighbor, but now
nosy
,
busybody
and
pain-in-
the-ass
were a few of the choice
words coming to mind.
“I’m not…you don’t have to worry
about anything, okay? I
need to be alone with this. Please
respect that.”
He wanted to take her hand, make any
kind of contact,
but Rachel stepped back, anticipating
him. She wrapped
her arms against her body, everything
about her locked
down. Mrs. Lowery shifted slightly,
coming in between
them. Given how he was feeling, the
woman had bal s.
He knew when it was necessary to
fal back and take a
different tactic, retreat and regroup,
but damn it, this was
not a fucking business meeting. This
was his heart and
soul, and she needed him. But she
wouldn’t let him help
her. He had no choice but to back off,
for now. He wasn’t
going to leave it like this though.
“I’m walking you to your door,” he
said cool y, and firmly
sidestepped Mrs. Lowery to take
Rachel’s elbow, despite
her flinch. Before either woman
could say anything, he met
the neighbor’s mistrustful gaze. “I wil
not go into the
apartment with her. I know you have
your hand on the
cel phone in your coat pocket. If I
don’t walk right back past
you in five minutes, you can cal the
police.” In the woman’s
brown eyes, he saw the root of what
she needed to know.
He could at least offer her that, with
ful sincerity. “Rachel
wil come to no harm from me. She
knows that. She’s just
upset.”
Mrs. Lowery’s gaze shifted to
Rachel, who turned her
head, stared at the floor, but didn’t
deny what he’d said.
The neighbor studied him again.
“Make it three minutes,
and if I hear so much as a squeak
from her, I’l have my son
out here to toss you over the railing
and you can take the
direct route back to the ground
floor.”
Despite the frustration roiling in his
gut, Jon had to
appreciate her. He wondered if Janet
had an older sister
Matt didn’t know about. He nodded,
put pressure on
Rachel’s arm and directed her tense
body down the hal
until they reached the recessed
archway of her door.
Taking out her key card, he fitted it
into the lock, pushed the
door open a crack, then handed it to
her. He’d had the key
since they’d gone shopping earlier in
the day, and he had
to shove down the feeling of dreaded
finality that came with
putting it back in her hand. When
their fingers brushed,
before she could draw away, he had
his hand closed on
both of hers.
Knowing Mrs. Lowery was stil
listening for the tone of the
conversation, but wasn’t close
enough to detect the content,
he lowered his voice to a murmur.
“What are you doing, Rachel?”
“I know you won’t take no for an
answer, Jon, and I real y,
real y need you to.” She kept her gaze
focused on his chest.
Her fingers were cold and tight
beneath his, her face pale.
His frustration tipped back into fury,
but he reined it back
viciously, knowing that wouldn’t
help. However, as if
sensing it, she quivered again, her
gaze flicking up quickly,
then back down. “At least for tonight.
Please.”
Lifting her chin, he held it in a tight
grip even when she
would have pul ed away. “Do you
stil have the gun?”
The shock that crossed her gaze was
the first emotion
she’d displayed since their volatile
coupling in the car. He
didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he
pushed her up against
the door, letting her feel every
insistent inch of his rigid
body, head to toe. “I won’t leave you
like this, Rachel. You
can have a dozen Mrs. Lowerys and
her sons in this
hal way, and they won’t budge me an
inch if I don’t think
you’l be safe.”
Her eyes closed, her hands curling
against his jacket,
cold fingers whispering against his
shirtfront. “I didn’t think I
could be more humiliated tonight, but
I guess I was wrong.”
“Rachel, for God’s sake…”
She shook her head. “I’m going in
here, shutting the door,
and for the next little bit, I’m going to
be by myself. I need
that. I truly do. If you have any regard
for me at al , you’l
respect that. Please.” Her lips
trembled, and now those
thick dol ’s lashes lifted, swimming
hazel eyes locking with
his. Her voice was a rasping
whisper. “I promise you, on the
soul of my son, I wil not harm myself.
Al right?”
He cupped her face and wasn’t
surprised that the
rawness of his own voice was a
close match to hers.
“Rachel, don’t shut me out. Don’t
close yourself down like
this again.”
She gave a smal laugh, a half sob.
“Let me go, Jon. I
don’t have the strength for what you
want. Though I real y,
real y appreciate you offering, my
visit to Oz is over. Go find
the woman who has that strength. For
tonight…I’m so tired.
Let me go to sleep. I need that peace.
The peace of
sleeping alone. I need…” Her voice
broke. “I need to be
numb. Please go.”
The sound of her tears, her broken
voice, had footsteps
coming swiftly down the hal . Giving
him a despairing look,
Rachel turned and slid into her
apartment, closing the door
decisively in his face.
* * * * *
The peace of sleeping alone.
He
understood what she
meant. Inside that peaceful place,
there was just enough
room for her to fit, without touching
the jagged edges of
memory that hugged so close to her.
If someone shared
that space, she’d be forced against
those painful and sharp
points.
He would have persisted, except for
a couple things. Mrs.
Lowery had apparently fabricated the
story about her son,
but she appeared at his back armed
with a Pomeranian.
Though the armload of yapping dog
wouldn’t have deterred
him, he knew there was some truth to
what Rachel said,
that she needed time. She’d promised
him she wouldn’t
hurt herself, and though he knew an
unstable person would
say anything to placate their friends
and family, she’d met
his eyes, and for that one moment at
least, he’d seen a
quiet calm. It didn’t completely
resolve his worries on that
score, but he had to live with it,
unless he wanted to break
down the door.
And while she took the time she felt
she needed, damn it
al , he’d use that time to think, plan a
different strategy.
When they were kicked in the bal s in
a negotiation, they
didn’t rush the field driven by pain
and anger. They put
some ice on it, and thought about how
best to win the
overal game.
So he went home. Sent Max back to
the club to pick up
the others, then ran the nature trails
on his property twice,
an eight-mile trek. He’d fol owed it
up with an intense
ninety-minute hot yoga session in his
downstairs workshop.
He’d kept the air off and only now
had opened the windows
that overlooked the screened porch.
Wearing a loose and
faded pair of jeans, he turned in slow
circles on the
revolving stool at his drafting table,
the sweat drying on
muscles stretched to their limit.