My Feline Protector (Middlemarch Shifters Book 6) (21 page)

His teasing finger parted her folds, caressed but never settled. Just a delicate brush of his fingers. Torment. Plain torture.

She felt the moisture pooling between her legs and craved something to fill the emptiness inside her. As if he could read her mind, one lone finger slid inside her channel. Her pussy flexed, grabbing hold of his digit, but before she could enjoy the sensation, he pulled free.

“On your hands and knees again.” He gave a light tap on her butt after he lifted her off his lap.

She followed his order and parted her legs at his gentle insistence. He filled her with one quick stroke and remained buried in her heat, unmoving. Her pussy contracted and this time he groaned.
Right
. She tightened her inner muscles, grinning at his husky groan.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said.

“Trying to hurry you up.”

He didn’t answer but withdrew and pushed inside her again with a harsh sound of animal enjoyment. Thankfully, he increased his speed, his cock seeming to grow bigger and drive deeper. His warm breath feathered her neck, and that pushed her desire higher. She noticed every touch, every sound, every frisson of pleasure.

One of his hands cupped a breast, fingers tugging a nipple. His hand wandered from her breast and between her legs. He found her clit and teased it in time with his next stroke. Hot sensual flames licked up her belly, and she sobbed out his name. “Gerard.”

The velvet tension snapped without warning, shooting a coil of energy from her clit and pushing it through her body. Her channel clenched his cock in rhythmic pulses, the bolts of pleasure continuing for long seconds.

Gerard groaned and rocked his pelvis forward, plunging deep with rapid thrusts. He called out her name in a husky voice, his convulsive heave of muscles signaling his impending orgasm. He stilled, deep inside her body, his mouth feathering kisses over the base of her throat. A nip, not enough to break the skin, but to awaken her pleasure again. He purred in her ear, the feline rumble making her smile.

For long moments, they remained locked in position. Finally, Gerard sighed and pulled free. She missed his possession immediately, happiness filling her when he drew her into his embrace. Warm and replete she cuddled into him, her eyes flickering closed. Her mind blessedly empty, let her drift. Gerard murmured soft words, and she relaxed even further into slumber and started a familiar dream.

A key rattled in the lock, turned. London clutched the arms of her chair, gripping them to the point of pain.

Royce—it had to be him since no one else had a key—entered the house, the door thudding against the stop. A horn blared, and an ambulance shrieked its warning siren on nearby Notting Hill Road. Someone shouted. An instant later, the door slammed closed, the sharp crash reverberating throughout the house and cutting the sounds from outdoors.

London tensed in her favorite armchair, her gaze going to the clock above the inglenook fireplace. Ten o’clock.

“London, where the devil are you?”

She stood on trembling legs, turning to watch the door. Her mouth opened to reply. Nothing emerged except a feeble croak. She continued to stare at the doorway, her arms wrapped around her torso. Her legs trembled under the strain of holding her weight upright, her knees threatening to buckle. The steps came closer, closer, closer.

Royce appeared in the doorway, filling the space with his looming presence.

“Why didn’t you answer me?”

“I-I…” She swallowed, fear rising from her belly and filling her throat, her arms dropping to her sides. Instead, she stared as he crossed the room to her in ground-eating steps.

The scent of alcohol wafted toward her, nauseating and worrying.

“Speak,” he ordered. “Why didn’t you answer me?”

“I didn’t hear you.” Her timid lie barely reached him, but she knew he’d heard.

His full lips twisted in a sneer. “Where is my dinner?”

“In the fridge. It will need heating.” She forced a watery smile, her chest so tight she had trouble drawing a breath.

“I told you I wanted it on the table ready for me when I arrived home.”

He never invited her out to meet his friends, treating her like an embarrassing convenience. He berated her for being fat and insisted that she diet. After this morning’s lecture, she’d had enough. She’d decided he could have the same meal as her—something low on calories. A silly time for her to gain bravery.

“I didn’t k-know when you’d be home.”

“I want my dinner.” His gaze slid down her body.

She wanted to wrap her arms around herself again, but remained motionless because she knew the less she reacted, the better.

“All right. It won’t take me long.” She sidled past him, scurrying into the passage and toward the kitchen before he could grab her. In this mood he was unpredictable. Drunk, but not too drunk.

He’d hit her last week when she hadn’t moved fast enough to follow his order. She couldn’t even remember what she’d done to annoy him now. But the bruise on her left cheek was still healing beneath the heavy layer of makeup.

She removed the meal from the fridge and placed it in the microwave, putting the timer on for three minutes. Maybe he wouldn’t notice the lack of calories since she’d added his favorite mashed potatoes. She could add a serving of baked beans. He liked baked beans. Yes. Yes, she’d do that now. Open a tin and add them to bulk out his meal.

Heavy footsteps approached the kitchen. Her breath caught, tension swelling in her again. She had to force herself to move to the pantry, to retrieve the can of baked beans. Her hands trembled as she opened the can and added a portion to the plate before setting the microwave again.

Royce sat at the table, waiting for his meal. She watched the timer on the microwave, willing it to count down before he barked at her. She didn’t look at him, merely willed the microwave to hurry. Finally,
finally
the timer dinged. She opened the door and lifted out the plate. The contents burned her hands, but she didn’t murmur a sound, merely placing the plate on the table.

She couldn’t continue this way.

She didn’t love him any longer, wondered if she’d ever loved him.

Somehow, he’d ended up moving in and leaving her to pay the bills. Whenever she asked him to help and to pay a share, he flipped his lid. Jenny would ask—no. He was here because of her, and she had to get the money from him and get him to leave.

All she had to do was steel her nerve and tell him.

“I want sex tonight.”

“No.” The refusal escaped before she even thought about reacting to his demands.

His head snapped up, fury blazing in his eyes, pulling his facial muscles taut. “What did you say?”

Sugar, she’d done it now. “I said no. I don’t want you here. I want you to move out.”

He stood, his big, muscular frame looming over her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. When he stopped, her head whirled, her thoughts spinning in a muddy mess.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” He gripped her right arm and dragged her from the kitchen. Agony tore through her arm. She tried to dig in her heels but she was no match for his strength. She belted her hip on a sideboard and cried out. Royce didn’t stop. He continued to yank her toward the flight of stairs leading to the upper floor. She stubbed her toe and tripped on the stairs. Royce still didn’t stop until he reached her bedroom.

Tears streamed down her eyes, blurring her vision. He threw her on the bed, not caring he’d hurt her, that her arm throbbed in discomfort.

Instead, he stood and unfastened his belt, yanking it from his belt loops.

London screamed as he lifted his arm, tried to scramble away.

She screamed again as the belt buckle bit into her flesh. Pain tore through her shoulder, her ribs with each blow. He cursed at her, called her a whore and a bitch. She screamed at the flare of agony. She screamed at the stinging, hammering blows. London screamed until her throat burned but he didn’t stop.

He didn’t stop.

“London.
London
.”

She bolted upright, her chest hurting, aching, her eyes squinting in defense against the bright light. A dog barked. Another growled, piercing her confusion.

“London, what is it?”

The concern pierced her panic, but she flinched at a movement to her right.

Her eyes focused, and she realized tears wet her cheeks.

Gerard sat on the side of the bed. “English, what’s wrong? You were screaming.”

The bedroom door flew open and Henry burst inside. Geoffrey scampered in after Henry, the fur bristling along his spine.

Henry’s gaze went to all four corners of the bedroom before focusing on her and Gerard.

“I had a bad dream,” London said. Not so much a dream as a memory.

“Everything okay?” Henry asked.

“Yeah, thanks,” Gerard said.

Henry and Geoffrey left the bedroom and Henry closed the door after them.

“I’m sorry I woke you.” She couldn’t meet his gaze, not when the past filled her mind with renewed horror.

Gerard reached for her hand and wove their fingers together. “Want to talk?”

Not really
. “I dreamed Royce was hitting me with his belt.” Not quite what she’d meant to say. She hadn’t had this dream for a long time. Thank goodness she’d woken before it had become worse. Much worse. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Do you want to lie back down, or would you like to get up and have a whisky?”

She shuddered at the idea of closing her eyes, seeing the slow-running video repeat in her mind. “Whisky.”

“Okay.” He stood and pulled on a pair of jeans.

“You don’t have to get up too.”

“You’re my mate,” he said in a firm voice. “You were talking in your sleep, then you screamed. I could feel your terror.” He padded around to her side of the bed and cupped her face in his hands. “I’m sensing this wasn’t simply a bad dream. I hope you’ll talk to me, tell me what happened.”

Her breaths rasped in and out, in and out, and she wanted to run and hide, find a safe place. Instead, she stood in Gerard’s loose embrace and trembled. His big hand rubbed her spine until her tremors eased. “It was seeing Royce again. I-I know it was him. The note. He’s trying to s-scare me, make me remember.”

“What is he trying to get you to remember?”

“That he’s bigger and stronger than me.”

His hand smoothed over her hair. “What did he do to you, London?”

“He-he beat me.” She tried to pull away, but he held her with his gentleness. She sneaked a quick glance at his face before focusing on her bare feet. Her toenails were still bright pink from the pedicure she and Jenny had done in Queenstown. To celebrate their bungee jump. Her eyes filled with tears at the thought of her sister. Royce had killed her.

Gerard released her and picked up his discarded T-shirt. “Lift your arms for me.”

Like a wooden doll, she obeyed, raising her arms over her head. He drew her arms through the sleeves and tugged the T-shirt over her head, smoothing the soft fabric over her torso. His scent surrounded her, soothed her lingering fears.

Gerard handed her a pair of sweat pants, and he helped her balance as she stepped into them. Once she’d dressed, he took her hand again and led her from the bedroom to the kitchen. He switched on a light and shunted her to a stool at the breakfast bar. “Sit there while I get us whisky.”

She slid onto the stool and hunched over, periodically shivering. She wrapped her arms around herself to warm her chilled limbs.

“Here you go.” Gerard handed her a tumbler of whisky and rounded the counter to sit on the stool beside her.

London wrapped her hand around the glass and took a sip. The peaty flavor burst across her taste buds as she swallowed the liquid. It warmed all the way down her throat. She risked a glance at Gerard. He smiled at her, his expression containing infinite patience.

“What did he do to you, English? You mentioned he took up with your sister and married her, but there’s more, isn’t there?”

She gave a jerky nod, her mind shuddering at revisiting this past. But she couldn’t let Royce win, and not telling Gerard, a man who cared for her, would mean Royce emerged the victor. She swallowed and swallowed again to rid herself of the lump in her throat. “He broke my arm, and he raped me.”

Chapter Thirteen

“The bastard raped her,” Gerard told Henry the next morning. He filled the jug and hit the on-off button. “He beat her, broke her arm and raped her, then moved on to Jenny. London said Jenny didn’t believe her when she tried to warn her, that she didn’t see evidence of the beatings he gave London because Jenny traveled a lot for her work. He isolated London and covered all his bases, did the groundwork, and broke London’s spirit. Bastard told Jenny that London would try to make trouble, and Jenny didn’t believe London. Jenny thought London was jealous and would say anything to break them up. The sisters had an argument, and London moved to Bath.

“They didn’t speak again until just before their trip to Australia and New Zealand. Jenny contacted London and apologized. London said she hung up on her sister at first, but that Jenny persisted and went to Bath.” Gerard shook his head, angry on London’s behalf but wary of attacking Jenny too much in Henry’s presence. “London made Jenny work for forgiveness. She spent two weeks in Bath, approaching London every day and telling her how sorry she was about letting a man come between them. London said that although her sister had hurt her and she was still angry, Jenny was the only family she had left, so she finally agreed to this trip, taking one day at a time. Jenny told London she’d seen a solicitor and had started divorce proceedings. Did Jenny say much to you?”