Page 42 of Bought

I had the vague sense that I should be doing something, but before I could figure out what it was, I fell asleep.

16

Tennyson

I sat in my office, my chair turned to the view through the windows behind my desk, the lights turned off.

It had been an hour since I’d put the little sub to sleep the guest bedroom and my head was still full of her. My cock, too, was insisting that I wake her up and continue with our scene in the living room, because I’d had some plans. Plans that included the bag of tricks I kept in the closet in my bedroom.

I didn’t have a playroom here — I preferred to conduct my scenes in the clubs I went to — but I’d collected a few pieces of my favorite equipment, and I’d been very much looking forward to using them on her.

Except I’d gathered her up in my arms and put her to bed instead.

I was supposed to have a night, that’s what I’d allowed myself, that’s what I’d paid for, and yet after seeing her curl up on my carpet, naked and trembling, dark circles under her eyes, all I’d been conscious of was a fierce protectiveness.

It was late and she looked exhausted, and my dominant instincts were telling me that initiating another scene with her would be a mistake. She was new to submission, new to all the intense feelings that came with it, and she needed some quiet time.

After care wasn’t something I enjoyed. I provided physical care, such as blankets and warm cloths, but if a sub wanted touch and emotional reassurance, they would have to find another Dom. I didn’t have that in me to give.

But this little sub had chosen me, had given herself to me, and she was vulnerable. She was my responsibility, and I couldn’t leave her shivering on the carpet alone.

So, I’d picked her up in my arms, holding her warmth nestled against my chest, her weight in my arms strangely right in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Then she’d turned her face into my shirt, and I’d realized something at that moment, something that should have been clear to me since she’d knelt on the bed in that hotel room.

This was trust. She was naked in my arms, her silver blonde hair spread over my shoulder, her body lax and sleepy and sated from the orgasms I’d given her. And she’d turned her face into my chest because she felt safe. Because she felt protected. Because she trusted me.

It was a gift that trust and a precious one. And she’d given it to me.

If she knew what you did, she wouldn’t.

My chest tightened painfully. No, she wouldn’t, even though what I’d done was over fifteen years in the past and I’d done it to protect Isabel.

Nothing could change the fact that I’d killed a man, though. And no one except Atlas, not even Caleb, the man I called brother, knew about it. Ridiculous not to tell my oldest friend, the man who’d once run New York’s biggest crime empire, because he out of anyone would have understood. But at the time Caleb had needed a conscience, a friend who’d remained untouched by things he’d been immersed in, and I was that friend. I had to be above it all. And it wasn’t that I thought I was better — I knew I wasn’t — I only wanted him to have some hope. Hope that he, too, could get out.

Except you got in just as deep as he was and the difference between the two of you is that at least he never hid what he was.

Caleb had always been upfront about his past and the kind of man he was, while I kept all the flawed parts of me, all the parts I didn’t want anyone to know about, secret. Some parts I was ashamed of, while others I didn’t want Isabel to have to bear the burden of — I didn’t want anyone to have to bear the burden of — so it was better that they didn’t know.

My life was a series of rooms, each with a door that stayed closed and locked, and only I had the key. Only I could move between them. It was a system that had worked well for me so far, and yet I couldn’t shake the sense that some of the rooms were not as separate as I wanted them to be. That they were more interconnected than I thought.

Disquiet ran through me, and after a moment, I shoved back my chair and went over to the shelving unit that stood against the wall, opening one of the cupboards where I kept my scotch. I poured myself a dram of my favorite — an old and rare Macallen — then I took the tumbler back to my desk, sat down, and took a large swallow. The alcohol went down far too easily, settling warmly in my gut, though it did nothing to ease the disquiet.

I shouldn’t be thinking of the little sub, and I shouldn’t be thinking of the past, what I should be thinking about was the Hamiltons and the question of why they’d started moving against me now.

For years they’d been quiet, and I’d wondered if they were finally going to leave Isabel and me alone. Then I’d heard through some sources that their interest had once again shifted in my direction, though why I had no idea.

I hadn’t done anything to attract their notice, though Fox Tech had been doing extremely well lately. Perhaps it had been the rumors of me naming Isabel as my successor — at least Caleb certainly seemed to think it was that. He thought they’d move on her, somehow get her on their side and ultimately get their hands on Fox Tech as some kind of revenge against me.

Me, for killing their daughter.

You kind of did.

Juliana had died of a hemorrhage when Isabel was born, and yes, I suppose if you looked at it like that, if I hadn’t gotten her pregnant, she wouldn’t have died.

An old grief twisted inside me, the kind of grief that never leaves you, that sinks its teeth deep into your heart. A grief that was parts loneliness and despair, loss and rage, and a guilt that wouldn’t leave me alone.

Guilt that loving me had led to her death.

Guilt that I hadn’t been able to save her.