His Desire (3 page)

The pain on her face—she'd rather be anywhere else in the world besides reliving that day. There was the 'alpha' part of me that just wanted to pull her to me and tell her she didn't have to say a word because I was here and I'd make it all better.

But making her stifle her pain because the weight of it was crushing me wouldn't help her heal. And she was right: secrets are toxic. So even though her pain was unbearable and I wanted to save her...I listened. Probably for the first time since she'd come back, I stopped being ruled by my need to avenge her and let her do what she needed to do.

“I woke up in a motel room.” She bit back an uncomfortable chuckle. “That's probably obvious. The motel room. And waking up. After being drugged the night before.” Her second chuckle was a loud, brittle thing that left her gasping for breath and my teeth and nerves on edge.

I took one step that quickly became a stampede that put me right in front of her. She didn't push me away, but that's because the look she threw at me kept me at a distance. Not because she was hiding, but because she needed to get this out, no matter how painful.

I backed up, stopping when I hit the edge of Cole's ratty mattress. I looked down, red sprinkling the aged hardwood floor. I didn't push aside the wave of nausea that pummeled me.

No more secrets. No more pretending that any of this was okay or just.

I swallowed the bile that climbed from my stomach and bubbled in my throat. “I'm here, Leila.”

She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Even now, my first reaction is to tell you how okay I am. But that's the biggest lie of all.” She pulled her hands from her face, a look of horror souring her expression when she looked at her blood caked nails. She snatched her arms to her sides. “I didn't know where I was at first. All I knew was the bits and pieces from the night before. When I met Brittany. Realizing she'd drugged me.” She chewed on her bottom lip and stole a look at Cole. “I saw his face before everything went black.”

I kept my eyes on my wife, knowing that if I looked back at my brother, the anger would come back with a vengeance. I knew where that road would lead. I was determined to do things differently.

Leila dropped her hands back to her jacket, wiping her palms. My imagination painted streaks of red, but there was none.

“Brittany came in and...she...toyed with me. But it wasn't a game at all. Not when she pulled out the switchblade. Or when she held it to my throat.” Leila hung her head, her curls spilling into her face. They did nothing to hide her pain. I saw the way she shuddered, the quiet sobs that drowned the silence. “I've never been so afraid in my life. The blade wasn't against my skin for that long. I mean, she cut me...” She brought her hand to her neck and traced the wound, locking eyes with me. She pushed her hair out of the way, letting me see every tear. “But in those brief moments, I realized just how badly I wanted to live. How I wanted to live with you, start a family-” She squeezed her eyes shut, her words hitting a wall and going no further.

Cole shifted behind me and I hurled a look in his direction, prepared to tell him to not even
breathe
until Leila was done, but his face made me rethink my animosity. He was in pain too, and it had nothing to do with the number I'd done on him. These memories pulled back the curtain to reveal the number he'd done on himself.

“You should know that if Cole didn't show up, I have no idea how far she would have gone, just to prove a point,” Leila pressed, her voice firm. It built in strength as she pushed from the door and started pacing back and forth. “He told me about their childhood. It was a nightmare, Jacob. A pure nightmare. He just wanted to start over and take care of his sister.”

So he decided to take you and make a withdrawal from the Whitmore Bank?
The flash of disgust jolted through me and I let it out with a tumbling sigh. Me interjecting to remind everyone of the obvious, brutal truth did no one any good. I crossed my arms instead, taking deep breaths to remind myself that anger wanted a pound of flesh. Love, my heart, wanted and needed to listen.

“We had every intention of sneaking out. Cole was going to let me go,” she explained, her voice thick with emotion. She gripped my gaze and said each word with conviction. “Cole was going to let me go, Jacob.”

Inside, that stupid, worrisome part of me that liked to hope against all odds snapped to attention. “He tried to help you?”

Leila confirmed it with a nod. “Yes. But Brittany overheard us and she lost it. If Cole hadn't played along and tried to reason with her and rein her in...” She pawed at her hair, yanking it over one shoulder and shrinking into herself. It was like she was trying to disappear altogether. Back in that memory, making herself as small and inoffensive as possible to ward off any further harm. “She called you, made Cole-” she gulped. “Cut me and then I spent the hours leading up to the trade wrapping myself in hate. Shutting myself down and leaving nothing for her to use against me.”

I raised my eyebrows when she went to the door, but she didn't throw it open and run for her life. She remained in the doorway, arms limp at her side as she looked out into the night.

“You should know I don't blame Brittany. And it would take little to no effort to hate her and carry that cross until the day I die,” Leila paused, audibly sucking in a breath that told me that every day she fought with this. And every day, she chose to not take the easy route. “And I don't blame Cole.” She kissed her shoulder with her cheek, her eyes shut. “I have no doubt that Cole Sommers saved my life.”

I wanted to push it aside. She was right...hate was easy. Damn near effortless, considering. Hate was what got me through when I watched my wife fall apart and still smile. Hate fueled me when I knew they were out there, seemingly living the life, clutching a pardon that was paid for in torture and agony. I woke up with hate raging inside me and closed my eyes with the image of my hands around my brother's throat lulling me to sleep.

Forgiveness...that was the feat. Letting go seemed impossible.

And now that I knew I had the story wrong, that Cole wasn't the grand orchestrator and he'd been able to help my wife, make her feel safe in the face of unspeakable terror, how could I choose hate? How could I say that he deserved the pain I'd dealt?

I slowly worked my eyes from the floor until they rested on his broken face. Truth or no, an apology still felt like a betrayal. There was something I needed to say. Something I never thought I’d say to my brother. “Thank you.”

He snapped his chin upward so hard I nearly lunged forward, knowing that movement had to be excruciating. Concern. Gratitude. They were all things I never thought I'd feel for my brother.

Our eyes met and our conversation was a silent one. He understood that I wasn't doing this for him.

This was for Leila.

This was for me.

I
stepped beneath the spray of water, letting it pound my chest. I ducked my head beneath the hot stream, closing my eyes to ward off dark images that sprang to mind. Cole's blood swirling down the drain. Leila's red eyes filled with cautious hope when I thanked him. My brother's sobs when I went outside to use the satellite phone to call for help. Because I wasn't the hero of this story, I gruffly reminded him that it was within everyone's best interest that he come up with some believable story to explain his injuries.

I braced my hands on the wall of the shower. Now that I had all the pieces to the story and realized that Cole had tried to make things right, to help Leila... I balled my fists and punched the tile, welcoming the bone crushing agony that ripped through me. I clenched my teeth, refusing to cry out. I didn't deserve the relief that would come from letting go; cradling my hand while letting out a string of expletives that distracted from the scream of misery.

I was a monster.

The most painful part was Leila had told me, multiple times, that it wasn't Cole's fault. Instead of hearing her, I had my story, and I stuck to it. The timeline of events began when I first saw my brother's face. Some hero that played a necessary role to minimize the damage his disturbed sister inflicted didn't fit my narrative. I needed someone to feel my wrath. I needed someone to blame.

I wiped the water from my eyes and looked down at my hands. I couldn't blame what I'd done to Cole on anyone but myself.

The ride back to Dublin should have been unbearable. Leila sobbing quietly, her eyes locked on the window, still back in that cottage despite the tires pulling us away from the carnage. I'd been prepared to take on her pain, her anger, her disappointment. Despite our moment outside when I let her see me breakdown and learned that Cole wasn't the ski masked villain I'd painted, it would take time for her to forgive my betrayal. It would take time for me to forgive myself. But she surprised me. She held my hand the whole ride back to our hotel, squeezing it like it was a beating heart that she was willing to pump. To live.

I turned from the nozzle, letting the water pound my back. It was the closest I'd get to some sort of flagellation. To atone for what I'd done. She told me that revenge would bring me no peace, and she was right. Before I knew what really happened, the rage just left a bitter hole in my chest. And now that I knew, the fact that I'd almost murdered someone, my brother-

“Can I join you?”

I tensed when I heard Leila's voice behind me. It was more than her question, her intoxicating presence, it was the lust that hung on every syllable. When I’d picked this property, I'd fantasized about exactly this. Her sliding inside with that sultry question. The look in her eyes that told me to take her. Her slick body warm and soft. Mine hard and fierce. Her lips against my chest as she murmured that she loved me.

I didn't deserve her.

The door shut solidly and I knew that was her way of saying that she wasn't asking for permission. The need in me was ignited instantly. She knew what buttons to push to draw out my urge to remind her who was in charge. To force her against the wall, drinking in her gasp of pain and arousal as I dealt out the cost of waking up the dark passion that demanded her submission. That longed for it.

When her fingertips teased my back,my cock decided to be as bold as she was, hardening and making rational, coherent thought damn near impossible.

“Let me take care of you,” she said softly. “Please.” Her words caressed, but her nails carved a fiery trail down my back. “I want you. I want
my
Jacob.”

There was a voice in my head that whispered that I wasn't worthy. Even now, with her desire, her very presence signaling that she wanted to be with me. That doubt, the insecurity, the guilt, I didn't shove it to the back of my mind and sweep her into my arms. There was a difference between the Jacob that I was and the man I wanted to be.

She snaked her hand between the wall and my body, zeroing in on my swollen need but I  held her wrists. Not as her Dom. As her husband.

“I've done so many things wrong over the past month. And as much as I want you-” My cock pulsed in agreement. In protest. “I can't shut off the need to keep my distance so I won't hurt you.”

Her hands went slack and I let go, turning to her. I took a moment to drink in the wet ringlets that flowed down her luminescent skin like rain. The way her breasts trembled with every breath, her hardened nipples stroking the curls. The curve of her hips, the delicious call of her sex. I could dive my fingers inside her flesh and I knew the warm, liquid desire had nothing to do with the water  that surrounded us. The red that flooded her cheeks had nothing to do with the steam that filled the room.

She smoothed her hair from her face, a serious, pained look filling me with dread.
See? If your stupid conscience would just keep its mouth closed-

“Isn't that the point? To hurt? To feel?”

A frown slashed its way across my face and the old hurt of not making my interest in D/s clear to past lovers snuck in but when she rushed forward, cupping my cheek I saw in her eyes that she wasn't trying to say I hurt her out of some depraved need to dole out pain.

“I don't mean it like that.” She drew her other hand to join the first, holding me, her voice low and tender. “I mean that the pain is the beautiful part. I don't know what's going on in your head so I can't speak for you but for me, it's freeing. The hurt takes me out of ️whatever is filling my head and I'm in this place where it's just you and me. And in those moments with you, whether I'm on my knees...” She bit down on her bottom lip, her nails scraping my skin as she lowered herself to her knees. Her palms hummed against my abs, unknowingly calming the storm of nerves and worry that whipped to and fro in my stomach. Her head was bowed as the torrents fell and I was completely enthralled, the desire to make every touch, every second, last.

I had to take her. Make her scream my name.

But when her fingers glided down to the place I'd forbade her to touch and her breath fluttered across my engorged flesh, I uttered a command. A plea. “Leila...” My voice was hoarse. Lost in the thunder of the shower.

A convenient excuse to remain silent while my body cried out for more.

She teased me, the warm water biting my skin while her cool breath kissed. Close. So close, but not touching. Her fingers angled toward my erection—I was so hard, so hot for her that I ached—but she drew as close as she could to make my pulse race, then circled back to my thigh.

I couldn't catch the smile before it spread across my face. Just as she pursed her lips and blew, I clutched her locks savagely and her gaze snatched up to me.

She smiled deviously.

Technically, she hadn't disobeyed.

She hadn't touched me.

“You think you're clever, don't you?”

Her smile broadened. “I have my moments.”

She thrusted her chest forward and I groaned with pleasure as the softness of her breasts collided with my stiff need.

Her hair was like liquid chocolate, locks spilling out of my fist as I pulled tighter. Even the spray of water couldn't blur her wince of pain.