CHAPTER 12
Grant
I caught Hazel, then reached in my back pocket for the safety scissors. There wasn’t any time to waste with the knots. A few hasty cuts, and her arms were free, the rope hanging from her wrists, and she fell into me. I draped her arms along my back. Her knees shook uncontrollably. I leaned down, cutting the ankle ties, then hoisted her into my arms, carrying her. She was limp, but the shuddering heaves in her chest showed that she was still present. Utterly exhausted. Broken. But awake.
In the corner of the suite, an oversized elk phur bean bag waited with a soft blanket. A small table next to it held water bottles, peanut butter crackers, and one small bag of sour candies. I gently placed her on the bean bag, covering her naked body with the blanket, kneeling to remove the ropes still dangling on her ankles. She swatted me to come closer.
“Not now,” she said. “Hold me.”
It surprised me. She had been determined to scratch her deeply masochistic itch, the same woman who hated that she had to rely on me, who begged me to hurt her more, harder, by spitting in my face. Yet she wanted me to hold her? To comfort her?
She hadn’t asked. She had commanded it.
“Please Grant,” she cried, anguish scrunching her eyes shut.
I joined her on the bean bag, pulling her into my lap and wrapped the blanket around her so that she wouldn’t have to touch me with her bare skin. She laid her head on my shoulder. I inhaled the musky scent of her fear dancing with a hint of coconut. She nuzzled into me, and I held her tighter. Hazel was vulnerable, nestled in my lap, seeking my protection.Neededit. Had I pushed her too far? Or was this always her way of coming down from the pain?
I trusted Hazel to tell me if I had crossed a boundary. While she may have needed more encouragement to do certain tasks, she was never afraid of telling me when I had screwed up.
Even mid-play, she wasn’t scared to communicate what she wanted.
The sobbing slowed, and her breathing eventually returned to a steady rise and fall. She looked up at me with those doey, misty blue-green eyes, asking me silent questions that I couldn’t answer. She opened her lips, licking them slightly, then reached up with her mouth, tilting her chin towards me. Moving to meet my lips.
It took everything in my power to turn away. Abruptly. Harshly. It was the only way to stop it.
I grabbed a water bottle and a pack of peanut butter crackers off of the table, and offered them to her.
“Really?” she asked, her tone incredulous. “You reject me forcrackers?”
“You went through extreme physical defilement,” I said. “You put your body through hell over—”
She tossed the crackers and bottle to the side. The blanket was having a hard time staying in place, keeping her covered. A glimpse of her red, tender breasts.
“Kiss me, Grant.”
I searched her. This sudden change was still stark.
“Our rules,” I said.
“I know what the rules are,” she said, crossing her arms. “I can make my own decisions. And I changed my goddamn mind. And I want you to kiss me.”
With an experience like we had created only minutes ago, her endorphins would be soaring, making her feel a natural high. Engaging with sexual acts after something like that was a certain way to mix up emotions. The intensity of pain, of fear, of hopelessness, mixed with the physical affection of someone holding you, caring for you, making you feel loved and protected. The cocktail of competing mental states would be intoxicating.
It would be wrong to kiss her. It would risk my ability to protect her. To always do what was best. Because once I gave in, I couldn’t go back to the way we were before.
But her vulnerability always matched her determination. She had survived, again and again, in worse situations than this. With men who were evil. Who didn’t care about her. Not even a damn afterthought. Not like I did.
Yeah. I cared about her.
Did that make kissing, and everything else I wanted to do to her, okay?
“Whatever,” she said, hoisting herself up, clutching the blanket around her. Flexing her agitated fingers. I followed her. Hazel knew what she wanted. She wanted it with her entire body. It made her rage. And she wanted me to kiss her. That intensity was so damn seductive. “You can kiss my—”
Fuck it.
I grabbed her, swinging her around, grabbing her hips and carrying her ass, bringing her back to the bean bag. She opened her eyes wide, her gaze wandering to my mouth, and our lips pressed together. Once lying down, I leaned into her, allowing my weight to rest on her. She moaned, a subtle sound, full of pleasure and longing, and my cock stirred. My fingers tangled in her hair, knotty now, after what she had been through, enjoying the feel of her damp, sweaty hair, the way she yielded her entire body when she kissed me back. Her tongue skimmed over mine, her actions mild, a different side of Hazel. Her fingernails raked across my back, pulling at the shirt, then anchored as deep as she could, a twinge of pain surging through me. I pulled back, staring at her, and growled, a deep hungry sound, and she smirked. That damn playful smirk that I couldn’t resist. Not now. Not like this.
She pulled me down with those hands, our tongues swirling again, tasting each other, her sweetness, her surrender, and she sucked on my lip. Her teeth grazed my skin, and she bit me.
