Beneath the Burn (54 page)

“No. And I never constricted you harder than this.” His grip fell away and the sudden loss of it shriveled her with insecurity, no longer protected under the detainment of his hand.

Before she could dwell on how fucked up that logic was, he rolled them, flattening her body over his with a hand sliding down her spine. “You okay?”

She dropped her cheek on his chest and let the strong beat of his heart fortify her. “I don’t know. How did you do that? There was no pain…and I came…and why couldn’t I breathe?”

He stroked her hair and spread the layers across her back. “You were breathing just fine right up until you climaxed. Then you locked up.” He tapped her temple.

Did he think it was all in her head? He’d tricked her, dammit. How had she not perceived what was real and not real? Heart hammering, she let her hair slide forward and curtain her face.

“Charlee, look at me.”

She did, and he stared back from beneath dark brows. “I don’t think it’s the pain that gets you off. It’s the anticipation…the fear of it.”

Her rebuttal scrambled to the tip of her tongue and hung there. Wasn’t that how she found release during masturbation? She would think about depraved acts, anticipate them, and yes, fear them. “And you learned this in one night?”

“It was a long night.” He held her chin in the brace of his hands and kissed her, far-reaching and persistent and full of teeth. With a nip to her nose, he pulled back. “Let me show you something.”

She followed him to the bathroom, his unfinished tattoo waving at her through the flex of his shoulders. The outline of flames and curling skin and riveted steel beneath made her fingers itch to complete it. “I need to finish your back.”

He threw a glowing smile over his shoulder that sent her heart tumbling. “Soon.”

In front of the vanity, he turned her back to the mirror and hooked his arms around her waist. His cock jerked against her thigh, and she looked up with an arched eyebrow.

“Ignore it. Look behind you. What do you see?”

Twisting to peer beyond her shoulder, she flinched at how the artificial light glared off her white skin. “A pasty girl in desperate need of some sun.” She caught his glare in the mirror.

A muscle ticked in his cheek. “Don’t you dare tan that pretty hide.” The corners of his mouth kicked up. “That’s
my
job.”

“Har har. What am I looking at?”

“Bruises. Discoloration. Blemishes. Any of the usual post-pain leftovers.”

She squinted at her reflection. A couple of pink lines marked her shoulder. Otherwise, her skin was flawless. “I don’t understand. The implements you struck me with should’ve left marks.”

“I
think
after the first hit of the pole, your mind stayed in the zone without your body needing further punishment. You tensed before each strike and that’s when you seemed to be the most turned on. As long as I kept you guessing, I could feint a lot of the follow-through.”

“Like the choking.” She turned that over in her head. The collar of his hand hadn’t strangled her. She’d held her breath, imagined danger associated with it. “Wow. I’m a head case.”

He pinched her chin, angling it until her body followed so he could look her directly in the eyes. “No, Charlee. You’re a survivor, packing all kinds of hidden weapons. But I’ll be honest.” His hand moved to the back of her head and his forehead lowered to hers. “Hurting you is a very difficult thing for me to do. I’ll do it. Whatever you need, even as I hope like hell I’m right about this.”

She sank against his long frame and traced the indention between his hip and thigh. Pleasure without the soreness? Orgasms without planning? Never mind all that. The hopeful look in his eyes made her want it more than anything. “Me, too.”

70

The spray of the shower head wasn’t what spiraled heat over Jay’s body. It was Charlee’s hands as they lathered soap across the ruined skin on his back.

He’d never showered with another. Had never even removed his shirt in front of someone other than his doctor, and that had been a very long time ago. “I love your hands on me.”

“How are you really doing with all the touching?” Her tone was soft, careful.

He braced his arms on the tile and let his head drop between them. Suds collected between their feet, hers so small beside his. “The fear is still there. Touch never
guaranteed
a breakdown, but knowing that it
could
, I’ve always restricted it.” Like a big pussy. The expectation of panic was worse than the reality. He
knew
that, just couldn’t move past it.

Her hands lowered to his ass, fingering soap into the cleft. The little devil wasn’t going to leave a single cranny unwashed.

“You told me in New York that talking about your demons was a trigger.” She squatted behind him and raked her nails over the backs of his thighs. “Can we test that?”

Fuck no. He couldn’t talk about the shed or the horror within its thin walls. She had enough nightmares of her own. She didn’t need his.

She wiggled around him, her beautiful face hovering below his and blinking against the deluge of water.

The muffle of slapping guitar beats sifted through the bathroom. She cocked her head. “Why do I hear the song
Punk Rock Girl
?”

He leaned down and captured her lips with a shower-wet smack. “Because I set your ringtone. Like?”

“Love.” She grinned, and her lips curved down just as quick. “It has to be Nathan. Maybe he has news about the letter.” She slipped out of the stall before he could catch her.

Damn Nathan, the hater. Interrupting his shower time.

He followed the trail of wet footprints out of the bathroom and found her bent over the desk, dripping water on the phone in her hand and tapping on the screen. She held it up, wide-eyed and gorgeous. “How do you work this thing?” Then she returned to her frantic swiping. “I haven’t owned a phone in years.”

Probably not since Noah. Who was she going to call? A twinge pulled his chest. He closed the distance and held out his hand. “Give it here.”

When she stretched it toward him, he grabbed her elbow. “Go dry off properly. Water on marble inspired Bon Jovi to compile
Slippery When Wet
.”

Her eyebrows climbed then dropped over narrowed eyes. “You’re so full of shit.”

He pinched her ass. “Walk back to the bathroom like I’m not.”

The pound on the door sent him lurching into the closet. He dropped the phone and fought a t-shirt from its hanger. Yeah, so he still didn’t want anyone looking at his back. Motherfucking knee-jerk reaction. He yanked on a pair of workout shorts and didn’t belittle himself too much for it until he skidded out and found her answering the door stark fucking naked. “Charlee!”

She startled and dropped her jaw as if she had no clue why his face was on fire.

Nathan strode around her, and the fucker was lucky he didn’t lower his eyes below her chin.

“Charlee, go put on some clothes.” His voice rattled the glass doors. Fuck it. He spun into the closet and wrestled another t-shirt off the rack.

Back in the bedroom, neither of them had moved. Both stared at him with identical sets to their jaws, likely for different reasons. He tossed her the shirt.

She turned it over in her hands, locating the head hole not near fast enough. “Calm down, Jay. He’s seen—”

“He doesn’t need to see it again.”

The shirt hit him in the face and fell to the floor. Okay, maybe his tone was a little too coarse.

She propped her fists on her hips. “You might remember that next time you fuck me onstage.”

His balls curled up as if they’d been punched, but the real pain throbbed behind his ribs. He scooped up the shirt and pulled it over her head, stretching it over her little fists and down to her thighs.

His memory of the show was muddy, but he realized she’d enjoyed the exhibitionism before the groupies showed up. That realization set his nerves on fire. Jesus. Clear-headed, he never would’ve put her on display. Was that what she wanted? Would this be another sticky point in her closet of kinks? “We’ll talk about this later.”

She pushed her arms through the holes and turned toward Nathan, who was watching their interaction with a blatant scowl. “Nathan? Is this about the letter?”

He nodded, facing her, and shoved a hand through his hair. Not good.

“Dennis, the spotter’s alias, isn’t answering his phone. Munt tracked down his family.” He dropped his hand. “He has a nineteen-year-old niece who went missing two nights ago.”

The night they flew back from New York. The odds sucked.

Her hand shot behind her, reaching for a bed that was too far away. Jay wrapped an arm around her waist and walked her backward until she sat on the edge. He perched beside her, heart racing.

“The message about the girl killed in Roy’s stockroom came from Dennis’ phone. Text. Not voice.”

A chill swept through him. They were being played. “You don’t think Dennis sent that message?”

Nathan shook his head. “Two bodies were found early this morning in an abandoned warehouse on the Wharf. Middle-aged man. Teenage girl. Suspected murder-suicide. An anonymous caller reported them.”

A tear streaked down her cheek. “Roy discovered Dennis. Probably knew about him for some time and waited for the right moment.” Her voice cracked. “He killed the niece. Killed Dennis. Staged the murder-suicide. An easy trick with the assistance of San Fran’s law enforcement. The letter makes more sense now.”

Jay jumped to his feet, shaking out his fists when he so badly wanted to swing them. “Why would he do that? What was the point of threatening you with it?”

She stared out of shadowed eyes at the wall behind him. “It wasn’t a threat.” Her voice sounded dusty…dead. “It was my punishment.”

71

The next three days drudged by. The bodies in the warehouse were identified, confirming their suspicions about the spotter and his niece, and Jay watched Charlee slip further inside herself. If helplessness had a taste, it would’ve been the rancid decay curdling in the back of his throat. He fed her, protected her, and loved her. But he couldn’t heal the hurt dulling her eyes.

Since Roy had proven himself unpredictable, Jay kept Charlee within the guarded walls of the estate, always in his eyeshot.