Dominance and Deception (27 page)

Obediently, I rested my head on his shoulder again, closing my eyes, and soon fell into a relieved slumber.

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Knowing the pain would wake her if I tried to move her to her bed, I decided not to disturb Faye. Tilting my head to the side to watch her sleep, I relaxed properly for the first time in a month.

Having my little tease back where she belonged, wearing my ownership ring, meant more to me than I could say. Just considering the alternative to today's successful showdown made me tighten my arms around her, counting her slow, even breaths to banish the images that surged to the forefront of my mind. Images of her slumped, lifeless and bloody, in that chair, her hair hanging in her face, her bound wrists slit and throat cut and skin blackened and blistered—

Stop.

She was here with me now—her wounds cauterised and bandaged, her body warm and safe in my arms, her exhalations soft and steady against my skin. The unthinkable could have happened, but it hadn't. That was all I needed to know.

Aldridge hadn't regained consciousness by the time we left the hospital—Beaumont's incapacitating blow had been a little harder than necessary—and when he did, he'd be locked up and forced to serve out his sentence. And if he was still alive at the end of that sentence... I'd deal with that when it happened.

Plotting out the map of the future calmed me a little, and I turned my mind to more immediate concerns. Tomorrow, when my detectives descended on Faye's apartment, I would head over to my place and pick up her collar. Though she was happy to wear the ring as a twenty-four seven reminder of her status, she'd often told me it was the collar that really settled her into the role she loved.

Faye sighed in her sleep and nuzzled my neck, and I ran a comforting hand down her back. As she stilled again, my mind drifted back to Santoro's accusation in the elevator.

Even now, I couldn't say whether or not I'd made the right call. My decision had led to Faye's world falling apart for weeks on end, and my team's effectiveness had been hampered by the tense atmosphere in the squad room, especially at first. And the end result? The bad guy apprehended, but at the cost of Faye's health. Her injuries would take weeks to heal, and even then she'd be left with scars to remind her of her ordeal for the rest of her life.

But if I'd told her straight out what was happening, would things have turned out any better? Could I have kept her in interrogation's observation room for weeks at a time, allowing her out only for escorted, guarded showers and bathroom breaks? Sure, she'd have been surrounded only by the people I trusted absolutely, but that number was so few, we'd only have functioned effectively for the first few days before weariness set in. Would Aldridge have revealed himself by attempting to infiltrate the precinct? Would he have taken out his frustration at being thwarted by making attempts on the lives of my team instead? Or would he have faded into the background until we'd had no choice but to give up the self-enforced siege, then reappeared to strike with deadly accuracy?

I didn't know. I'd never know, no matter how much I picked it apart, whether the route I'd chosen had been the right one. So I just held my broken girl in my arms, treasuring her every breath, and waited for morning.

Faye

When I woke, the first thing I registered was Pierce's arms around me, and my heart twisted painfully. I'd had this dream so many times—that he'd crept into my apartment without waking me and got into my bed, pulling me into his arms while I slept. I knew if I tried to embrace him in return, I'd come to my senses and open my eyes to an empty room, achingly conscious of his absence.

I wasn't ready for that yet. I didn't want to face the bleakness of harsh reality. I preferred to let the illusion fade in its own time, but as I slowly floated up further towards consciousness, I became aware of a scent I recognised in an instant, a mix of his skin and his soap that almost convinced me this was more than just another dream.

"Zach?” I whispered, not daring to open my eyes.

His arms tightened around me a little, and there was pain, but I didn't care. I remembered everything and at last looked up into his face, unable to stop the smile that stretched across my lips.

"You're here..."

"Mm-hmm...” With a brief kiss to my forehead, he told me, “Go back to sleep, Faye. It's only five-thirty."

I shook my head, waking a little more with every second that passed. “I'm not tired anymore."

"Then we need to talk."

I nodded slowly, knowing it was true. I had questions, he needed to explain himself, and we both needed to decide where we went from there.

"Okay. But I'm gonna need coffee."

I didn't, not really. Well, maybe a little. But it was more for Pierce's benefit.

"I definitely won't say no to that."

He got up and headed into the kitchen, motioning for me to stay still, and I gingerly stretched out my injured limbs, wincing a little. When he returned with pain medication and coffee, I concentrated on taking the pills while he sat back down beside me.

"Ask."

He could see the questions bubbling below the surface, and with relief I voiced them, my words emerging in a rush.

"Why didn't you tell me? Leave me a note, gesture to me...
anything
? I mean, I get why you'd be worried about bugs and tails and stuff, but the odds of the guy being able to hear us all the time, or have cameras in place to be able to see what you wrote... I just...don't get it.” I hadn't been capable of thinking about it since my rescue, but now I was awake, the idea that he'd let me suffer for weeks on end wouldn't leave me alone.

Pierce sipped his coffee, his eyes never leaving my face, and I could see the remorse in them as he considered his answer.

"Couldn't take the risk, Faye. Given the choice between hurting you and burying you..."

The muscles in his jaw tightened as he tried to find the words, and I reached out to lay a hand over his, shaking my head. In that moment he was forgiven, and we both knew it, but he kept talking anyway, needing me to understand.

"That night you were waiting for me in the elevator... I almost caved right there. We were alone, there was no way there were eyes on us... I wanted to tell you everything."

"Why didn't you?” I said, my voice almost inaudible.

"You're like an open book, little tease. Always have been.” He reached out and cupped my face with one hand, his thumb stroking over my cheekbone. “From the notes, I figured the bastard was always watching you, and he'd notice the change in you once you knew you were in danger. I couldn't take the chance he'd take his shot."

I leaned in to his touch, blinking back tears as I remembered his words each time I'd tried to talk to him.

"You were harsh."

"Had to be. If I'd given you any indication that I still...” He shook his head, frustration in his eyes. “I didn't want to hurt you, but I needed to. I had to keep you away from me to keep you safe. Or that was the idea."

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, letting the tangled, anguished thoughts that he might have meant what he'd said unravel and dissipate.

"I know. Just wanted to hear you say it, is all."

He kissed me softly, soothing away the last of my hurt.

"Anything else you want to bring up?” I shook my head. “Then you need to change your bandages."

I sighed, nodding reluctantly. With Pierce's support, I stood and wobbled down the hall to the bathroom, where I glared at my arms, irritated.

"So I have to keep my stitches dry and be careful when I take the dressings off my burns that I don't burst any blisters, and I really wanna shower. Could this be any more complicated?"

Pierce told me to wait and left the bathroom, and I filled the void his absence left by brushing my teeth. When he returned, dropping a kiss on the back of my neck and holding up the plastic wrap I usually used to keep food fresh, I laughed at the simple genius of his plan.

"A little mummification, Sir?” I'd wanted to try
that
for a while, but never had.

"Not right now..."

He removed my shirt and bra with gentle fingers, and I shivered slightly as his eyes moved over me, devouring skin I'd been afraid he'd never want to see again. When he tapped one of my limbs, I held it out to him, and he wound the wrap around the injured upper arm several times, making the covering water-tight. He finished with a strip of duct tape, knowing the water would loosen the hold the wrap had on itself, then turned his attention to the other arm, his fingers equally careful.

"Not exactly high fashion, but it'll work,” I said, reaching for the shower's power button and gritting my teeth at the pain that resulted.

"Need help?” he asked quietly, sounding almost as if he was expecting me to say no.

Grinning, I stepped closer, resting my hands on his waist as I tilted my face up for his kiss. We stepped under the spray together, my lips exploring the contours of his chest as he held me gently.

"Focus,” he murmured, reaching past me to pick up the shampoo bottle.

"I don't wanna focus,” I said, as he massaged the suds into my hair.

He didn't answer, and I figured he hadn't heard me over the noise of the water. Choosing not to push it for now, I let him rinse my hair then carefully peel the dressings from my thighs, exposing the angry blisters beneath.

The water against them made me wince, but I took the soap he offered and washed the affected areas as lightly as I could, some of my pain assuaged by Pierce's presence beside me.

When we were both clean, I leant back against him, closing my eyes at the feel of his skin against mine. The moment was perfect, and despite my injuries, I felt a tingle of desire.

"Sir—"

"No.” His refusal was almost amused, but his arms around my waist tightened a little.

"Why?” I already knew my wounds were too severe for him to take me, but that didn't mean I had to like it.

"You gonna fight me on this, little tease?” His voice held an edge I hadn't heard from him since that night he'd told me to forgo making coffee, the night before he'd left me. My body remembered what came next, and responded with a shiver as I half-spun in his arms to look at him.

For a second I saw the conflict in his face as he took in the open desire on mine, but it was soon gone. With a whispered, “Ah, hell...", he turned me back to face away from him, one arm pulling me back against his body as the fingers of the other travelled lower.

When he found my clit, I couldn't help the sigh of pleasure that escaped me, and as he found his rhythm the sighs became moans of encouragement. He took his time, drawing out the experience, reminding me of every response he could evoke as he drove me closer to the edge. I didn't ask for permission, and he didn't expect me to, allowing me to tremble in his arms as the orgasm took me.

Gasping and flushed, I let him support me as I regained my senses, whispering breathlessly, “I want you, Sir..."

"Gonna have to wait for you to heal a little more, little tease,” he told me, his voice rough with his own need for me.

Feeling his hard cock pressing into my back, I whimpered in complaint, but I knew he was right. If he took me now, neither of us would hold back, and the pain I'd be in when the pleasure faded wouldn't be the good kind.

Once I'd calmed down, I was just happy to let him unwind the plastic wrap from my arms, cocoon me in my bathrobe and carefully apply ointment and new dressings to my burns. I was his again, and if I had to wait a couple of weeks for him to completely reclaim me, then so be it.

I settled on the couch when we were both dry and dressed, my head on Pierce's shoulder and my attention focussed on the forensics journal in front of me. I'd been too distracted to concentrate lately, and I quickly became absorbed in the fascinating reading material, glad to forget the trauma of the day before.

Beside me, Pierce just sipped his coffee, seeming lost in thought. I wasn't sure what he was planning, but he'd tell me sooner or later. Despite the past few weeks, I still trusted him without reservation. I couldn't help it. He was
Pierce
.

When the team got to the apartment a few hours later, I dropped the journal and fell upon them all with gentle hugs and smiles, welcoming them in. They were all so relieved to see me happy again, though none of them said the words aloud. Their cheerful banter and offerings of chocolate and flowers spoke volumes, and, touched, I told each of them I loved them.

While Layton made coffee for everyone, Bill Clarke inspected my wounds for signs of infection, looking them over with a professional eye. Santoro and Beaumont watched, torn between empathy and squeamishness at the sight of the stitched incisions on my arms.

I avoided looking at them. The hours I'd spent in Tyler Aldridge's clutches were permanently seared into my brain, and once the shock had worn off I was pretty sure I'd have some killer nightmares. I didn't need to examine the physical injuries unless it was absolutely necessary.

Pierce waited until Bill proclaimed the wounds clean and well-dressed before standing up. With eyes only for me, he said, “I'm gonna head over to my place to pick up some stuff. I'll be back soon."

For a split second I felt a flash of panic. The last time I'd watched him leave this apartment, my heart had been in pieces. Chiding myself for my fear, I nodded, and he squeezed my hand reassuringly before heading out.

I didn't miss the expression on Santoro's face as the door shut behind him.

"Oh, God, Tommy—what did you say to him?"

Before he could answer, Layton chipped in. “He let Pierce have it after you got taken."

I sighed, putting my hand on the senior detective's shoulder. “Why?"

"He knew you were in danger for a month and didn't say a word,” Santoro said, shrugging. “If he had, maybe you'd be sitting here now
without
cuts and burns all over you."

His words chilled my blood, but I shoved the sense of dread aside. He hadn't meant to hurt me—he was just frustrated he hadn't been able to help.