Reconstructing Meredith (8 page)

Physical exhaustion is no match for a restless mind, and by around two in the morning, I’d given up on falling asleep. I stared up at the ceiling in the darkness. If nothing else, that meant my tossing and turning wouldn’t disturb Meredith.

I glanced at her, my eyes tracing the vague outline of her body, a shadow against darker shadows, and smiled to myself. At least one of us could sleep. She was on her side with her back to me, her slow, even breaths the only sound in the otherwise still, silent room.

I turned my attention back to the blank, black slate that was the ceiling. Maybe she was just used to all the demons in her head. She’d had a few years to get acquainted with them. I’d only had a couple of days to try to fit it all in my mind, and just a few hours had passed since I’d listened in Leslie’s office.

In light of everything I’d seen and heard so far, I had to admit I admired Meredith even more than I had back in the day. She’d always been a strong, resilient woman, and though she’d cried about this enough times to embarrass her, she’d come through her experience more intact than most would. My own experience with a horrible Domme had scared me away from all things kink for a long, long time, and I hadn’t been held captive like Meredith had. Terrorized, yes. Scarred, yes, though nowhere near as extensively as she was. To this day I was nervous about using hot wax, and I had to be willing to trust a woman with my life before I’d submit to her on the rare occasion I even wanted to play the submissive.

Meredith, on the other hand, was willing—eager, even—to submit. To hand over power that had been forcibly taken from her in the past. While she saw weakness in every tear and every hesitation, my hat was off to her for having the strength to walk down this road at all.

And somehow, God only knew how, she slept.

I blew out a breath and rubbed my eyes, then resumed staring at the ceiling.

Beside me, Meredith stirred. She whimpered in her sleep, then shifted again. She jerked suddenly, thrashing beneath the sheets, and the strangled, panicked sound that escaped her lips sent a chill up my spine.

“Meredith,” I whispered, moving closer to her. “Wake up, babe, you’re okay, you’re—” I put my hand on her arm, and she thrashed even more violently.

Something hard cracked against my face.

The darkness turned white, then red, then black again.

It only stunned me for a second, though. Ignoring the intense pain, I threw my arm over her, holding her to me to keep her still. “Hey, hey, easy, baby. Shh, I’m here. Wake up.”

She gasped, stiffened, then relaxed. Her entire body trembled against mine. For a moment, I couldn’t tell if she was panting or sobbing, maybe a little of both.

I stroked the side of her face. “Meredith?”

She took and released a deep breath. “Fuck, I’m sorry, that—”

“Don’t. Apologize.” I ran my fingers through her hair. “You don’t have to keep apologizing for this shit, baby. You were probably just having a nightmare.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” She shuddered. When she started to sit up, I released her and sat up as well. As I did, something warm on my upper lip caught my attention. I touched it, and my fingers came away wet.

“Crap,” I muttered.

“What’s wrong?”

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, keeping my hand cupped under my chin. “My nose is bleeding.”

“What? How did—”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said over my shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” I hated to leave her while she was still calming down, but the last thing either of us needed was blood all over the place.

I flicked on the bathroom light, squinting while my eyes adjusted. The bleeding wasn’t enough to warrant medical attention, but it was pretty enthusiastic. I grabbed a dark blue wash cloth out of a drawer, ran cold water over it, wrung it out, and pinched my nose with it. It was just painful enough to make my eyes water, so I closed them as I tilted my head back.

“You might have better luck if you lean forward, not back,” Meredith said quietly.

I opened my eyes. She stood in the doorway, arms folded below her bare breasts, her forehead creased with concern as she watched me.

“Really?” I said.

“Unless you want it going down the back of your throat.”

I grimaced and did as she suggested. “I’m not going to ask how you know that.”

She shifted her weight. “I think you know.”

“That’s why I’m not asking.”

Neither of us spoke. Then she whispered, “I hit you, didn’t I?”

I sighed. No sense denying it. “You just caught me with your elbow. It’s not that bad.”

Silence fell again. The pain, while not terrible, held my attention for a moment. I closed my eyes, breathing slowly through my mouth as my nose throbbed beneath the rag and my tight grasp.

Meredith broke the silence. “I guess I should have warned you.”

Eyes still closed, I said, “Does it happen often?”

“Almost every night.”

I pulled the rag away and looked in the mirror. The bleeding had slowed, but hadn’t yet stopped, so I pressed the rag against my nose again. “This didn’t happen the other night, did it?”

“It did. I just didn’t wake you up that time.”

“You didn’t wake me up this time, either.”

“Oh?”

I shook my head. “Couldn’t sleep.”

A question furrowed her brow, but then enlightenment smoothed it away, and embarrassment colored her cheeks as she dropped her gaze again. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Really.” I looked in the mirror again. The bleeding had more or less stopped, so I wiped away what little blood remained, then rinsed the washcloth. As I did, I scrutinized my reflection. The bridge of my nose was red and just slightly puffy. It would probably bruise, but not terribly. Maybe a little discoloration, maybe slightly darker-than-usual circles under my eyes. By Monday, it would either be gone or I’d look like I hadn’t slept all weekend. My co-workers wouldn’t ask. I’d never shown up hung over—well, not that they knew of—but they could usually tell when I’d had an exciting weekend.

“Still bleeding?” she asked.

“No, looks like it’s stopped.” I turned to her. “Come on, why don’t we go back to bed and try to get some sleep?”

“You going to be able to sleep?”

“Are you?”

“Guess we’ll find out.” She bit her lip. “What about you?”

I put my arms around her and kissed her gently. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I
am
worried about you,” she said. “I don’t want all this shit with me keeping you from sleeping.”

I smoothed her hair. “It’s going to, and there’s nothing either of us can do about that. But after everything you’ve gone through, I think I can live with a little bit of lost sleep.”

She kept her eyes down and said nothing.

“Come here.” I drew her into a long, gentle kiss. It took a moment for my lips to coax hers into motion, but she finally wrapped her arms around me and returned my kiss. There was nothing sexual about this, even if while we stood skin to skin. It was just affection. Reassurance, maybe. Of what and for whom, I couldn’t be sure.

After a moment, I touched my forehead to hers and took a breath to speak, but bit my tongue. This was when, in another life, I’d have whispered, “I love you.” And I did. If only as a friend, I still loved her, but that had the potential to spark a conversation that would ensure neither of us slept any time soon. Too many questions, too many lines drawn back then that may or may not have applied now.

So I just said, “We should get some sleep.”

She nodded and kissed me again. Then we went back into the bedroom.

Together, we climbed into bed. She rolled on to her side and I draped my arm over her waist, gently holding her to me. She must have been tired as hell, because her breathing soon fell into the slow, steady cadence of sleep. If she dreamed again, I didn’t know about it. At some point, physical exhaustion got the best of my restless mind, and I drifted off to sleep myself.

Meredith may or may not have dreamed again that night, but I certainly did.

On my way into my living room, glass of cabernet sauvignon in one hand, I glanced at the watch on the other. It was a little after six, which meant Kristen was on her way over. I set my untouched wine on the coffee table and kicked back on the couch, propping my feet up next to the glass.

Malia hopped up next to me and crawled into my lap. I scratched her ears as I rested my head on the back of the couch and closed my eyes. I debated calling Krissy and cancelling. Or at least changing plans. I just wasn’t in the mood tonight, which was a rare thing indeed for me. I wondered if she would take exception to a last second switch to something platonic tonight. Dinner and a movie. Shooting pool. Something.

I sighed. She’d be game, I was sure. Disappointed, maybe, but she wouldn’t protest if I said I wasn’t in the mood. I just hated to let her down when I’d also be telling her we wouldn’t be seeing as much of each other in the coming weeks. Possibly the coming months.

Malia, evidently unsatisfied with the attention she wasn’t getting, suddenly wrapped around my hand and bit my wrist.

“Hey, hey, no biting, you little attention whore.” I pried her off, then scratched her belly until she attacked me again. This time, I got my hand out of the way in time. I gently tugged at her tail, which she hated, and she damn near did a somersault trying to get my hand. I laughed half-heartedly. Feline antics were always good for bringing some humor to the surface.

“You have no dignity at all, you know that?” I said when she almost fell off the couch trying to attack me again. I ran my finger under one of the pillows, moving it out of the way a split second before she pounced. She pinned her ears and mauled the pillow, kicking and biting it, probably furious she hadn’t gotten my hand instead. In her fury, she flipped on to her back, rolled toward the edge, and toppled on to the floor. She landed on her feet of course, and promptly sat up, licking her paw with all the casual nonchalance she could muster.

“Let me guess,” I said. “You meant to do that?”

She glared up at me, narrowing her eyes as if to say, “I did. What of it?” I laughed and reached down to pet her, but she swiped at my hand before stalking off.

A moment later, the doorbell rang, and my good humor faded. As I rose, I hoped one last time Krissy didn’t mind if I changed our plans. She was usually game and understood that even I didn’t always feel like playing, but—

I opened the door, and “not in the mood” no longer applied.

It might have been the knowing grin on her face, or the mouthwatering hint of cleavage showing above her blouse. It might have been my libido catching up and saying
are you fucking nuts? You’re not turning away sex with this woman.
Or maybe, just maybe, it was because a night with her was my key to some scorching hot sex that didn’t include a head full of ghosts and a past full of hell for anyone involved. I was only human. I needed a break for the sake of my own sanity, and Kristen’s grin promised exactly that.

Change of plans, my ass.

As soon as she was inside, I kicked the door shut and slipped my arms around her waist. Before she could even speak, I kissed her. Not a gentle kiss, not a “hello, I missed you today” kiss; this was a deep, full-on, hands-in-the-hair,
yes, I
am
that hard
kiss.

Afterward, she stared up at me, eyes wide and lips apart as she caught her breath. “Hello to you, too.”

I shrugged. “What can I say? I’m horny.”

“Oh,
that’s
news.”

“No, I mean I’m really horny tonight.” I kissed her again with no less passion than I had before. She stumbled back a step. Recovered. Leaned into me.

I shoved her up against the door, pinning her arms beside her, and she moaned into my kiss. When I dipped my head to kiss her neck, she squirmed against me, gasping each time my lips brushed her neck. Since her arms were no use to her, she settled for hooking her leg around mine and pulling me against her. I pressed my erection into her hip and shivered when she moaned.

Holding on to her wrists, I stood upright and took a step back, guiding her with me.

Breathing hard, she licked her lips. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you tonight, but—” Kristen cocked her head and squinted. “Scott, what did you do to your face?”

“Hmm?” I released her wrist and absently reached for my face, but fortunately remembered before I touched my still-tender nose. “Oh, right.”

“Someone get a bit rough with you?” she asked with a mischievous grin.

Meredith in the throes of her nightmare flickered through my mind. I suppressed a shiver. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Her grin evaporated. “Scott, are—”

I held up my hand and shook my head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You know that won’t make me not worry, right?”

“Stubborn wench,” I said, chuckling.

She shot me a playful glare. “Come on. Talk. What happened?”

I slid my hand into her hair and gripped it just tight enough to make her close her eyes and bite her lip. “I don’t think,” I whispered, making sure my lips brushed hers, “that you came here to listen to me talk, did you?”

“No,” she whimpered.

“That’s what I thought.” I released her hair. “Shall we?”

“Absolutely.”

I picked up my glass off the coffee table. I swirled the wine slowly, and she watched it.

“So, now that you’re here…”
And I can’t believe I thought I didn’t want this tonight
. I lifted my glass, swirling it again. “…are you in the mood for a flogger?”

She didn’t respond, instead silently watching my glass. She knew as well as I did I wouldn’t take a drink until we were in the dungeon, but I kept drawing her attention to it. Over and over, with subtle gestures and absent swirling, I kept reminding her it existed. Its presence drove her crazy with anticipation, and I so loved toying with her mind.

“Krissy?”

My voice made her jump. She cleared her throat. “Scott, I am always in the mood for a flogger, you know that.”

“Good.”

She followed me down the hall. I opened the door to the dungeon and gestured for her to go in.

Closing the door behind me, I watched her. The dungeon was a familiar place for her now. A comfortable, even pleasant place. She walked through the door without flinching at her daunting surroundings like she had when I’d first brought her in here. It had intimidated her then, it was foreign and alien, but she was never afraid of it. Not the way Meredith was. Krissy had no reason to fear this place, and she’d be given a reason over my dead body.

I rested my hip against the table below the rack of floggers. “Ready?”

She faced me. “Of course.”

Without a word, I raised my glass. Before the wine had even touched my tongue, Kristen bit her lip. When I set the glass down, she pulled in a breath, licking her lips as she watched me unbutton the cuff of my left sleeve. I rolled the sleeve to my elbow, watching her fidget with anticipation. She knew this routine well. Just a few simple gestures, a few simple motions, and automatically, eagerly, she slipped into submission. As I rolled my other sleeve, I thought she whimpered softly, but I couldn’t be sure. When I sipped my wine again, watching her over the glass, she did release a quiet sound just before she dropped her gaze.

The glass clinked on the table.

She exhaled, her shoulders falling as she stared at the floor between us.

When I spoke, I kept my voice low and even. “Tell me your safe words.”

“Red if I want to stop, yellow to slow down, Master.”

“Good girl.” I paused. “Clothes off.”

I never could decide what turned me on more when Kristen undressed in front of me: her unquestioning obedience, or just the fact that she was so fucking sexy when she stripped. Shrugging off a blouse to reveal whatever piece of lingerie she’d worn—a red lace bra this time—before that too fell to the floor. The subtle shimmy as she slid her tight jeans over those beautiful hips. Long hair spilling over bare shoulders that would be pink and sweaty in no time at all.

She pushed her clothes aside with her foot and waited for my next command. Still, silent, eyes down, she waited.

I walked toward her, then around her. The slight tilt of her head shifted as I moved, subtly signaling she was tracking me, tuning all her senses to where I was, how close I was, what my next move might be.

She gasped when I ran my fingers across the tattoo on her lower back. She’d just gotten it a few months ago, and the colors—green, blue, black, red—were still bright and sharp. It was the first of many, of that I was certain. I smiled to myself.
Ah, my little pain slut
.

Trailing my fingers up her back—her beautiful, unscarred back—I grinned as goose bumps rose on her skin. I swept her hair over her shoulder and kissed the back of her neck.

“Do you want me to flog you on your knees or the Saint Andrew’s Cross?” I whispered into her hair.

“Whichever you prefer, Master,” she murmured.

“Good girl.” I took my hand off her shoulder and took a step back. “Stand facing the cross.”

She did so without hesitation. In her early days as a sub, she was apprehensive about bondage, but that apprehension was long gone. She surrendered one hand, then the other, passively allowing me to bring them up and fasten them into the leather restraints. No held breath, no straightening of her spine, no stiffness in her wrists. Nothing but total, relaxed surrender.

Once her hands were bound, she flexed her fingers and wrists, fidgeting a little as she got comfortable.

“Is anything too tight?” I asked.

“No, Master.”

I knelt beside her, running my hand down her thigh, over her knee, and along her calf. She pulled in a breath as I wound the thick leather restraint around her ankle. Holding it together, not yet buckling it, I looked up at her. She’d closed her eyes, though not tightly, and curled her fingers into loose fists. It had been a long time since she’d panicked from being bound, but I was cautious nonetheless.

“Doing okay?”

“Yes, Master.” The hint of a slur in her voice brought a grin to my lips. I hadn’t even brought out the flogger, and she was already slipping into the very earliest stages of subspace. The endorphins from the pain would drive her all the way there, but she’d done this so many times, her mind and body were conditioned to react just to this routine of undressing and being bound.

Resting my hands on her hips, I dropped a light kiss on her back, just above her tattoo. She gasped. Another kiss, another gasp. I trailed featherlight kisses up the length of her spine, my own breath threatening to catch whenever hers did. By the time I reached her neck, she squirmed against her restraints, but her immobility didn’t make her panic. Good. Very good.

I warmed her up with a soft flogger. All thud, no sting, just to get her started. When her skin had just begun to turn a faint shade of pink, I switched to her favorite flogger. This one had shorter, thinner tails than the other, and I could give her that perfect balance between thud and sting, just the way she liked it.

I swung it in a steady figure-eight pattern, bringing the tails down on her right side, then her left, then right again. The rhythmic movements and percussive strikes mesmerized me as much as her soft moans aroused me. The first few hits made her jump a little. Something resembling a flinch, but it was merely an instinctive response. Once mind and body got used to my rhythm, she barely moved except swaying to either side as if dancing to the beat of leather on skin.

After a few minutes, I stopped and tucked the flogger under my arm as I stepped toward her. I reached up and touched one hand, then the other. Her fingers were still warm, so her circulation was still okay.

“How are you doing?” I asked.

She didn’t even open her eyes. She licked her lips, then murmured, “I’m fine, Master.”

I kissed between her shoulder blades, grinning when she shivered. “Do you want me to continue?”

“If that’s what you want, Master.”

“Good girl.”

I stepped back and started again. As I flogged her, she shifted a little, and leather creaked in protest. I continued with my steady strokes; she hadn’t panicked, she was only adjusting her position as much as the bindings allowed. I watched for signs of even the slightest hesitation or an impending freak-out, but those signs didn’t come.

There was a time when this scared her. Panic had once driven her to her knees in tears at the foot of the Saint Andrew’s Cross. With time, though, she’d faced the Cross again and overcome the claustrophobia that tried to stand between her and bliss. And now here she was.

I stopped again, reaching up to feel her hands. Still warm. “Doing okay?”

“Yes, Master.” Oh, I knew that voice well. On the edge, not of panic but of bliss. Just deep enough into subspace for ecstasy to take over.

I ran my hand over her hip and between her legs, then trailed them up to her pussy, and every shallow, rapid breath she drew turned me on even more. I closed my eyes and sucked in a breath when, just as I’d suspected they would, my fingers slipped easily inside her.