Dying’s easy.
Surviving’s hard.
Ellen’s voice drifts to me, that long-ago conversation we had when we first made our wills.
I’d want you to be happy, George. To find someoneto make you happy—
I shut down that memory as I carry the tote over to the bed, set it on the floor next to it, and rip the lid off. I throw the sweater onto the floor and pull out a wooden paddle that hasn’t seen daylight in years.
Leaning over the bed, I grab his head with one hand and present the paddle to him. “Kiss it.”
He does.
Smiling, I lean in and kiss him.
Kissing him feels familiar,and yet doesn’t remind me ofher.
Not at all.
Thank god.
I straighten and lay the paddle against his left ass cheek, delighting in the way he flinches when he feels its touch.
“Hang on, boy. This is going to hurt. A lot.”
I don’t have to be quiet. I don’t have to worry about discovery.
It’s me and Declan and a house full of old pain, a house that used to be full of love and laughter andsexy damn fun.
I don’t hold back, but I go slow. I could gag him, but I don’t want to, this time.
I want to hear these noises from him, these cries, these tears.
I need to soothe away the pain I create, love it from his flesh.
I can take him apart and put him back together tonight, and wake up to him in my arms.
He is no nightmare—he’sreal, and willing.
And able.
I pause to lean in andbite his left ass cheek, then the right. Not loving nips, but hard, sucking bites.
I want Casey to seemymarks on him,myownership.
If we’re going to do this, by fucking god we’redoingit.
I’mdoing it.
“Legs apart,” I tell him, and he spreads them.
Tossing the paddle aside, I reach between his legs and cup his balls. “She lock you up? Chastity?”
“Sometimes, Sir.”
“She said you don’task to orgasm?”
“No, Sir. I’m not allowed to ask unless she tells me I can ask.”
