My voice softens as I watch her draw in on herself, hands coming up to rub her arms. “Go downstairs. Dad will give you a hug.”
She nods once, then starts moving. I go to the landing and keep an eye on her as she slowly descends the stairs. I’m fucking afraid she’ll fall with the way she’s gone into subspace. I want to carry her to make sure she makes it down safe, but I’m not about to scoop a fucking woman into my arms like that. I don’t want her to think this means anything and that I, all of a sudden, care about her beyond wanting to rip her innocent pride to shreds.
But when I see her reach the ground safely and I retreat to go play the piano, I can’t stop thinking about the taste of her lips.
32
The Resolution
Jenna
The house is eerily quiet when I stand in the entryway, looking around. The living room is an ominous pit of pitch-black darkness, whereas light invites me down the hall, toward Ian. He told me to come to the bedroom once Killian was done with me, but I can’t bear to face him like this. I feel shaken to the core and fragile. And more so, I feel Killian all over. The slight sting lingering on my ass, the pulsing desire between my legs, and the minty taste of him on my lips.
Going to Ian feels wrong. Being with anyone seems wrong. It’s not just Killian’s rejection, sending me away after something deeply intimate, that makes the loneliness surface; it’s also the memory of how Ian has done the same lately. He has barely touched me over the last couple of weeks. He has made me come and held me in his arms, but he has held off on anything that might push me. No blow jobs, discipline, or punishments. I hate it. I’m so scared that my panic when he gave me my “gift” has changed the way he sees me—that he doesn’t want me anymore. He doesn’t want a young woman who crumbles so easily, unable to hold herself together.
So I ignore the light and Ian’s order and go into the dark living room. Carefully, I feel my way through the space, toward the couch, where I huddle up. Soon, shivers set in, making me hug myself against the chill in the air. But it’s not my lack of clothes that has me shivering. Sheer overwhelming emotion floods my system with such a force that it rattles me from within.
I want to reach for the blanket that I know is draped over the armrest, but I can’t seem to peel my arms from my knees. I just keep hugging them tight, frozen in place, overcome by everything. The sound of the flogger whooshing through the air rips through my mind with a clarity that makes me gasp. Then come my moans, echoing through my head, loud and shameful, making me curl in on myself. Then there’s Killian’s rejection, lingering cold and lonely.
When footsteps sound in the hall, I hold my breath, hoping Ian won’t find me, but a moment later, the light comes on. There’s no hiding in this house.
“What are you doing here?” he asks softly. “I told you to come to the bedroom.”
“Please leave me alone.” I finally grab the blanket, the need to cover myself snapping me out of the frozen dejection.
With a few long strides, he closes the distance between us and sinks onto the couch. “I’mnotleaving you.”
He lifts me straight into his lap, and my frustration rises even as tears blur my vision. The closeness is everything I need, yet everything I want to avoid, because it’s not real. I push to get free. “Just stop. I’m not some toy you can just throw around however you like without consequence. I don’t want your fake comfort. I don’t want to be some pity project.”
“You’re not.” He tightens his hold on me as if to prove his sincerity, but my mind is too distraught to believe him.
“Stop pretending that you care. I can’t take it anymore.” I put in enough strength to get free and slip onto the couch. Onstaggering feet, I shoot up, about to run off, but Ian grabs me before I can get out of reach and pulls me back on the couch.
Locking his hands around my head, he spears me with a serious gaze. “I do care about you, Jenna. I didn’t plan to, but I do. A lot.”
“Stop lying. I know you don’t want me anymore.”
“What on earth makes you say that?”
“You’ve stopped touching me.”
“I’m touching you all the time.” He strokes his thumbs along my cheeks as if to prove his point.
“Not like that.” I push at his arms, but he only tightens his grip, keeping my face trapped in the frame of his hands.
“How, then?”
“After that day. In the music room. When I panicked… You don’ttouchme anymore.”
“Ah,” he says, a strange sort of relief softening his features.
“I know I ruined it,” I continue. “And I get it. I’m much younger than you. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”
“Ruined it? How?”
“My reaction. My bawling. The panic. I—”
“Jenna,” he cuts me off. “You’ve bawled in my arms many times since you came here. You’ve screamed your lungs out in my arms—for various reasons. I’m not deterred by a little panic.”
