He’d thought he’d broken through, thought he’d reminded Brynn how good they were together. But apparently his take-no-prisoners seduction had backfired. He’d given her the full face of his dominance, taken away her safe word option, tried to show her that what they had was stronger than the darkness Davis left behind. But apparently it wasn’t enough.
He scrubbed the towel through his damp hair, and then wrapped it around his waist. Maybe he had pushed too hard. Maybe he should’ve taken the slow and gentle approach, shown her that he was capable of being just as tender with her as he was tough.
He reached for a fresh bandage for his shoulder and all of his supplies toppled off the edge of the sink and onto the floor. He let another string of choice words fly as the bottle of rubbing alcohol landed on its side and sent the strong-smelling liquid flooding over his tile.
Was everything going to fight him? With a sigh, he got to his knees and cleaned up the mess. Great, now his bathroom was going to smell like the hospital ward he wanted to forget. After tossing the soiled towel in the hamper, he finished bandaging his shoulder, and finally headed into the bedroom.
But he only had one foot on the carpet before he ground to a halt.
Sitting in the middle of his bed with her legs tucked under her, was Brynn. Naked, save for the red necktie fastened over her eyes and the small, flat box she held in her hands.
She gave a hesitant smile, apparently sensing his presence. “You all right? Sounded like a Quentin Tarantino movie in there.”
The longing that assaulted him sucked all the air from the room and almost brought him to his knees. But he didn’t dare move. “Brynn, what are you doing?”
“Giving you my answer.”
The golden lamplight of the room gilded every curve of her nudity, making her appear both goddess-like and vulnerably human all at the same time. He gripped the edge of the doorframe. The urge to touch her, hold her… claim her overwhelming him. But the soft glow couldn’t conceal the faint pink of the healing whip marks—a glaring reminder of the deeper, more pervasive scars that lay beneath the surface.
“Oh, sugar.” He walked to the bed, sat next to her, and untied the blindfold, barely resisting the instinct to pull her into his lap and cradle her. “You don’t have to do it this way. I love you. I only want another chance. I don’t need you to push yourself into this part before you’re ready.”
She blinked a few times, adjusting to the light, then held out the box. “I am ready.”
He took the gift from her, her words not lining up in his head. “I don’t understand.”
She gave him a rueful smile. “You were right about what you said in the hospital. I’m always giving you lectures about being true to who you are. That very first night when we made love all those years ago, I told you I wouldn’t be with you if you were going to deny your nature. And then I spent the next ten years denying mine.”
His heart seemed to pause mid-beat, and his fingers tightened around the box.
“Ever since the rape, I’ve tried to block the submissive part of myself. Not only because of the fear, but because of what I thought it said about me. Davis told me that night that I’d better get used to what he was doing because I was a born whore. That no decent woman would enjoy a man tying her up and hitting her.” She looked down at her hands. “And part of me knew he was trying to be cruel, to humiliate me, but another part of me believed him.”
His jaw clenched. “That fucking bastard.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “My career is teaching women to value themselves, to take pride in who they are, and to live the life they want. I thought what that meant for me was striving for some idealistic image I created in my head when I was a kid. But it’s not. I’m proud of the person I’ve become. I’m good at what I do, have great friends, and have made a nice life for myself.”
He smiled and pushed a wisp of hair from her face.
She lifted her eyes to him. “But I’m also a girl who gets all wobbly-kneed when her man demands to fuck her in a parking lot in the storming rain. And I’m not going to be ashamed of that either.”
Her words and the memory it brought forth jolted through his nervous system like a shot of adrenaline. His cock flexed beneath the towel.
“I’m done worrying about what other people think. And I’m done letting what Davis did define me.”
He glanced down at her scars. “And the panic attacks, the flashbacks?”
She stared at him a moment, a small crease forming between her brows. “I think what scared me the most was losing control—being hurt again. But I realized the other night when I went to you without a safe word that submission is not about loss of control, it’s about trust. And I trust you.” She took a deep breath, but her gaze didn’t waver from his. “I love you. Always have.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing her words, letting the fear that had gripped his insides for the last few weeks melt away. She loved him back. Thank you, God. As long as he had that, everything else could be worked out.
He reached out and traced one of the scars that striped her sternum, the gentle caress making goose bumps rise on her pale skin. “I love you, too, sugar. More than anything.”
“Thank you for being so hardheaded and not giving up on me,” she said, her voice catching a bit and her green eyes going shiny. “Now, open that damn box before I get all weepy.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He didn’t want her to cry—the moment was too sweet to mar with tears—so he pulled the ribbon on the box and lifted the lid. Inside, a sterling silver circle, its only adornment a simple O-ring hanging from it.
To the rest of the world, a pretty necklace.
To him—everything.