Angelina nodded and walked out the door and down the hall to one of the flogging rooms. When she entered, she sucked in her breath so hard her chest hurt.
Her reaction to him never dimmed. The sight of such a powerful, proud man standing in the middle of the room, bared to the waist, his hands high above him, tied to a spreader. He was utterly magnificent.
On another man, his pose might seem submissive. Weak. Only she knew better. Underneath the seemingly calm surface was a man who seethed with emotion. Dark and boiling. And she would call it to the surface.
His head rose when he heard her footsteps. There was a vulnerability to his eyes she hadnt seen in the past. Like the emotion bubbled that much closer to the surface. Before hed buried it, only releasing it with his pain.
Not everyone would understand his needs. But she did. Oh how she did. She would set him free. She would give him what he needed.
"I
need . . . Dont go easy," he said in a low voice.
She nodded her acceptance of his request. She alone understood his need for this kind of pain. They were more alike than he would ever know.
She uncoiled the whip and let the end fall to the floor as she circled behind him. Such beauty. His back was broad, his waist lean and narrow. The muscles coiled and bunched between his shoulder blades as he readied himself for her strike.
How long she had practiced, relentlessly perfecting her method, so she would never disappoint him. He was safe in her hands.
The first lash landed against his skin with a deafening crack.
He jerked but quickly righted himself and went still, waiting the next. She flicked her wrist again, exerting just the right amount of force, and placed an identical stripe across from the first.
She forced herself to relax, to not allow the welling emotion to bubble up. Calmly and methodically she kissed his back with the lash, watching as he jumped and bowed under the whip.
Sweat glistened on his back, dampened his hair until it fell in limp curls past his neck. Still she continued, sensing he needed more. She striped one side then the other, working a path down to his waist.
As she worked her way back up, blood beaded and shone in the low light. Finally. Release. Lightly, like a lovers kiss, she whispered the whip across his shoulders until they were slick with blood.
It was like making a cut in a festering wound. The relief was profound as pressure—and pain—escaped the seething cauldron. His hands clenched in their bonds, his wrists flexing as he raised his head, looking upward as if he was seeking redemption.
With every stroke, she lavished him with her love. It was bizarre to someone who didnt understand. An unacceptable outlet for many. But this was his way. She accepted it as she did him.
A heavy sigh escaped him, the only sound he made the entire time. His shoulders drooped and she knew it was enough. She let the whip fall and walked around to face him.
His eyes were closed, but his cheeks were streaked with tears. Her own eyes clouded with moisture. Hed never cried for them. Not at the funeral. Not at the graves. Not afterward when hed driven her home. And then hed simply disappeared, dealing with his grief as he did everything else. Alone.
She ached to hold him, to tell him it was all right, that Hannah and David loved him too. That she loved him. That he didnt have to be alone any longer.
Instead she stepped forward and cupped his face lovingly in her hands. She pressed a kiss to his forehead and whispered in a husky voice hed never recognize, "Vaya enpaz"
Go in peace.
He looked up at her as she stepped away with glazed, unfocused eyes. Another tear slipped down his cheek, marking a raw trail on his face.
"Thank you," he said in a husky voice.
She simply nodded, knowing that even if she dared, she wouldnt have been able to speak around the knot in her throat. She kissed the shaft of the whip and laid it carefully at his feet.
She left the room on shaky legs, knowing Mama Rose waited to free Micah and to attend to him in whatever way necessary. She also knew hed refuse the older womans attentions and would be gone within minutes.
She shed her mask, for the last time. It was all she could do not to run back down the hall and throw her arms around him, beg him to take her with him. Letting him go instilled her with a fierce ache. Because this time he wouldnt be back. With that realization, she knew that it was now or never for her. Shed given Micah the time he needed to heal. Now it was up to her to go after him. Show him it was okay to love again.
He might not be coming back to Miami, but there was nothing to stop her from going to Houston. She had to go. She couldnt stay here. It wasnt safe, and Micah was all she had to run to.
Chapter 29
Julie awoke to the smell of warm, masculine goodness. She inhaled without opening her eyes, because if it was a dream, she wanted to make it last a little longer.
Spicy. Yum. Just yum.
She finally cracked open one eye and collided with the hard wail of a sculpted chest. She knew that chest.
Shifting just enough that she could crane her neck, she looked up to see the chiseled outline of Nathans jaw, roughened slightly with an overnight beard. Mmmm, shed love to run her tongue over it.
His right arm was thrown carelessly over his head while the other was tucked firmly around her, his fingers splayed over her ass. The innate possession in his touch sent a decadent thrill up her spine, rebounding and arcing through her body. Her entire ass tingled, and she shifted restlessly to alleviate the burn.
Inspiration struck her right between the eyes, and she sucked in her breath as she weighed the possibilities. He presented her the perfect opportunity. Just perfect. If she could just get out of bed without waking him, she could retrieve the handcuffs that Faith had given her from her dresser drawer.
Then Nathan would be all hers.
She was tempted to rub over him like a cat, but she could always do that later. After he was at her mercy.
Barely containing her gleeful smile, she began the slow, agonizing task of slipping away. After every movement, no matter how slight, she studied him for any sign that he was waking. He never even stirred.
When finally she slid out of bed, she hurried over to get the handcuffs, fumbling with the clasps in her haste.
On his side of the bed, she studied how best to accomplish her goal. Ideally shed like both hands cuffed to the iron headboard. One would be easy, and if she could get the right wrist secured without waking him, then she could possibly get the left one done as well.