Waking Kiss Read online

“It’s not sad, believe me.”

  We both looked up as Liam appeared at the dining room door, wearing jeans and an obnoxious reindeer-emblazoned sweater.

  “Monopoly?” he asked, staring at Mem. His voice sounded mild but his expression wasn’t.

  Mem inclined his head in that formal way he had. “Ashleigh has come to ask for your help. In the meantime, we were enjoying a board game.”

  I glanced at my aged opponent. “I’m not enjoying it as much as you, since you’re beating me to death.”

  Liam almost smiled. Almost. “Mem’s a board game shark. Never play him for money, trust me. Well…” He spread his arms. “It’s Christmas Eve, Ashleigh. What are you doing here?”

  Mem pushed back his chair. “I’ll make some more tea.”

  “No,” we both said at the same time, but he’d already scooted through the door.

  Liam sat across from me and started cleaning up the Monopoly game. I helped until our fingers got tangled together, then I stopped and let him do it, my hands clasped in my lap.

  “I told Mem not to call you. The thing is— I just— I had a bad day and—”

  “Okay,” he said, cutting me off. “You’re here.”

  “But you want me to go.”

  “I do and I don’t.” He tapped his fingers hard on the tabletop. “Rubio did both of us a favor the other night. Especially you.”

  “I know what you must think, after—”

  “You don’t know what I think, I promise you.” He stacked the money and tucked it in the box with the other pieces of the board game. I handed him the lid and watched him put it on. That done, he pushed it aside and propped his arms on the table.

  I took a deep breath. “Listen, I’m sorry I flipped out the other night at the theater. I’m sorry.”

  “Please stop apologizing. Why are you here? Spit it out.”

  I picked at the corner of the box, choosing my words carefully. “So…that night…Rubio and I had a talk while he walked me home. We talked about you.”

  “Okay,” he said. “And?”

  “It gave me an idea that I can’t stop thinking about. He said…”

  I fell silent as Mem returned with fresh tea and a tray of sugar, cream, and milk.

  “Thank you, Jeeves,” Liam muttered. “Leave it and get out.”

  The old man did as he was told, setting the tray down next to the Monopoly box and disappearing out the door. Neither of us made a move to touch the fragrant, steaming cups.

  “He’s really nice,” I commented in the silence.

  “He’s the most irritating human on the planet.” Liam ground his palms into his eye sockets and then leaned forward and fixed me with his gaze. “Why are you here?” he asked, emphasizing each word.

  “So…in the course of our conversation, Rubio told me you’re really good at having sex. Like really, really good.”

  His lips tightened in annoyance. “He said that, did he?”

  “He said that you knew how to sex women into oblivion.”

  “If there’s an actual point to this, I’d love to hear it.”

  “I just started thinking… With my issues…and your skills…” His gaze sharpened but he didn’t speak. “I was thinking maybe…” I gave a choked little laugh. “So, this will sound really weird, but I thought maybe since you were so good at sex and I’m so bad at it, you might be able to fix my problems. You know. Fix…me.”

  He stared into my eyes a long moment, then made a soft sound. “Oh, Ashleigh.”

  I didn’t know what to make of that quietly spoken Oh, Ashleigh. It wasn’t angry but it wasn’t kind either. I pressed my hands together and brought them to my mouth like I was praying. I wasn’t praying, just trying to think of what to say.

  “You were right about me,” I admitted. “You guessed right. My father made my childhood a living hell. I won’t go into the hows and whys but it started when I was nine. He abused me for five years, until I could get away from him. Until I got good enough at ballet to make it into a school in New York.”

  He opened his mouth as if to ask a question. I held up a hand. “Please don’t. Please don’t ask me to tell you any more about it. I’ve had therapy, I’ve had counseling. It’s taken care of the worst of it. The only thing I still can’t handle is sex. Even there it’s…it’s weird. I can think about sex, and I can get turned on, but there’s a certain point where…” I rubbed my forehead and then looked up at him. “There’s this point where these memories crash down on me, and I try to ignore them but I can’t. I react and I freak out. It’s gotten to where I don’t even want to try. I’m so tired of going through the trauma of it all, and driving away people I’ve come to care for. It’s painful, falling in love over and over, then having intimacy issues blow everything up. But you said…you talked about no strings attached. Rubio said you have a lot of partners.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And that you’re really good in bed.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And I started thinking about your lifestyle stuff and the way dominants control submissives and tell them what to do.” I said the rest in a rush, because he looked like he wanted to interrupt me again. “So I was thinking you could help me with my sex issues using all those skills of yours, and your dominant thing. You could…maybe…force me do the things I’m uncomfortable with, until I got more comfortable.”

  He made a face like I was insane. “I couldn’t force you to do anything. It doesn’t work that way. That’s just…so appallingly wrong.”

  “I don’t mean force me. Just control me a little, in a dominant way. Give me some parameters to operate inside.” I made a boxy little motion with my hands. “Since you like that stuff anyway, you know? And I liked it too, the things you showed me. I liked when you held me down and… Well.” I gave him a pleading look. “I thought maybe you could help ease me past my…my sexual hang-ups.”

  “Sexual hang-ups?” He stared at me, his head tilted to the side. “Listen, I don’t want to hurt your feelings. I think you’re being very brave right now to ask me to do this, but Ashleigh, sexual hang-ups isn’t the word for what you have. You’re struggling with deep trust issues and emotional scars.”

  “No, it’s not that bad—”

  “Ashleigh.”

  “I worked through all that in counseling. Honestly, it’s just a physical thing with me now.” I waved my hands around, trying to explain. “A physical trigger or something.”

  He gave me a skeptical look and I felt the beginnings of panic. He thought I was crazy, and he wasn’t going to help me. “Just because I melted down that one time—”

  “Two times. You might call this a third time, showing up on my doorstep Christmas Eve.”

  I stared at his awful red sweater. The prancing reindeer seemed to taunt me. He wasn’t going for my scheme at all, not even to sleep with me. I had to get out of here with some shred of my self-esteem intact. I stood to go but he clamped his fingers around my wrist.

  “If you storm out of here, that makes four meltdowns. Sit.” He didn’t put me back in the chair. He sat me on his lap and pressed my head against the curve of his shoulder. His arms came around me loosely, cradling me. All the emotion inside me welled up like a geyser and spouted through my eyes.

  “Your sweater is ugly,” I said through tears. “I hate it.”

  He glanced down at the kitschy design. “My stepmom bought it for me years ago.”

  “I don’t hate it,” I bawled, burying my face in my hands. “I don’t know why I said that.”

  His fingers eased into my nape, kneading through knots of tension. “I know why. You’re melting down again.”

  Yes, that seemed pretty obvious to us both. I turned my face against his neck and cried for at least five minutes, babbling on about my wrecked life and how badly I needed his help.

  “I just want to be normal,” I cried. “I need someone to help me. Someone with skills. Someone I can trust. I want to have a guy on top of me without panicking and los
ing my sanity. I know you can help me. Why won’t you help me?”

  He didn’t say anything, only leaned forward now and again to take a sip of tea. I could feel each swallow against my cheek.

  “Okay?” he asked when I finally petered out.

  I slumped against him. “I’m sorry for unloading all this on you. None of it’s your fault. I’m sorry you had to leave your dinner for this, or your party, or whatever.”

  “It wasn’t a party. Just my dad and his wife.” His fingertips played over my arm in a slow, repetitive motion. “I was upset at first, when Mem texted me. I’d been trying to leave you alone—the way you asked me to—but I’m glad now you came and I’m glad you shared your thoughts with me.” He sat me up and put his cup on the table. “When I saw you at the theater, I didn’t mean to upset you. I only wanted to offer help. Although I never considered helping in the way you’re suggesting. I was thinking more about whether you still went home. If he still bothered you. If you were dependent on him for anything. I would have fixed that if you were. I don’t want him having any leverage over you.”

  “I’ve cut all ties with my parents. We haven’t talked in years. I’ll never be in the same room with him or look at him again, or ask him for anything. I promised myself that.”

  A flash of something vicious entered his expression. “Good. He’s a fucking animal. I investigated him to make sure he wasn’t victimizing anyone else. I’m sorry if you find that weird or stalkerish.”

  “Was there anyone else?” I asked.

  “No.” He seemed about to say something further but then he didn’t. Instead, he handed me my cup of tea. It was cold now but it soothed the catch in my throat. When I’d gulped down a sip or two, Liam lifted me off his lap and stood. “I want some cookies. Let’s go in the kitchen.”

  Cookies. Great. Was he still considering what I’d suggested, or were we moving on to cookies because it was out of the question? I went with him into the adjoining room, trying to gauge his thoughts from his expression.

  “Did you go to Cowskull?” I asked as he walked around the counter. “Did you actually go there?”

  “No. I wanted to be here, in case…” His voice drifted off as he shoved a cookie in his mouth. He put some more on a plate and brought them over to me. “I sent someone to check things out in a way that wouldn’t make your father suspicious.” He shook his head as he returned to pour tea into our cups. “Don’t ask. The point is, it’s just him and your mother at home. No young relatives, no underage help. No vulnerable neighbor kids.”

  “The neighbors are miles away. You must have really looked into things.”

  “Our investigators are thorough.”

  I took a sip of the tea and burned my tongue. “So…” I blew out, cooling off my mouth. “Regarding what I suggested earlier…”

  “I’m thinking about it, okay? Give me a minute.” He sat beside me at the counter and leaned over his cup. His sweater was tragic but he looked so serious and handsome. He would be so easy to fall in love with, if he was that type.

  “I only want you to help me,” I said. “Not be my boyfriend or anything. I want you to…” I swallowed hard. “I want you to help me do the things I’m too afraid to do. And I won’t hold you to anything, anything at all afterward. I promise I won’t.”

  Each time I spoke I had a feeling from his expression that I was saying the wrong things. I shut my mouth and stared at his profile.

  “He’s a sick man now,” he said quietly. “Your father. He looks awful. I have pictures.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to see them. No.

  “He’s dying.” Liam pursed his lips. “Melanoma. I didn’t want to tell you. I don’t want you to feel sorry for him, or feel like you have to go to him.”

  I thought over the repercussions of this news. A world without my father in it… This was a good thing, but still a shock. “I wouldn’t have gone to him, even if I knew,” I said to Liam. “I hate him too much. I’ll hate him forever.”

  “I’m afraid if we do this thing you’re suggesting, you’ll feel that way about me someday.”

  My palms felt clammy against the slick countertop. I wiped them on my knees. My father was dying. Cancer. What had Liam just said? That I’d hate him for trying to help? I couldn’t imagine it. “I won’t. I won’t ever feel that way about you, I swear to God.”

  He took my hands in his and squeezed them. “I have to help you, Ash. I can’t say no to what you’re asking, but I’m afraid I’ll hurt you in this process. I won’t mean to, but I will.”

  “You can’t hurt me as much as he did,” I whispered, shaking my head. “It’s not possible.”

  “I hope you’re right.” He looked at me with the full force of his amber gaze. “I want to go slow and careful with this, okay? We’ll need to talk things out before we do anything. Make plans.”

  Oh, please. Please let this work for me. My father was dying. What better time to come alive again? “I’m okay with planning,” I said. “Yes. Whenever you want. Tonight?”

  “If you like. If you don’t feel tired.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t feel tired at all. I felt energized and hopeful, and anxious to begin. Thank God, he was going to do it.

  His fingers traced the tops of mine. “I’m still not convinced it’s a good idea to bring power exchange into the equation. I mean, the power differential between you and your father worked against you before.”

  I stared at his hand. I didn’t understand how we couldn’t bring it into the equation. He was so dominant in everything. “The thing is, when you did it with me at my place, even that little bit…” I could feel myself flushing with the embarrassment of this confession. “It turned me on more than I’d ever been turned on in my life.”

  He studied me a long moment. “Okay. If it gets you hot, we’ll use it. I’ll do whatever I can to help you overcome your issues. But not tonight. Tonight, we’ll just talk.” He stood and held out his hand. “Ready, Freddy?”

  I was so, so ready. I took a deep breath, reached out, and twined my fingers through his.

  Chapter Eight: Plans

  She held my hand like I had all the answers, like she trusted me implicitly. Some part of me was aroused by that trust. Another part of me felt like the wolf leading Red Riding Hood into the forest.

  I’d never in a thousand years expected her to come seeking my assistance, not after what happened the last time we were together. At some point she’d apparently rethought matters, resulting in this humble request for help. It proved to me how desperate she was—and made it impossible to refuse her.

  And I believed I could help Ashleigh Keaton enjoy sex again. I could dominate the fuck out of her if that’s what she wanted. I’d fantasized for weeks about taking her to bed and fixing her issues with my legendary sexual prowess. But that was fantasy. It all proceeded according to my imagination, which was lurid at best. Pornographic at worst. As I led her up the stairs, I felt an overpowering desire to control her, to subjugate her. I wanted to pull her hair and spank her ass until it was covered in red handprints. I wanted to torment her until she shuddered with delight, until she cried out and begged for mercy.

  But that wasn’t the “fixing” she was asking for. I had to focus my attention on her sexual issues, not my over-the-top fantasies of fucking her. I had to use the D/s to make her more comfortable with sex, not to torment her. Oh God—she was turning me into one of those white-knight BDSM guys. Pretty soon I’d be wearing a goatee, carrying around a fur lined paddle and handcuffs with hearts embossed on them. Rubio would never stop mocking me. Hell, I’d never stop mocking myself.

  It’s for Ashleigh. Do it for Ashleigh, just this once.

  I walked her past my bedroom to the largest guest suite, which was decorated in a shade of blue-gray that matched her eyes. The Ashleigh room. From now on, that’s what it would be to me. I guided her inside and shut the door. She let go of my hand and looked around.

  It was a big room for a bedroom, near
ly as large as my master bedroom. There was a seating area by the window with a table and chairs, and a full bathroom to the right. The bed was king-size with a heavy iron frame, a tall spindled headboard and a slightly shorter footboard. A normal person would find the imposing black structure stylish. I found it convenient for BDSM games. I brought girls here when I felt like scening outside the play room. I never, ever let girls in my own bedroom and especially my bed.

  Not even this girl.

  She looked pretty today in a pink pullover and jeans, her black hair falling in waves past her shoulders. Her hands were clasped nervously in front of her. If she knew half the fantasies running through my mind she would already be down the stairs and out the door.

  “Are we going to start right now?” she asked. “With the submission stuff?”

  “No. Yes.” I pointed to one of the upholstered chairs by the window. “We’re going to start, but we’re going to start by talking.”

  She sat down and I joined her. “This is a really beautiful room,” she said. “Everything in your house is so beautiful.”

  She was the most beautiful thing in my house at the moment. I wanted to take all her clothes off and tie her to the fucking bed. No. Not appropriate at this time. “Thanks,” I said instead. “I’m glad you like this room and I hope you’ll feel comfortable here. It’s a private, quiet place for us to work together. Ideally, this will be a D/s space. I’ll control in here, and you’ll submit.”

  She stared at the bed, and I knew she was thinking the same thing I was thinking. When does the sex start?

  I cleared my throat, determined to keep the discussion rolling. “There will be times you won’t feel comfortable in here,” I said. “That’s where the submission comes in. I’d like you to do your best to obey me in this room, even if it’s difficult. I’ll need you to be brave and trust me as much as you can.”

  She opened her mouth and closed it. “I… Well… Sure. I…I trust you. I don’t think you’d do anything to hurt me.”

  “Of course I wouldn’t.” I reached across the table and took her hands. “But if you ever feel confused or scared, it’s okay to let me know. D/s isn’t about toughing out the bad stuff. It’s about people enjoying themselves and doing things to please each other. In our case, I’m going to use the D/s to try to move you past your fears.”