Bassist Instinct (The Rocker Series #2) (22 page)

“May I ask you a personal question?”

“Mmm,” she said. The day had been horrible as soon as Tate left, and for the past half hour she’d been soothed into almost forgetting a man nearly died for her. When Tate ran his fingers up her body, not only did it turn her on, but it also made her feel cherished, which was a new thing for her.

“Last night you had a bad dream, and when ye woke you thought I was your man, Dean, and it terrified you. Did he hurt you, lass?” She waited so long to answer Tate wondered if she would. Then she took a deep breath.

“Yes.” There was another long pause and he knew she was deciding if she wanted to tell him anything more. If she did it meant she trusted him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear about her pain, but he knew he wanted her to open up to him, it was imperative to the next step in their relationship, which was something he wanted more than he would even admit to himself.

“We dated for eighteen months and he never harmed me. But not long after we got engaged he started trying to ease me into bondage role playing.” Tate sighed with relief. She trusted him, now he only had to prove he was worthy of her trust.

“I was never sure what set him off, but he had done some research on it and decided it was something he felt he had been missing in his life, and that, as the woman he loved, I would make the ideal submissive. I honestly thought he was joking, and I made the mistake of laughing as I explained that I was not in any way submissive. He got very serious and he said that everyone believed that about themselves at first. He said he would rather take control of my ‘assessment and training,’ but if I wanted to involve a third party, I was welcome. When he explained exactly what it was he wanted to do to me I told him no, I was not even remotely interested.”

Fiona remembered the fight they had that night. He wanted to share that newly discovered part of himself with her, he needed her to know that side of him, to love that part of him, and it was truly upsetting to him that she wouldn’t open up to him enough to even try it. The hunger in his eyes frightened the hell out of her, he was lucky she didn’t just kick him out that very night. She’d bled during their make-up sex, it had been so rough, and she felt sick about it. Enthusiastic sex was one thing, but sex that night felt more like a punishment to her.

“He left it for a while, but he started bringing the subject up again. At dinner, the movies, even at a party at his parent’s house. He wanted to take me down to their basement and tie me up to the guest bed. It was a squeaky old brass bed with bars you could tie someone to. He thought it would be thrilling if we were caught while in the act, the beer fridge was in the next room and people were constantly in and out. He thought it would be fun to leave the door open. This from a man who didn’t even hold my hand in public because he thought it was vulgar. I refused and he was so angry we had to leave the party.” She turned in the tub and bent her knees so that her feet were up in the air and her cheek was on his taught belly. He smoothed her hair down. “Tell me if you need me to stop.”

“Fiona, my lamb, I’ll hear what you need me to, and I’ll hold you to help you through it and I’ll not judge you. Let me ease your burden in this small way.” He ran his fingers up her forearms which were wet and silky.

She hadn’t realized it, but she
was
burdened. The word was accurate, she had been weighed down by keeping this to herself. Tate’s loving embrace was powerful therapy.

“I only wish I could give you more.” He wished he could have beaten the man bloody.

“This is huge, Tate, you have no idea. I haven’t told anyone. I hadn’t realized talking about it would help so much.” She took a deep breath and resumed. “A few weeks after he first broached the subject and I told him no, he brought it up again. He said that it was really a matter of trust, and if I trusted that he had enough control, and that he knew what I needed, I would allow him to tie me up and gag me, and… hurt me until he thought I had had been punished enough,” she shuttered. “I asked him why he thought I should be punished at all, and he pulled a list out of his pocket filled with the most arbitrary things.” She looked at Tate’s face. His look was at once angry, shocked and loving. She shouldn’t be telling him this, but now that she had started, she couldn’t stop.

“Apparently I was refusing him with too much regularity. I didn’t have time to go see some movie, I didn’t want to eat at whatever restaurant, and I didn’t pamper him like he felt he needed. Work took up too much of my time, and there was never enough blue Gatorade in the house. The Gatorade thing was underscored twice. They were all things like that. I thought he was joking at first, it was ridiculous. I not only needed to be punished, he said, but I would love it, I would feel like I’d been freed from my cage and our relationship would deepen with my abject humiliation at his hands. He liked to say ‘abject humiliation’ a lot.

“He explained how he’d been buying these things off the internet, and he excitedly showed them to me; they looked like medieval torture devices. He had a whip, Tate. An Indiana Jones, eight foot long, leather whip.” She shuddered again, her eyes were huge and bright with tears. “Again he told me in great detail what he wanted to do with them. I said he was right, I would have to trust him, but the bottom line was I didn’t trust him, and I certainly didn’t need to be punished for having my own life. I told him he was out of his mind if he thought I’d let him whip me, and if he brought the subject up again I would leave him. He got very angry and grabbed me here,” she touched Tate’s biceps. “And dragged me to the bed, holding me down and he shook me, squeezing for all he was worth. So much for his vaunted control.” They both looked at the bruises on her forearms from the day before and then looked at each other.

“When he realized what he was doing, he held me in his arms for a while, saying how sorry he was for losing control, but ultimately, it was really my fault, and then went for a run immediately after. I didn’t know if it was because he was in need of getting the rage out of his system or if he was just pumped with the power he felt from being able to throw me around like a rag doll. Tate, I’m 5’1”, he was 6’2”; it wasn’t a surprise that he was stronger than I was. I felt so powerless, it was horrible.

“He told me much later that he had loved every second of my being under his complete control. The bruises on my arms really excited him, too, even though he felt awful about them at the same time. That first time he cried, and took me to Hawaii for a long weekend to decompress he said. He didn’t hurt me again for almost a month, and he stopped talking about bondage all together which was such a huge relief, but I think he just liked the bruises so much he forgot about the gags and the whip. He liked the intimacy of hands-on punishment rather than using a tool. Every chance he got he lifted my sleeves to see his fingers outlined on my arms, until I just wore long sleeves he couldn’t easily move aside, until they faded completely. But he watched me like a hawk, waiting for me to transgress, I think.

“Then one afternoon a colleague made a pass at me. You met him on the street on Friday. David. Well, I had left my briefcase in the break room, and I was half way to my bike when I heard him shout my name behind me and saw him running after me with it. When I saw the briefcase in his hands I apparently smiled radiantly, and David was so caught up in the fine weather, the smile, I don’t know, but he kissed me like we were lovers back together after a long separation. Then he told me how long he’d waited to do that, and it was awkward and I had to tell him that I was in no way interested,” she shook her head.

“Dean had come home early from a trip to Moscow and wanted to surprise me at work and saw the whole thing, assumed the worst, and put me,” she wiped the tears from her face and tried to breathe normally. She was much calmer when she continued. “He put me over his knee, stripped my pants off and spanked me hard, forty strokes. I couldn’t sit for days, and my wrists were purple from being held down. I was so humiliated.” Tate pulled her up on to his chest and covered her buttocks with his hands, needing to somehow protect her after the fact.

“My God, I wish he were breathing so I could kill him meself,” he said and she huffed out a hoarse laugh.

“I fought him, but he loved it. He kept shouting ‘Yes, yes, fight me, ten more strokes,’ and I could feel how turned on he was getting. He would only stop spanking me long enough to test to see if I was wet from it.” She whispered. “He just couldn’t understand what went wrong. ‘What is wrong with you?’ He kept hissing at me. He wanted to have sex after that, he figured it was good enough foreplay, but I locked myself in the bathroom as soon as he let me go.

“I kicked him out and changed the locks. He called again and again, I got my number changed, and then he started coming around work. That was when he told me he’d bought tickets to Paris for us, but I told him I wasn’t going anywhere with him, and I wasn’t going to marry him. He was completely astonished by the fact that I wasn’t turned on by getting spanked, and tried to get me to spank him back. I know people do that, and enjoy it, too, but I can only assume it’s consensual between them. That was not the case between us.

“He never came back from Paris, and Tate, I was so relieved. I have felt like such a bad person for the past three months for being relieved that he died until Liam told me why he was killed. He wasn’t a good person.” She sighed heavily. “I haven’t told anyone but you.”

Tate was stunned. He knew there were abusive husbands out there, but he always associated abuse with alcohol for some reason. This was the first instance he’d heard of where the abuser was sober. To hurt this lovely, intelligent woman to get a hard-on just didn’t make any sense to him. Tate was the kind of man who liked to make women happy, ecstatic even, abuse was something so foreign to his mindset. It pained him to think how helpless she had been, how helpless all women in similar situations are, and he wondered what he could do about it.

“Fiona, love. I hardly know what to say to make it better. I feel powerless to do anything but hold you. You amaze me with your strength. Thank you for telling me, love. I will never hurt you, you know that?”

“I do know that, you are a giver.”

“I’ve been givin’ it to you as often as I’m able,” he said and she laughed.

“That was just as bad as the Thanksgiving joke,” she said and he snorted at the memory of that day.

“I was trying to impress you with my rapier wit.”

“Mmm, well, you got me anyway,” she said and he chuckled.

They held on to each other long after the water had gone cold. He thought she might have fallen asleep so he didn’t move. Thoughts of how he would have hurt Dean if he were still alive danced in his head like sugarplums, which was new, because aside from the odd donnybrook, Tate was not a violent man.

Tate’s phone buzzed. He reached over for the phone and looked at the message from Sam. Since the shower that morning no one was eager to go anywhere near Fiona’s bedroom. A compromise was agreed to, Tate would carry his phone and answer it when it rang, and they’d leave them alone. Fiona’s head came up from his chest. She had not been sleeping, but she looked refreshed, nonetheless.

“Sam wants us downstairs in the next twenty minutes, he’s being reassigned.”

“Oh. But I like Sam,” she said sitting up. She stepped gracefully out of the tub and then into the shower to rinse off and to warm up. Tate was right behind her.

“And you’ll like the next poor bastard, I reckon.” His hands got busy touching her body reverently and she turned around to face him.

“If we start we won’t be down in twenty minutes,” she said and he sighed and turned the spray off.

“I don’t ever want to leave your side.”

“I know, I don’t want to leave yours either.” He would have to in the morning, and it was going to kill him.

“Even with the promise of ‘hooking up’ with ye later,” he laughed and she gave him an evil look.

“That was not easy for me to say.”

“I know, it was very noble of you to even try. Your lip quivering just about killed me.” He leaned down and kissed the aforementioned lip. “Get some clothes on, you’re terribly distracting. I have to call Christie, I’ll be down in a few.

“Okay.” She hesitated and looked at him.

“I’ll not say a word about what you just told me to anyone,” he said and she put her arms around him.

“You are really wonderful, Tate, thank you,” she kissed his shoulder and left the bathroom. Tate stood there for a long moment thinking of Fiona’s revelations. He wanted to beat the man to a bloody pulp. He had frightened her, hurt her, and put her life in danger with his actions. He saw the phone on the side of the tub and called Liam.

“McBride,” Liam said brusquely.

“Liam, it’s Tate.”

“Everything okay?” Liam said carefully. He must be standing near Fiona.

“I need to know what these bastards did to that bastard Dean,” Tate said.

“Hold please,” there was a pause and Tate imagined him moving away from Fiona. “Why?”

“Let’s call it morbid curiosity.”

“It wasn’t pretty, they tore out fingernails, broke his fingers, and slit his throat. He would have probably died of shock anyway, the throat was just the
coup de grâce
.” Tate thought for a minute.

“Three months seems like a long time for them to start to move on to her. Did he put up with it to keep her safe? Or are we sure he even took the stones?”
Or did the bastard like it?

“Both good questions, which I’ll have to discuss with you at a later date,” Liam said and Tate got the message.

“I’ll be right down,” he said and hung up not feeling at all satisfied. The idea of someone breaking Fiona’s fingers made him lunge for the toilet and heave up his lunch.

Chapter Seven