Authors: Cynthia Sax
“I was born with two names.” Henley bites into a piece of carrot, chews, swallows. “I now use one name. Does that change who I am?”
“No.” I smile up at him, a weight lifting from my shoulders. “You’re still magnificent.”
“Only you think so.” His lips curl upward.
“Only I matter,” I reply, relishing the familiar exchange. “Why do you use only one name?”
Henley’s lips flatten, and the sparkle fades from his eyes. “When my dad died—”
I stiffen, tension flooding my body and straightening my spine. “How did he die? Was it cancer?”
“No, it wasn’t cancer.” Henley squeezes my hip. “He died in an industrial accident, and my mom couldn’t cope alone. She married my stepdad. I was the big draw. He couldn’t have kids and he wanted a son to carry on his name.”
I nod, understanding that desire. My aunt and uncle couldn’t have kids. My mother and father only had one child, a daughter, me. We have no one to carry on the Volkov name.
“My stepdad wasn’t a kind man.” Henley turns his left wrist so his scarred palm faces upward. “He hit my mom.”
I trace the deep grooves. “With a whip?”
“With anything he had: whips, chains, my baseball bat.” Henley’s jaw jutted. “I went away to college thinking the abuse would stop. I was often the source of their arguments.”
I bend over and kiss the marred skin, wishing I could kiss away his pain.
“It didn’t stop.” Henley stares across the room, his gaze unfocused, his face frighteningly hard. “And I wasn’t there to stop the beatings.” His voice breaks.
I stroke his palm, seeking to comfort him, not knowing the words.
Henley sets his plate down on the bed. “I refuse to use his last name.” His voice is flat, lifeless, as though the emotion has been drained from him. “My mom’s family chose not to see the violence. They’d ask her to prove he was the one abusing her, acting as though she’d merely been clumsy, slipping and falling multiple times. I didn’t have the cameras, then.”
“You have them now,” I add quietly. He’d have proof.
“I have them now,” he agrees. “My dad left us unprotected.” Henley cups my chin, lifts my gaze to his. “I’d never do that to you.”
“I know you wouldn’t.” I summon a smile, my heart aching for him. Henley smiles back at me, sadness reflected in his eyes. We gaze at each other, the connection between us tightening, deepening.
“If you ever need a last name,” I lean against him, “you can use mine.” Furrows appear on his forehead and I clarify, “You can use my real last name—Volkov. Henley Volkov has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“It does sound good.” He pulls me onto his lap, turning me to face him partially. “Will your family mind if I take your name?”
“Mind?” I laugh. “They’ll be ecstatic, rushing to adopt you. My father says we can never have too much family.”
Henley brushes a curl back from my face, his knuckles skimming along my cheek, leaving a trail of sensation. “It’s okay to miss your father.”
I swallow hard, a lump forming in my throat. “It feels strange to think of him being there and me being here.” I wave my hand. “But he has my mother to keep him company and I have you.”
Henley captures my wrist, presses my palm over his heart. “You have me.” He covers my lips with his, possessing me, and I surrender to him, allowing him inside my mouth.
He tastes of sweetness and spices and Henley, a delicious combination, and I grip his nape, holding his lips to mine, feasting on him. Our tongues touch, twine, tangle. Our breaths mesh. Our bodies press together, becoming one entity.
Kissing him feels right, almost destined, as though everything in our combined pasts, every spilled tear, every broken heart, every loss, has led us here, our paths merging and our hearts aligning. He’s my present and my future, hope where I previously had none.
Henley breaks our kiss, breathing heavily, his chest heaving against my breasts. “I should work.” He leans his forehead against mine. The tips of our noses touch. “I have to check in with the office and with the apartment building, ensure everything is secure.”
“You have to ensure every
one
is safe,” I add, now better comprehending his need to protect the people he cares about, to see what others might not choose to see. “Can you work here?”
“Yes.” Henley brushes his lips across mine, his caress edged with gratitude. “I have some gear in the trunk of my car.”
He dresses quickly, leaves with the key. As he takes multiple trips to his car, lugging his gear into the room, I gather the dishes and leave them on the tray in the hallway, making space on the desk and nightstands for his screens.
He sets up his mobile office quickly, his movements efficient. I unpack his personal things, hang his pants and spare shirt in the closet beside my pink suit.
“Are you sure you don’t have an extra suit?” I smooth the crease in his collar.
“It’s a black suit.” Henley adjusts one of the screens, tilting it to face the bed. He’s clad in a pair of gym shorts. “No one will notice it’s the same suit I wore today.”
“I’d notice you were wearing the same clothes.” I raise the sleeve to my nose and inhale, his lemon-and-cedar cologne clinging to the fabric. “You have beautiful suits.”
Henley shrugs, his cheeks reddening, my behemoth adorably modest. I return to the bed, curl next to him to watch him work, silently observing how he systematically answers every e-mail, addresses every problem. Although the information is sensitive, Henley hides nothing from me, his trust warming my heart.
Hours pass and my eyelids grow heavy, jet lag and emotional exhaustion pulling at me. “Henley?” I blink, trying to stay awake, wishing to prolong the evening.
“Sleep, kitten.” Henley strokes my back, petting me.
I rest my cheek against his chest. “Will you protect me?” I’m unable to pretend in my sleep, and the sadness returns night after night, draining me. I need his help, his strength, to combat it.
“I’ll protect you.” Henley presses a kiss to the top of my head.
I don’t have to face this night alone. “Okay.” I yawn. “Wake me when you’re done.” I close my eyes. “We’ll have wild, passionate animal sex.”
Henley chuckles, his body shaking. “We’re not having sex tonight.”
“That’s what you think, but I . . .” The darkness swirls around me, stealing my words.
My dream starts the same way it does every night. I’m clad in my favorite pastel pink suit and I walk down an agonizingly long aisle, my heels sinking into the black silk runner. White lilies are tied to pews with black ribbons. Pillar candles burn, the scent of wax and floral perfume heavy in the stale air.
Every seat is filled and people stand along the walls, their hands clenched before them, their heads bowed. Men wear dark suits with white shirts and somber ties. Women wear plain black dresses and hats with a hint of tulle.
As I walk, they turn to face me. Their red-rimmed eyes widen and their lips press together. I tilt my chin upward, ignoring their disapproval, and concentrate on placing one foot in front of the other. No one walks with me, my solitude accentuating my grief. I’ve never felt so alone.
I reach the front of the church. A gray-haired priest stands over a large brown casket, his face solemn, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. His mouth moves, but I hear nothing, the silence unnerving.
My fingers shake as I place them on the casket, the wood deathly cold. I don’t want to open the casket. I know whose face I’ll see, whose face I always see, his soulless blue eyes, so like my own, staring up at me, his cheeks previously tanned and full now gaunt and pale, ravaged by cancer, his big body emaciated.
The being in the box is not my father. My father is healthy and strong, a man able to slay my childhood dragons and swing me in the air, a mentor I can talk to, learn from. I pose over the casket, frozen with dread.
The images ripple like currents of hot air rising from a summer pavement. A wave of black sweeps over the casket, and my body temperature plummets, this dream deviating from those of the previous nights.
“No,” I whisper, gripping the handle tightly, my knuckles whitening. The priest watches me, waiting for me to open the casket. No one steps forward to help me. This is my duty, my responsibility.
My heart pounds painfully in my chest. My palms moisten. I tilt my head back, forbidding my tears to fall. I promised not to cry and I always keep my promises.
I take a deep breath and open the casket. Henley stares up at me, his brown eyes blank and unblinking, his rugged face too still. I scream and scream and scream, the sound shredding my throat.
I can’t do this. I can’t lose him too. “No.” I slam my fists on his suit-clad chest, pummeling him with all of my strength, releasing my grief and fury onto my behemoth’s big body. “You promised me. You promised.”
“Wake up, kitten.” Rough warm hands grip my shoulders, pull me deeper into hard muscle. “You’re dreaming. It’s just a dream.” Henley holds me to him as I kick and punch. “You’re safe. I have you.” He rubs my back.
I open my eyes, my hands and feet stilling. “Henley.” The room is lit by the glow of the video screens, Henley monitoring the people he protects while he sleeps.
“I’m here.” His dark eyes gleam.
“You’re here.” I place one of my palms high on his chest, the beating of his heart soothing my fears. “You’re alive.”
“I’m alive.” He covers my hand with one of his.
He’s alive. I wasn’t hitting his corpse. I was hitting him, the living, breathing man I care for, the man I possibly love. “I’m sorry.”
“I am too, kitten.” He pushes my curls away from my face and presses his lips against my forehead. “I am too.” He holds me, his chest rising and falling under my body.
I snuggle closer to him, my skin sliding over his, my robe having come undone during my nightmare. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” He chuckles. “I’m stronger than I look.”
“Then you must be a medical wonder because you look incredibly strong.” I pat one of his bulging biceps. Henley flexes, his muscles tighten, and I smile. “I’m glad you stayed with me tonight.”
“I’m glad I stayed with you also.” He rests his huge hands on my ass. “Do you often have bad dreams?”
I sigh. “Every night since . . .” The cancer killed my father, his death leaving me lost, alone, afraid.
“I should have stayed with you last night.” Henley’s lips flatten. “You asked me to, and I said no. I didn’t want to rush our relationship.”
“You were protecting me.” I nuzzle my lips against the silver slash marring his flat male nipple, kissing yet another one of his scars. “You knew I wasn’t ready because you know me.” I suck on his skin, the contact distracting me from my dismal thoughts. Henley inhales sharply. “As I know you.”
“You know how to torment me.” His voice lowers. “Do you want to talk about your dream?”
“Talking about it will make it real.” I swirl my fingertips over his chest, writing my name in his skin. “I’m not ready to make it real.” I can’t meet his gaze, can’t see the pity, the sympathy in his eyes. “Do you think I’m crazy?”
“You’re not crazy.” Henley threads his fingers through my hair. “You’re coping with the situation in your own unique way.” He wraps a curl around his index finger. “Someday, when you’re stronger, you’ll deal with it directly.”
“And if I’m never strong enough?” I share one of my fears. “Employees at Volkov Industries know who I am, and not everyone is as understanding as you are.”
“Not everyone has my fierce reputation,” Henley rumbles. “I’m a monster and you’re the monster’s kitten. No one would dare to hurt your feelings.”
“That’s true.” I force a laugh, the tension in my shoulders easing. “You’ll whack them with your magnificent fists.”
“And win you a plush unicorn.” My behemoth’s body shakes. “Did you have posters of unicorns on your walls when you were a little girl?”
I share silly tales about my childhood. Henley laughs and asks questions and laughs some more, his joy spiraling my happiness higher. We cuddle and exchange a few kisses and even more stories, talking until exhaustion overtakes both of us and we fall asleep, my body curled on top of Henley’s big physique, his arms around me.
This time I don’t dream of funerals and death. I dream I’m a princess clad in a gorgeous pink ball gown, wearing a sparkling tiara. I arrive at an enchanted castle in a delicate carriage pulled by four pure white unicorns, their manes and tails long and flowing. A very large, very muscular prince waits for me on the steps. He’s dressed all in black, and when he sees me his eyes soften and he extends his hand. I slide my palm along his and he twirls me into his arms. We spin around and around and joy bubbles out of me. I laugh and he joins in, happiness surrounding us.
I
WAKE WITH
my body pressed against Henley’s and one of my legs slung over his massive form. Light streams through the window and reflects off the video screens. I raise my head and look at the alarm clock. Six o’clock is too early to go to work.
My leg rubs against something hard. I lower my gaze. Henley’s cock strains against the fabric of his shorts. Unable to resist this temptation, I stroke my hand over his erection.
“Good morning, kitten.” Henley opens his eyes and meets my gaze.
“It
is
a good morning.” I grin at him. “And it’s tomorrow.” I shrug out of my robe and sit upright, shamelessly naked. His gaze drops to my bare breasts. My nipples tighten, and his eyes darken.
“We’re having sex today,” I sing, unable to contain my happiness. “Pull down your shorts for me, Henley. My hands are busy.” I strum my pussy up and down with my fingertips, fanning my folds, teasing my clit.
“I see that.” He removes his shorts, releasing his huge cock. A pearl of pre-cum decorates his tip, and I lick my lips, remembering how good he tastes. “If I see your pretty little tongue again, you’ll find yourself flat on your back,” Henley warns.
“You can take me like that soon.” I tremble, wanting him, needing him. “I need to prep you first.” I dip my fingers into my hot pussy. “Make your cock nice and slick for my tight pussy.” I run my hands over his shaft. My wetness glistens on his skin.