Healing the Wounds (13 page)

Henry and William. How they’d come to know Victor and Emma. A practiced couple taking the young men under their wing.

“We spend several months working closely with them to perfect their skills. Overseeing their scenes. Providing feedback, both mine as a dominant and yours as a submissive. Demonstrating technique and the more”—he dropped his voice to a low drawl—“elusive, ephemeral pieces of the puzzle.”

Wrapped in the seductive cocoon of his body heat, his scent, and his deep whispers, she floated in a hazy fog of agreement. Every step more reasonable than it should be, letting him lead, eager to see the final picture as he fed her each irregular idea and guided her fingers around curving, slick edges. He’d undoubtedly rubbed away the rough spots for her, presented her with the tantalizing image of completion, but—

“Showing them an idealized example of love in our own affection for each other.”

These pieces he gave her to explore, they were pieces of
him
. Curled in his lap, seduced as she was, she held him captive, the shape of his soul coming together in her hands. She clung tight to the pieces, the abstraction manifesting in dawning understanding.

“The boys—they aren’t
in
love with us. But we’re the strongest example in their lives of what it can look like.” The way she’d taken cues from Jay and Henry’s relationship. But for her, it truly had been love. Still was.

“An example, yes. Both inside and outside the club.”

“Outside how?” Her heart and her head begged for hard data, specs to define his closeness to Victor and Emma.

“Dinners in our home, perhaps. An example of a more domestic, long-term relationship. The sort to which these young men might aspire.” He slipped the hand on her thigh under her shirt and stroked her skin.

Muscles she hadn’t realized she’d tensed relaxed.

“When we host, their position is in flux. Dominant, yes, but in our home, you have power of your own. The freedom to talk back, to tease them, to chide them, to mother them. Your role in their lives is a large one. In some ways, your behavior will guide the way they approach submissives for the rest of their lives.”

“I didn’t know. That’s so—” Her lungs seized, throat throttling shut. So much influence. Emma had filled that role for him. She’d hold that piece of him until the day he died. “How could anyone compete with that? Ever?”

Henry cuddled her closer, his nose rubbing her cheek as he cradled her to his chest. “Because there’s a distance as well. These young dominants are not your sexual partners—I’d never allow it, and you wouldn’t desire it—but they worship you nonetheless. They are in awe of the ideal you represent, a key element in the whole we make up together. What they want is not you, dear girl, but their own perfect match as you are
mine
.”

Twice now he’d said so, and the message began sinking in. He didn’t want Emma.
He wants me.

“Now, if these boys came to you over the years for advice, sat at your table, built their own little kingdoms and proudly showed you their toys—if I were dead and buried twenty years from now, and you alone—tell me, would you be surprised if those boys still showed some measure of devotion? If they honored our longstanding friendship by watching over you?”

No. They’d be family. She’d have a responsibility to them, as well. Something almost parental, but not. Sisterly. The way she checked up on Olivia.

“Those boys might, when they find their perfect matches, have trouble explaining what you are to them, my dear.” His voice softened into…not a plea, because surely Henry would never plead, but something asking for her understanding. Needing her understanding. “Translating their own roles as son and brother and friend and protector into some easy shorthand, some simple way to define their continuing affection for you. Even though what they feel for you is not
romantic
love, it is love, nonetheless.”

He loved Emma. That truth wouldn’t change. But it wasn’t the same way he loved her and Jay. Their connection didn’t threaten her.

“Without Emma’s example nearly twenty years ago, without Victor’s tutelage, I would not have become the man worthy of your trust and devotion, Alice.”

She turned in his lap, pressing her chest to his and worming her arms around his back, clinging to him in a tight hug.

He squeezed her in return. “And I’m so very glad, sweet girl, that I am that man for you.”

“I love you, Henry.” She whispered the truth in his ear. “And I know how much you love me. It’s just so new. Feeling it. Admitting it. Accepting it.”

He massaged her back with gentle hands. “You’ve jumped in with such courage. When you come to me with your fears, I will do my utmost to help you address them.”

They sat cradled together, Alice reluctant to move, Henry humming along with the radio. “Now, as to your question—no, I haven’t forgotten—
sverchok
means ‘cricket,’ nothing more.”

She had to laugh. He might not have forgotten, but she had. She’d let him distract her. But an important distraction.

Henry told her another story, one that had her laughing harder as he explained how he and William had transformed a Russian proverb Victor had often used to gently chastise Emma for speaking out of turn into the opposite—a pet name praising her for being a model of submission and the voice of conscience in their ears.

Jay’s bike
tick-tick-ticked
on the hardwood. Their teasing laughter and kisses must’ve drowned out the door opening.

“Welcome home, my boy.” Henry spoke over her head.

No sooner had the bike gone up on its hooks than Jay, sweaty biking gear and all, rounded the table and dropped to his knees at Henry’s feet.

“Did I miss dinner?” He pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh below the edge of her shorts. “Because I’m starving, and I see something I want to eat.”

She pulled her legs closed, giggling at the wide-eyed pout Jay sent her way. “And I think my sweaty puppy needs a bath first.”

His pout dissolved into a beaming smile. “Your puppy?” He flopped backward, belly up, at their feet. “Do I get a tummy rub?”

Chalk another one up for Henry’s win column. Far from offended, Jay loved the idea of playing her puppy.

“After dinner,” Henry answered him. “Go and take your shower and change. We’ll have food on the table in fifteen minutes, and you and Alice may play afterward.”

* * * *

Jay’s animated discussion carried them through dinner, a welcome break from the intensity that dominated her talks with Henry. She loved the intensity and the lightness both, the way the scales tipped and righted themselves.

A balance her life had been missing before Henry and Jay.

They cleared the table together. When she reached for the last of the dishes, Jay reached for her, insisting he needed something to carry, too. He hoisted her at the waist. She giggled the whole way across the kitchen to the sink and flicked water at him while she rinsed dishes and he loaded the dishwasher.

Henry watched them with a speculative eye. Impossible to guess his thoughts, but he was definitely thinking. The dishwasher clicked shut. “All finished?” Henry beckoned them over and bestowed kisses on their cheeks. “I’ve another task for you, then.”

Under his direction, she and Jay pushed back the living room furniture and moved various knickknacks. Well. Fine art pieces, aka
fancy
knickknacks.

Jay hadn’t lost his overabundance of energy. He rocked heel-toe beside her as they stood and waited for Henry’s judgment.

“Nicely done, thank you.” Henry tipped his head. “I promised you a bit of playtime after dinner, didn’t I?”

“Yes, Henry.” Jay tapped his fingers against his thighs.

She nodded.

“Your play boundary is the living room rug. Stepping outside it will pause the game.”

Her heart pounded. A pause option dangled the probability of intense play.

“Clothes will stay on.”

How was that playtime? Jay’s ants-in-the-pants routine begged for clothes-off action.

“The six pillows in the living room are the only acceptable weapons.” Henry gestured toward the space. “The game begins in five seconds. Perhaps you’d best arm yourselves, hmm?”

“Pillow fight,” Jay shouted, glee exploding as he bounded to the couch and snatched up a throw pillow.

Shit. No way she’d let him win without even competing. She raced to catch up, grabbing a pillow from the chair and stepping onto the rug as Henry called, “One.”

“Begin.”

They circled each other, pillows up. She lobbed hers at Jay’s midsection to distract him and picked up a second.

He walloped her across the back. Almost. The gentlest pillow fight “attack” she’d experienced in her life.

She spared a glance for Henry, watching from the sideline. Her inattention earned her another attack, as gentle as the one before while Jay bounced around her, and told her nothing. Focused and intent, Henry displayed the slightest hint of a smile.

Catching the side of Jay’s head, she pulled a laugh from him. He returned fire with a pillow swat at her ass. She battered his legs, a buffet of blows to his knees, and he responded with a flurry across her arms and shoulders.

Henry had said six legal pillows. Throw pillows accounted for four. She dove for the floor pillow. Larger. Greater heft. She swung as she spun, giggling all the while, and slammed the pillow into Jay’s side.

He oomphed. Tugging her wrist, he tangled her up as he rolled and tumbled.

Henry lurched, but stopped at the edge of the rug.

She and Jay rolled again.

The pillows fell from their hands.

She squirmed.

He grunted.

They landed Jay on his back with her straddling his hips. God, he was hot and hard between her thighs. Grinning at her with that sweet Jay-smirk and gleaming eyes. Impossible to resist.

She ground her hips against him for the spark of heat the contact woke in her. Leaned forward. Lowered her face to his. They brushed noses.

Grazing his lips, she drew a low, needy whimper from him. She gave in to temptation and kissed him. Hard and commanding. The way Henry kissed him.

Jay moaned. His hips jerked beneath her.

She gentled the kiss despite the craving running through her body and pulsing between her legs. Pulled her head up enough to meet his eyes.

“Fuck, Alice, I’m sorry.” His giddy energy drooped into a grimace. “I’m so sorry.”

Sorry. Not happy. Not ecstatic that he’d gotten off. Not relaxed, not enjoying it. God, was she that fucking stupid?

“Sweetheart, there’s nothing to be sorry for.” If she didn’t make it right, right now, Henry would have to step in and do it for her.

“But I just—” He waved toward his shorts.

“I know.” She beamed at him. Encouraging. “It was incredibly hot.”

He blinked. “It was?”

“I don’t know if you noticed, sweetheart, but playing with me got you worked up enough to come in your shorts. Which makes me feel pretty damn desirable and good about myself.” She stroked his forehead and pushed back his hair. Would that she could smooth his wrinkled brow as easily. “I wish it made you feel good about yourself, too, stud.”

The tightness in his face, all scrunched eyes and turned-down lips, pierced her heart. Please, let her not have hurt him. First she’d let that jackass belittle him at the club, and now she’d made him feel inadequate. Fuck. She twisted to search for strength over her shoulder. “Am I wrong, Henry?”

“No, sweet girl, you’re exactly right. You’re doing quite well on your own.” But he stepped closer and crouched beside them anyway.

Would Jay feel rejected if she rolled off him? Maybe he’d be more comfortable without her weight on him. She sat, frozen, terrified of making the wrong move. Of somehow shaming him further.

Henry covered her hand on Jay’s hair. “My brave boy, what were the restrictions I placed on your playtime with Alice?”

“Living-room-rug boundaries. Only hit with pillows. Clothes stay on.” Kneading the rug, he rattled off answers at full speed.

Henry hummed softly. “Well done. Where in those restrictions does it say you cannot climax?”

Jay tipped his head back, pushing into their hands. He frowned. “It doesn’t.”

“No, it doesn’t. You came home full of energy, and roughhousing with Alice was exciting, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Henry.” He cast a bashful, darting glance at her chest.

“And when she rolled on top of you, that was more exciting.”

An emphatic
yes
rolled off Jay’s tongue.

“You weren’t under any obligation to hold back, my boy.” Henry kissed her temple and then Jay’s mouth. “You played a fine game.”

“But I—” Eyelids sinking, Jay turned his face aside. “Like a teenager.”

Henry nudged her, the barest brush of his weight.

She shifted off Jay to sit on the floor.

“We’ll be a moment or two, Alice.” Henry urged Jay to his feet. “Come along, dear boy. It’s nothing that hasn’t happened before, hmm?”

He rubbed Jay’s back as he pushed him down the hall. Bathroom, probably.

“But not in front of Alice.” Jay’s whispered reply surely wasn’t meant to reach her ears. “I didn’t even give her…”

She pulled her knees up and buried her face. She’d made him ashamed of himself and his stamina. A simple game, a fun night, and she’d turned it into a nightmare for Jay. Not intentionally, but still. Her fault.

Something she’d found adorable. Charming. So sweetly uncontrolled. No matter what Jay thought, he hadn’t left her hanging. She hadn’t expected an orgasm. Disappointment was impossible without expectation.

Christ, please let Henry talk sense into him.
She climbed to her feet and put the living room back in order. Another bout of pillow fighting wasn’t likely tonight. Things had been so nonsexual last week, and the weekend had been a sexual explosion. No wonder if Jay’d been hornier than usual.

Henry came back alone.

An invisible vise gripped her rib cage, compressed her chest. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. A tad embarrassed, but your handling of the situation helped immensely.” Lips curved in a slight smile, he studied her with eyes soft as a mossy-green bed. “Shh, dearest, it’s fine.” He swept her into his arms. “Just as Jay has done nothing wrong, so it is with you. He merely needed reassurance that everyone’s needs would be met.”