Hurting To Feel (Carpool Dolls) (22 page)

Even
through the aftershocks of his orgasm, he continued stroking her from the
inside, taking the spasms as her sex accepted more and painfully climaxed
around him again. He held himself above her, their bodies entwined, and stared
at her until he was sure he hadn't dreamed up the moment. She'd come back.

"You're
not leaving me." He stroked the hair off her forehead and held her to the
floor. "It'll get easier. You'll understand. Just give us time."

Her
eyes, bright and lazy, gazed up at him. He felt her nod under his palm. He
sucked in his breath. "Okay," he whispered.

He
withdrew from her body, helped her stand, and carried her through the house to
the bedroom. He laid her on the bed, and crawled in beside her, scooping her into
his arms.

The
emotions he'd gone through in the past twenty-four hours still circled inside of
him. Uptight and unable to sleep, he lay there holding Addison. He could've
lost her.

For
him, he couldn't go fast enough where she was concerned, yet he'd pushed her.
He'd scared her. He'd taken too much from her already, and she wasn't ready.
Just like Professor Frank advised him, he had to go slow or lose her.

It
wasn't fair to put his darkness on someone who walked in sunshine. He had no
right to ask her to carry that burden. If he had to rid himself of the pain
without her, he'd at least save her.

When
her body relaxed, he slipped out of bed and changed out of his clothes. Instead
of going back to bed, he dressed in a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt. He
carried his sneakers from the closet around the end of the bed.

At
the door, Addison called his name. He froze. "Go back to sleep."

She
sat up and turned on the bedside lamp. "Where are you going?"

"Out."
He dropped the shoes, and shoved his feet into them.

"But,
where?" She gazed at the clock. "It's after midnight."

"I'll
be back before you have to go to work," he said, tying his shoes.

Addison
pulled the blanket over her body and hugged her waist. He shut the lamp off,
kissed her forehead, and whispered, "Go to sleep."

"Nathan—"

He
placed his fingers over her mouth. "I need to go out."

She
grabbed his wrist. He jerked his arm to his side, because even her touch
tempted him, and walked out of the room before she could stop him. One word,
and he would've stayed and let her take his anger, his lack of control, his
fear over losing her.

But
tonight, Addison could take no more. She walked on eggshells, so afraid she'd
lost part of herself because she stayed with him. He couldn't let her accept
any more of his darkness. She'd discover in time whether her needs outweighed what
her head told her was right, and while he waited, he'd carry the darkness away
from her.

He
hit the garage door button and slid onto his Harley. Forgoing his helmet, he
drove away from the hillside home and out into the night.

Addison
remained safe, locked inside his house, warm in his bed, where no one could
hurt her. He'd realized while in Los Angeles that what they had together was
more powerful than either of them realized. He sped through the back roads,
winding his way into downtown.

Despite
his seeing a need in her to be a submissive, Addison was fragile. He could
break her in a bad way, and that's the last thing he wanted to do. Not this
way. She couldn't lose herself for him, because he wasn't worthy.

Past
China town, the billiards room, and the homeless shelter that closed at ten
o'clock sharp, he spotted what he was looking for. His thighs tightened on the
motorcycle. It wouldn't be long now, and he'd be all right.

He
could go back to Addison and give her time to get used to him.

The
woman stood under the street light, nonchalant, smoking a cigarette, and open
for business. He hopped the sidewalk and stopped alongside her, and motioned
for her to get on.

She
threw her smoke, hiked her already short skirt, and slid on behind him. He left
the corner, squealing the back tire. In five minutes, he'd purge himself with a
woman who'd be happy to take the hundred dollars in his pocket, and wouldn't
say a word about the bruises he'd leave her with when he finished.

The
warehouse district, half converted to townhouses on the west side, and
abandoned buildings on the east gave him privacy. Professor Frank warned him
that once he'd climbed to the top; his behavior could bring him down. His money
would disappear. His associates would fade away.

None
of that mattered. He'd no sooner give away a part of himself than turn into
those men and women who used their money as a high.

His
euphoria came from watching someone plead. He lived off delivering pain.

To
touch people with his hand, and know they hurt on the outside a smidgeon of
what he felt on the inside pleased him. He grew stronger, tougher, and became a
survivor.

He
shut off the engine and waited for the woman to climb off the motorcycle. Then
he rolled the bike into the open doorway of the vacant building. Without a
light on, he left the headlight, shining into the room. He'd have twenty
minutes before the battery drained, and he'd be stuck.

What
he had to do would take ten minutes.

"Strip."
He took his gloves off and tossed them on the seat.

"Twenty
bucks a blow job, mister." She undid the buttons on her shirt. "You
wanna fuck me, it'll cost you fifty."

He
removed the Jackson from his pocket and held it in the beam of the light.
"My call. You either want it, or you walk away now."

She
chewed her lip. Her overdone face coated in makeup disgusted him. The filth
rolling off her body, whether imagined or real, rolled his stomach. She was
just another whore, trying to survive.

And
to his preference, not one thing about the woman reminded him of Addison.

"I'll
take it, but you wear a condom," She shimmied out of her skirt.

He
wouldn't need protection. He'd never stick his dick in a dirty hole.

Stripped
of her clothes, she planted her hands on her hips, bored out of her mind. He
approached her silently, studying her. He was right. She'd willingly die for
the kind of pain he could give her.

He
backhanded her across the face, laying her out. He waited as she scrambled to
her knees. Her face lifted, an almost smile lit her mouth.

He
could spot a woman who loved pain with no problem. This one would beg him for
more before she blacked out.

Not
letting her open her mouth, he hauled her to her feet by her hair. Once she had
her balance, he removed his belt. Doubling the leather, he snapped her legs.

She
hopped on one foot, but remained in front of him. He hit her harder, walking
around not giving her a chance to think of anything but the snap of his belt,
the pain he was giving her. He'd make her earn every cent.

He
brought the leather down the length of her back, and brought her to her knees
on the concrete floor. Her grunt of pain echoed in the room. He planted his
shoe on her sprawled hand, holding her in place.

"You
get off on this," he muttered, putting more weight on her hand.

She
trembled, almost jerking out of his hold. He waited for his cock to harden, to
feel the rush of satisfaction, to warm and push away the cold pulsing in his
veins.

Nothing
happened.

He
yanked her head back at the same time he whipped the top of her thighs. The
buckle hitting bare flesh elicited a scream. The fear mingled with desire on
her face revolted him.

He
stepped back, confused over why he wasn't feeling anything. He'd used many
women over the years, since he was fifteen when he needed to relieve himself.
He'd degraded, he'd hurt, and he'd taken women when they were out of their
head, floating on the endorphins he created for them.

Satisfaction
refused to come, and he blamed the woman. He opened his fist and latched on to
her arm, pulling her up, leaving bruises on her too skinny limb.

She
panted, glazed eyed, and mumbling, no begging. He slapped her again, watching
the fluttered gaze. He spit on the ground and stepped back.

He
threaded his belt through the loops of his jeans and turned away from the
woman. Then he removed another hundred dollars from his pocket and tossed it to
the floor with the other one he gave her.

"No…please."
The woman reached for him. "More."

He
tilted her chin and forced himself to stroke his thumb along her cheek.
"Get a hotel room. Take the night off."

"More…"
She cried, falling forward and curling on the cold, hard floor.

He
walked to the bike, started the engine, and rode out the door. There was only
one reason why after all these years he couldn't find the place that made him
whole.

Addison.

He'd
tried to protect her, and in return, she'd made it impossible for him to take
his darkness out on someone else. A whore wouldn't do. He wanted Addison, but
he wanted her completely.

He
wanted to break her.

Chapter
Twenty-Five

After
a restless night, Addison paced the kitchen with her cup of coffee. She'd been
up two hours and gotten ready for work. At eight o'clock in the morning, Nathan
still wasn't at home, and she'd called in sick to work.

In
four years of running Carpool Dolls, she'd never taken a day off. If she had
appointments, she planned them for the afternoons, and made sure she was there
in the morning to prep the dolls.

It
was Joan's second day working, but she'd called Gee to cover for her. She
trusted her girls to see to business, and trained them herself. But, she had no
excuse for not going in.

She
brought the mug to her lips and her stomach somersaulted. Unable to drink, she
poured the contents in the sink and put the cup in the dishwasher.

When
Nathan came home, they were going to talk. She couldn't go on wondering what
was going on with him, and what his thoughts were toward their relationship. He
expected her to stay with him, and to hand all her thoughts and needs to him.
But what about him?

What
was he doing half the night away from her that he couldn't tell her?

She
hated secrets. Her whole life, she'd lived a lie and hid the truth, until Nathan
demanded she hand everything over to him.

Why
couldn't he trust her with his secrets?

She
held on to the counter and closed her eyes against the agony of wondering if he
had another woman he was seeing or if the pull from the streets called him back.
He seemed to miss the danger and rules he grew up with at times. He'd often
thumb his nose at how simple life was for him, when she knew being homeless
created the person he'd become.

He
claimed nobody, but his brother and Professor Frank. She blew out her breath. In
fact, he worshiped Professor Frank in a way that mystified her. Yet, he wouldn't
answer any of her questions.

She
knew he kept in contact with his mentor. Even at his age, he seemed to need the
respect and guidance. She never questioned why, but now she wondered if this
Professor Frank was doing more harm than good.

The
phone rang. She jolted and lunged for the handset on the counter.
"Hello?"

"Uh…is
Rafferty, Nate Rafferty available?" said a man.

"I'm
sorry. He's away from the phone right now." She searched the drawers until
she found a pen and a new envelope. "Can I take a message and have him
call you back."

"Sure.
This is Curt Stewart. He can reach me…"

She
pressed the phone to her chest. Then worried her father could hear her heart
pounding against her breastbone, she put the receiver back on her ear.
"I'll make sure he gets the message," she whispered, barely able to
get the words out.

Her
father chuckled. "No hurry. I'll catch him at his office later if he's
busy right now."

Her
breathe came fast and forceful. "Okay."

"Bye
now," he said.

"Bye."
She disconnected the call and let the phone fall from her hands.

She
sank to the floor and leaned against the cabinet, drawing her knees to her
chest. Her father knew where she was. She couldn't stay here.

Maybe
not today, but tomorrow or next week, Nathan would let her identity slip. He
was business associates with her father. The truth would come out, and she was
helpless to stop her father from knowing exactly who she was, and who her
mother was.

God,
she had to think. Her mom was right. She should've gone away to college and
stayed away from the Pacific Northwest. No place was safe.

The
only thing that stood between Curt Stewart and her was her mother, and now she
was dead and couldn't help her. If her father found out she was living so close
to him, sleeping with Nathan, he'd want to hide her from the public, so his
name wasn't tarnished. How many times had her mother told her that any contact
with her father would end badly?