Wishes (6 page)

Chapter Four

Kennedy woke in a room filled with late-afternoon sunlight. Graham slept on, holding her closely to his chest, although his penis had slipped from her. She tried not to analyze what had taken place since she let him into her apartment because it now felt like she had invited a vampire inside. He could never be kept out now and would bring her incredible pleasure while keeping her under this thrall. What if he sucked her dry? She wondered how she would find the strength to run, and to where. The experience had been incredible, and he was still with her. Sooner or later, he would push her with that lifestyle of his and the BDSM would trigger her PTSD, and she couldn’t live through that.

She watched him sleep. He looked almost harmless in repose, despite his enormous chest and biceps. With face relaxed, the dominant man at rest, Kennedy could almost convince herself that it might be different, but she knew better. How to ease him away from her and give her enough time to move on with her life, sans Graham? He hadn’t noticed or felt her scars yet, or if he had, their passion hadn’t given him time to remark on them. The doctor had assured her that the marks were nearly invisible, but she felt them. She knew they were there. And Graham would find them and ask her about them. He wouldn’t let her prevaricate, and that would push her over the edge. She would freak out on him.

Kennedy closed her eyes against sudden tears. She had wept out so much ugly pain in his arms. How could he do that to her, break her down that way? But according to her readings, that was what some Doms did best. Therapy, according to Graham. Too big a risk, too much to lose, despite her feelings for him. He was possessive of her, but that, too, was a Dom thing. She wanted a white picket fence life. She deserved it, according to her therapist, but wanting and needing and getting were rarely on the same page, and she was in bed with a fucking Dom. She carefully extricated herself from Graham’s hold, wondering that he could still sleep, and then realized he had probably worked all night at the club. Fucking her was probably the second or third event for him in a twenty-four-hour period. That hurt. She would take the unexpected time alone to build some inner walls to defend herself.

After a quick shower, Kennedy put on staid white underwear and a matching cotton bra then drew on a pair of sweatpants and a loose T-shirt. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, the braid having been undone by Graham at some point earlier. She brushed her teeth vigorously but eschewed makeup and hoped she looked like a serious woman who was not interested in further sexual activity. She made her way into the kitchen and began to put the ingredients together for biscuits once she had dumped a container of frozen stew into the microwave to thaw. She’d heat the stew in the oven and bake the biscuits alongside. She couldn’t think further than that and sat staring into space, waiting for the microwave to stop. Depression fell over her like a wet, cloying blanket as the memories crept into her subconscious.

She had loved her job in Connecticut. She was hired right after graduating from college. Alex Demars had been a wonderful boss, a kind and caring man, ill-suited to head up a business in such a cutthroat industry, but he hadn’t asked for it. He stepped up to fill his brother’s role after the man and his wife had been killed in a car accident. Alex knew he wasn’t the CEO his brother had been, but for the family’s sake, he was willing to try. He was smart enough to surround himself with talented people and take advice and guidance from those he trusted. Alex knew people inside and out, and he was an excellent judge of character. Kennedy was jarred from her reverie at the beeping of the microwave. She forced herself to her feet and filled a small roaster with the stew and set it to bake in the oven. The biscuits began to take shape under her hands as she remembered.

Kennedy replaced a woman who had worked for Alex’s brother and was well into retirement mode. She had hung on for a few years but had finally convinced Alex that he needed to find someone else. Kennedy soon learned that her job was to keep Alex focused and protect him from those who would waste his time while ensuring that he didn’t feel isolated from his staff. She knew that she had become invaluable to him, and her salary reflected it, not to mention being included in his family. Alex’s wife, Susan, was a gracious woman, unthreatened by the much younger Kennedy’s proximity and involvement in Alex’s life. She could have been the mother Kennedy longed for. And then she met Randall.

Randall was Alex’s brother’s son, the eldest of three children orphaned by that car accident. Alex’s and Susan’s nephew and twin nieces had moved in with them following the loss of their parents, and Kennedy found the girls charming. They were close to graduating from high school and seemed to flourish in Alex’s and Susan’s home. Randall, on the other hand, had been asked to leave two colleges for behavior that was never discussed within Kennedy’s hearing, although it might have helped her to avoid what happened later had she known what he had done. Not that she didn’t know there was something wrong with Randall. She treated him with total civility but remained aloof and was careful not to be alone with him whenever she visited Alex and Susan.

Randall would watch her when she visited, sometimes in the same room, but more often from a doorway or the stairs. It gave her the creeps, and from time to time Susan would look at her and visibly close her lips over something she wanted to say. Alex would glare at Randall and motion him to leave but seemed powerless to do anything more. Kennedy didn’t want to stop going to their home for a meal or a celebration, didn’t want Randall to spoil it for her, but she was close to doing so before Randall…

Graham stalked into the kitchen and pressed against her, slipping his arms around her waist and then lowering his mouth to her neck.

“I wondered what smelled so good,” he rumbled, “and now I’m torn between you and whatever you have cooking.”

Kennedy began to cut out the biscuits and lay them on the cookie sheet. Graham tensed and stepped back from her, moving around the island to look at her face.

“Kennedy.”

She was helpless against his dark Dom voice and raised her head to look at him.

“What happened, honey?” he asked gently. “And don’t lie to me.”

Well, if he wanted to know, then he would know.

 
“You happened to me, Graham, you,” she said. “You want honesty? Well, I hope you can take it because here it is,” she said bitterly.

“You tracked me down. You wore me down. Well, good on you, the man of experience. And now my head is fucked. I’m back to where I was a year and a half ago, and I don’t have the strength to do it again. No!” Kennedy fairly shouted it at him when he moved to interject. “I’m going to say it all.”

She shoved the cookie sheet in the oven to give herself time to breathe and continued.

“I tried to stay away from you. I begged you to stay away from me. This isn’t fate, Graham. This is fucking doom,
my
doom. I’m losing the hold I had on my life because of your lifestyle, and I can’t do it. I just can’t. I can’t allow pain, even erotic pain, to combine with sex.”

Kennedy crumpled to the floor and covered her face with her hands. She had no more tears, but her eyes burned and her chest ached. She felt Graham pick her up and tried to find the strength to resist but had none. He shushed her and rocked her on his lap after he sat down with her on the couch, but she couldn’t find any comfort. She wanted to disappear, fade away, die. She was tired to death, and he had done this to her, ripped her defenses away in a few short hours. He and the memories would absorb her, consume her.

“Honey,” he crooned, “you don’t have to do anything alone. I’m here now. I’ll help you.”

Kennedy couldn’t answer, so she just huddled like the sack of shit she was. After a while, Graham helped her to a chair and served up the stew and the biscuits. He patiently made her eat a few mouthfuls before taking care of his own hunger. Then he cleaned up. Kennedy listened as he called someone named Jordan and asked him to take his shift. It appeared he wasn’t leaving, and she wished she could tell him to go and let her be by herself.

* * * *

Graham was concerned by Kennedy’s retreat into herself. When he asked her if she had any medication to take, she had shrugged, and no coaxing or insistence elicited a verbal response. He felt hugely guilty and anxious about her earlier accusations. What if he had indeed set her back? She needed to talk to him, tell him what had happened to her. He couldn’t fix what he didn’t know was broken. It never crossed his mind to leave her alone as she had begged him to or take her to a doctor. Kennedy was his, and he hadn’t imagined her response to him that afternoon. Graham was good at puzzles. Now, all he had to do was start putting the pieces together.

He started by removing Kennedy’s clothing. She didn’t resist until he got down to her modest white panties and even then made only a token effort. She smelled of soap and woman, and he decided to take the time to examine every inch of her. It felt like the right thing to do, and he didn’t question it. He laid her on the bed and turned on both bedside lamps and the overhead light. Kennedy tried to curl around on herself when he did that and pushed at him when he positioned her flat on her back with her legs spread and her arms above her head.

“Go away,” she said petulantly. “What in hell are you doing?”

“I’m inspecting my property, wench,” Graham advised her. “I didn’t do a proper job this afternoon.”

Kennedy squinted her eyes against the glare and sat up, shielding her breasts with one arm and covering her pussy with her other hand.

“Do not cover yourself, Kennedy,” Graham ordered.

“Fuck you,” she snarled, albeit halfheartedly.

“I’ll tie you down if I have to, or you can lie back and let me explore you.”

Fear warred with anger in her remarkable eyes, and fortunately, anger won. It pulled her from that weird state of isolation. She came up off the bed so quickly that she nearly got past him, but he managed to get an arm around her and toss her back onto the mattress where she bounced, her breasts jiggling prettily.

“It’s me, honey,” he reminded her, “and I won’t do anything you won’t like in the end.”

“I’m no one’s property, you bastard.”

Now there was his girl. Not that he was going to let her get away with her attitude.

“On your back, legs spread, hands over your head. Now.”

Graham yanked his belt off when she didn’t immediately comply and lunged to cover her with his bulk, effectively wrapping her little wrists up and managing to secure them to the brass headboard. He speculated that he would probably have just minor bruising from the crack he took on his cheek from her lethal skull and congratulated himself on avoiding her teeth all together. He rummaged through her dresser until he found enough scarves to fashion ankle restraints, then timed her kicks well enough to hold a leg and tie her into place. Then he stripped and climbed onto the bed beside her.

* * * *

Kennedy couldn’t believe the highs and lows she had just experienced. She truly was a nutcase. Postcoital depression? No, it was more than that. And now she was tied down and totally exposed under merciless light for his freaking inspection. If depression was anger without the enthusiasm, then what the hell was this feeling? She was pissed off, embarrassed, a little anxious, and a lot aroused. She couldn’t take the low that would inevitably follow more fantastic sex with Graham and tried to find the words to tell him.

“Please,” she tried.

“Please what, honey? Too late for apologies. Ten.”

“I don’t mean that, Graham. Please listen to me.”

Graham frowned at her. “Then tell me.”

“I liked what happened earlier, and then afterward I crashed. I really hadn’t felt that bad since, well, since someone hurt me eighteen months ago.” Eighteen months, eleven days, and sixteen hours to be exact.

“I just don’t have the reserves,” she continued, “I can’t keep coming back. You can’t do this to me.”

“Honey, I am not your doom. You and I have something together, and I’m not letting you push me away. We’ll work through this together, sweetheart. We will.”

“You aren’t listening to me, Graham. You were bothered by my crash in the kitchen right? Well, you ain’t seen nothing yet, buddy, if I go off on you.”