HurtMeHealMe Read online

  Paul felt his inner beast raging again to get to his woman. Get inside her. Get. Inside. Her. This time he didn’t even attempt to hold it back.

  He grabbed handfuls of lace and ripped her panties apart. Caitlin gasped, only adding fuel to his fire. He grabbed her coat and forcefully pulled it out from under her, her body sliding roughly along the bed as he did so. He shucked his jeans faster than he’d ever done in his life. Part of him felt he owed Caitlin an advance apology. This was going to be rough and fast and out of control.

  Almost as if reading his mind, Caitlin whispered in a ragged voice, “Paul, it’s all right, just take me. We’ve already had two whole weeks of foreplay.”

  God yes, they had. Two whole weeks of touching her and not fucking her. No wonder he was going out of his mind. She opened herself and reached out her arms, welcoming him.

  His mouth found hers, fusing with her lips, his tongue plunging into her hot mouth at the same time his cock plunged into her cunt.

  So hot and wet and fucking beautiful.

  He’d dreamed of feeling her with nothing between them, but this was better than his wildest dreams. He slid through her slick, silken channel, her cream easing his passage. Heaven.

  She clasped her legs around his waist and pushed up against him. Wanting him, wanting more of him. She moaned his name.

  His inner beast roared and he took his woman with a force and a kind of fury that frightened him. It was as if Paul, the controlled, planning, manipulating Dom, was standing back, removed, staring in a kind of fascinated horror at animal Paul. Savage, mindless animal Paul, who wanted to fuck his woman faster, harder, deeper. Needed to crawl into her, take her over, devour her. Mind, body, soul—all of it. Mine. Mine. Mine. Pure, primal sensation. Nothing but the heat of her body surrounding him. Her cunt pulsing around his pounding cock. Warm, slippery juices bathing him. Pushing her legs open wider, wider, wider. Open her up. Open her up for your cock. Aching balls slapping against parted ass cheeks. Yes. Yes. Yes. Ancient driving need to fill her womb with his hot seed. Fill her up.

  “Take it,” Paul yelled. “Fucking take it.” He swelled painfully and erupted, his cock jerking and spurting his cum deep within her, over and over and over, as if it were never, ever going to end.

  “Fuck!” Paul fell on top of Caitlin in a kind of dazed stupor. As if every last molecule of his energy had spurted out of him along with all the cum he’d pumped into her body.

  Caitlin wiggled underneath him and he came to his senses, rolling off her and pulling her to her side.

  He opened his eyes, his lids heavy, as if they were lined with lead, and looked at her.

  The look on her face was like a punch in the gut.

  She was suffering, frustrated, horny. And desolate.

  “Baby girl…”

  “Whip me,” she said in a throaty voice.

  “Sweetheart.” Paul climbed on top of her, straddling her. He leaned down and covered her mouth with his, kissing her deeply.

  She broke away from his kiss. “Whip me.” Her voice was stronger.

  He shook his head and leaned down to silence her once more with his mouth.

  Her eyes burned into him, pleaded. Her words were whispered, both a plea and a command. “Whip. Me.”

  “No. I can’t. Not that.”

  “Why?”

  God, so much anguish in that one little word. He mutely shook his head.

  Her face crumpled. “You know what I need. If you can’t give it to me, just,” she sobbed, “just get off me.” She started to struggle under him, tried to push him off.

  “No.” His heart was pounding. No. No. No. No. No. I can’t let you go.

  She started to get frantic, slapping her hands against his chest, pushing him. He grabbed her hands and trapped them on either side of her head. Forcing his weight down on her, he caged her with his body.

  She bucked her hips off the bed in an attempt to throw him off. She was screaming now. “Get off me. Just get off me!”

  “Please, Caitlin, calm down. Please.”

  “Calm down?” she yelled in his face. “Calm down? I need to come, goddamn it! Do you understand? Do you know how fucking excruciating it is? Can you imagine what you would feel like, being fucked and being right on the edge and every time not being able to come? Imagine not being able to come for eight whole months. Can you? Would you feel fucking calm?”

  She was struggling against his tight grip. She was incensed. He’d never seen her so angry. He’d never heard her curse like this before. She was seething, fiery and terribly beautiful. But then as quickly as it started, it seemed the fight suddenly drained out of her. She whimpered and turned her face away from him. And then she broke down.

  Her crying was tearing at his guts. He hated when she cried. He wanted her to stop. She mumbled something.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Red,” she whispered. “Red.”

  No! his mind screamed.

  She turned and stared into his eyes. “Red.”

  Her safe word. Fuck.

  Paul slowly climbed off Caitlin and off the bed. It took everything he had to force his limbs to move when all he wanted to do was hold her. Hold her and comfort her.

  He stood and watched as she woodenly struggled off the opposite side of the bed and got dressed. All she had was her coat. Her panties were a tattered scrap of lace and she had worn the shoes while he fucked her. He noticed the straps had come loose and fallen around her ankles.

  Caitlin buttoned her coat all the way to the top. The belt was tied nice and tight. When she sat on the bed and started rewrapping those velvet straps around and around her calves, he shuddered, remembering how he had looked forward to unwrapping them and then tying her back into those shoes the next time she had to put them on. A little bit of gorgeous bondage.

  Paul walked around the bed and stood in front of her. He got down on his knees. She looked at him and he could see the shock in her eyes.

  “Caitlin. Please don’t run away from me. We can work this out.”

  She sighed and reached out to touch him. She lovingly caressed along the side of his face. Touched his lips with trembling fingers. So much fucking pain in her heartbreaking eyes. He gritted his teeth harshly to stop himself from screaming.

  “Paul,” her voice trembled, “I can’t come unless you hurt me. You won’t hurt me.” She shrugged and pursed her lips. Tears fell from her lashes and trickled down her cheeks.

  He spoke haltingly in a broken voice. “We were making progress. I shouldn’t have done—what I did tonight. I’m sorry. I fucked up. I couldn’t control myself. You…you just—undo me. I had plans. We weren’t ready. We’ll get there, I promise you. We’ll get there.” Caitlin’s face got blurry and he blinked in an attempt to clear his vision.

  She smiled ruefully. “I love the things you do to me. I go crazy when you tie me up. Just crazy. You make me feel like I’m going to die if I don’t have you. But this is the way I am.” She shuddered as she took in a breath. “I’m fucked up, Paul. And you can’t fix me.”

  “Caitlin, I can make it better, I can. Just give me more time.”

  She shook her head, a small shake of disagreement. “Maybe you should take me to the club and…” She paused to gaze at him, looking as if she were afraid of what she was going to say next. “And—have Dante whip me.”

  She might as well have kicked him in the gut.

  She wanted someone else to give her what she needed.

  He wasn’t going to let another man get anywhere near this woman. His woman, goddamn it. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to rage and shout and tear everything up. Instead he took a deep breath. “No.”

  “But—”

  “There is no fucking way I will let any other man touch you, Caitlin. No. Fucking. Way.”

  She sighed. “Then why can’t you whip me, Paul? I’ve seen all your other toys. You have every other implement known to mankind—floggers, paddles, crops, straps.” She got a little furrow between her
brows. “Have you ever whipped anyone before?”

  “Look, what I do is erotic pain. I do it to heighten your pleasure. What I don’t do is torture and abuse.”

  She had a determined look in her eye. “I asked if you’ve ever whipped anyone before.”

  Paul took a long time to answer. When the answer came it was barely audible. “Yes.”

  “But you don’t do it anymore?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  He didn’t want to talk about it. It was too painful. The guilt—so much guilt. And anger. Rage. He’d kept it bottled up for so long, he was afraid to let it out.

  “Why?” she asked again.

  He shook his head, lips pursed tightly.

  “Tell me, Paul. You can tell me anything.”

  He sat mutely.

  “Please?”

  “Because I fucking hurt somebody, okay!” he burst out. “I hurt her so badly I fucking destroyed her.” Paul fell back until he was sitting on the floor. He couldn’t stop the shaking in his body, remembering what he’d done.

  Caitlin followed him down to the floor and held his face in her hands. “What happened, Paul?” He shook his head. “Please. Please help me to understand.”

  She was right. She needed to know why the thought of touching a whip paralyzed him. Why it made him want to throw up. Why it made him want to scream.

  He looked over her shoulder; he couldn’t meet her eyes.

  “It was a long time ago. At my old club in Huston, I used to do what Dante does at the club. People would line up to get tied to my whipping post. I’d handled whips out on the ranch since I was a kid and I perfected it over the years when I as training to be a Dom. I was good at it.” His eyes flicked to meet Caitlin’s. She was looking at him with concern, and he realized she was stroking his arm, small circles of comfort. He looked away again.

  “That night, I was whipping this gorgeous girl. Tiny thing—blonde and blue, innocent, like she’d just stepped off the bus in the big city. She was strapped to the St. Andrew’s cross, facing me. She was so new to the game I was scarcely touching her, you know, loud cracks, stopping short, only connecting with her body with light flicks.” He shook his head and sighed.

  “In that club there were no glass enclosures, like at Dante’s. The area was cordoned off with ropes. There was also alcohol allowed on the premises. This drunken asshole stepped into the roped enclosure and before anyone could stop him, he came too close. I didn’t see it, but apparently he was mouthing off and he pointed with his beer bottle at the girl. His bottle got caught in my whip and I had planned that stroke to be a fast, loud cracking one with no contact. Just using the sound to scare her a little.”

  Caitlin gasped.

  He looked at her again. “Do you know how fast a whip travels, Caitlin?

  “Yes,” she whispered. Of course she’d know; she’d been on the wrong end of one plenty of times.

  “The bottle struck her full-on in the face.”

  “Oh god.”

  Paul sat silently for a moment, remembering. He swallowed the bile in his throat.

  “It was like her face just…” He swallowed again. “God, there was so much blood. Her nose, her mouth.” His voice cracked. “She lost an eye, Caitlin. And later, they—I saw them picking her teeth up off the floor.”

  “Oh Paul!” She straddled him, her arms wrapped tight around him, one hand cradling his head, the other around his back. She held him tight in her arms, rocking him gently, whispering that it wasn’t his fault, over and over and over.

  * * * * *

  Paul woke up disoriented and wondered what the hell he was doing on the floor. Then the previous night came rushing back in all its fucking glory. Caitlin had held and comforted him while he poured his heart out, while he cursed and swore and while he sobbed against her shoulder.

  He must have fallen asleep right where he was. Except now he had a pillow under his head and a blanket over him. He smiled. Caitlin. Gorgeous girl. Where was she?

  He heard noises from the kitchen and smelled coffee. Mmmm. Incredibly wonderful girl.

  Caitlin was standing with her back to him, lifting fried eggs from a pan onto a plate. The table was set and there was already a platter of bacon, fried tomatoes and toast in the center. His stomach rumbled loudly and he saw Caitlin’s posture immediately stiffen. She knew he was there, however she didn’t turn around. Strange.

  She was wearing her trench coat again. Also strange. Normally she would have donned one of his T-shirts. He loved when she wore his T-shirts the morning after. She would sit in his kitchen all mussed and rumpled, her gorgeous, smooth legs bare, his shirt always falling down one arm or the other, exposing the slope of her shoulder and her delicate collarbone.

  He walked over and wrapped his arms around her. “Good mornin’,” he whispered in her ear. Her posture stiffened even more.

  “Good morning,” she replied in a monotone voice.

  Shit, last night she’d been so forgiving about what he’d done to Nikki. But maybe she’d had time to think about it and she was…what? Angry, disgusted, frightened? All three?

  She tried to walk to the table with his arms still around her. He let her go.

  “Ah, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”

  “Um, breakfast’s getting cold. Maybe we should eat.” She wouldn’t look him in the eye.

  Bad. This was bad.

  They both sat and ate in silence. There wasn’t much actual eating going on, but there was a lot of moving food around on their plates. It all smelled great, but everything Paul tried to eat felt like a mouthful of sawdust. And it was just as tough to swallow. He gave up trying.

  He watched Caitlin surreptitiously the whole time. She wasn’t faring much better. She picked up her coffee cup and her hand shook so badly, the liquid sloshed over the rim and onto the table. When he looked into her eyes, he saw they were filled with unshed tears.

  He had a bad, bad feeling. And before anyone said anything, he wanted to just gather her up and hold her and tell her everything would be fine. He would gag her if he had to, to stop the words. The words were going to be bad. Please, please don’t say them, Caitlin.

  “I almost left this morning.” Her voice was terrible and desolate. “I was going to leave you a note.”

  Paul swallowed with difficulty and gritted his teeth.

  “I—I couldn’t. You deserve for me to tell you. It’s just so—agonizing.” The last word was broken sob.

  Paul couldn’t say a word around the lump in his throat. He gripped the edge of the tabletop.

  “Paul, I’m sorry, but this,” she waved her hand between them in a waffling motion, “us—it’s not going to work. I have to leave.” Tears were streaming down her face. Her lip was quivering. She got up and approached him slowly. Her fingers fluttered so gently around his face, she was almost not touching him. And then she leaned down and brushed her lips so delicately against his. That electric buzz he got whenever their lips touched made his tingle. He closed his eyes as he felt her trembling breath in his mouth.

  She pulled away too soon. He sat still, grinding his teeth, gripping the table, trying to get control over his feelings. God, he was shaking, and if he let go, if he just let it all go, he was afraid of what he might do. Afraid of what he might do to her. What he might do to keep her there with him. Always. Mine.

  She had reached the door.

  “I love you, Caitlin.” He didn’t recognize his own voice. “I love you.”

  Her face crumpled and her body seemed to fold in on itself, as if he’d given her a body shot.

  She wrapped her arms around herself, looking as if she were trying to stop herself from falling apart. Her words came out between broken sobs. “Please, Paul. Please don’t make it more excruciating than it already is.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment. He gazed into those beautiful, haunted eyes, filled with so much raw pain, and he knew—he knew, even though she hadn’t said it—she felt the same as he did. S
he loved him.

  She turned and walked out the door. He heard the quiet click as the lock snicked into place.

  And then Paul went fucking crazy.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dante threw the furniture assembly instructions to the ground in disgust. “I’ve read through that three times now and I don’t know what language it’s in, but it still makes no sense to me.”

  Paul managed a halfhearted smile as he whacked a chair leg into submission with a hammer.

  Dante grimaced. “So, my friend, I know you’ve been in a foul mood all day and I’ve let you have your quiet time. I’ve traipsed all over the countryside helping you pick out new furniture. But it’s Sunday night and instead of being at the club, where I’m supposed to be, I’m here in your apartment getting blisters, building furniture that was made in the Democratic Republic of the Clueless. You think you could just give me some small hint as to what’s going on?” Dante cocked an eyebrow. “And what was wrong with your other furniture, anyway?”

  Paul stood and motioned with a nod of his head for Dante to follow him. Dante stood up and brushed some stray wood dust off his five-hundred-dollar jeans. When Paul opened the doors to his balcony, Dante gasped.

  “Madre di dio.”

  Dante took a hesitant step outside into the pile of broken timber that used to be Paul’s dining room furniture. He picked up something that might have been a chair leg at one time. “What happened, Paul?” He held up the splintered piece of timber in a questioning gesture.

  “I, ah…” Paul gulped. “Caitlin left me and I—I fucking went crazy and smashed some shit up.” Paul looked at the ground feeling like a totally out-of-control ass, wondering if Dante would be inclined to strap him in a straightjacket. He probably would. There was one in a playroom at the club.

  “You love her, my friend.” It was a statement.

  It was pointless denying it. “How do you know I love her?”

  Dante smiled that close-mouthed, secret smile he was famous for. The one that made all the women in the vicinity cream their panties. “I’ve never known you to destroy furniture before. You have your women, one night here, two nights there, and then you leave. You smile and disarm them with your ‘aw shucks’ Texas good ol’ boy charm and you always seem to part amicably from your lovers. I’ve never known you to chase a woman the way you chased Caitlin. I’ve never seen you care this much, show this much emotion.” He shrugged. “It’s obvious—you’re in love.”