HurtMeHealMe Read online

  He also couldn’t get past the fact that she looked so innocent. He kept going on about her big brown eyes and her delicate skin. “How could Ivan hurt you? How could he make you bleed? How could he damage such perfect skin?” He’d asked her that over and over.

  But that was exactly why she had been perfect for Ivan. It was because she looked so young and innocent that he wanted to corrupt her. Because her eyes were so wide and trusting that he wanted to see fear in them. Because her skin was so smooth and unblemished that he wanted to mark it.

  Caitlin got the feeling Thomas thought she was damaged, weak, fragile and in need of protection. And he wanted to be the one, her strong protector.

  But Caitlin knew she was stronger than most people would imagine.

  She’d like to see some brave, burly men take what she had endured at Ivan’s hands. She’d bet most of them would cry and beg before she was even getting warmed up.

  Caitlin was secretly proud of how much pain she could take. After each session with Ivan, she would feel…well, firstly, profound relief that it was over, but also a sense of pride that she had survived it. It was difficult to explain to someone else, without them wondering if they knew a good therapist they could recommend.

  The day after Caitlin had met Thomas in his office, he dropped by her apartment unannounced with some papers for her to sign. He had rung the doorbell just as she’d gotten out of the shower. She wrapped a towel around herself as she ran to the door and looked out the peephole to see him smoothing his hair and straightening his tie, as if he were showing up for a date.

  Caitlin had invited him into the living room and excused herself to get changed. When she turned, she heard his sharp intake of breath. Only then had she remembered the still-angry, five-day-old welts from Ivan’s whipping. Thomas had seen them. And she had just stood there, frozen to the spot.

  He came up behind her and started murmuring consoling, unintelligible words until his voice became so choked, he wasn’t able to say anything at all.

  He touched her skin so gently, as though he were terribly afraid to hurt her. And then he cried, showering her welts and bruises with his tears.

  Somehow she ended up cradled in his lap while he sat on the floor, her towel forgotten. He rocked her and kissed her hair and stroked her—her face, her arms, her legs.

  For the first time in a long, long time, Caitlin had felt safe and protected. She accepted his comfort. And cried as hard as he did.

  Thomas whispered that he would be gentle with her. He would protect her and he would never, ever hurt her.

  She cried even more hopelessly and knew without a doubt that it could never work between them.

  Even though early on Caitlin made it clear she couldn’t have a relationship with him, Thomas had declared his intention to spend more time with her so they could get to know each other better. Since then, he’d taken her out for regular, nonthreatening, purely platonic lunch dates. They talked a lot. And as promised, he never pressured her. He was always warm and funny and kind and caring and handsome and lovely and—so not right for her.

  * * * * *

  Thomas shut down his computer and sighed.

  “Tough week, huh?” asked Geoff as he sauntered into the office.

  “Yes indeed,” Thomas answered as he loosened his tie and leaned back in his leather office chair.

  Geoff poured two glasses of Thomas’ prized twenty-seven-year-old Laphroaig Scotch as if the stuff were orange Tang. Thomas couldn’t even muster up enough enthusiasm to object. So he was keeping it for a special occasion. What the fuck would that be anyway? He hadn’t had anything to celebrate for a while.

  Now if Caitlin would sleep with him, that would be cause for celebration. He’d swig the damn scotch straight from the bottle. And he’d probably do a little dance for the first time in fifty-odd years.

  God, that girl was amazing. It was proving a tad difficult to break through her barriers, though it would be worth it when he did. When. Not if. He was thinking positive, and besides, Thomas wasn’t used to taking no for an answer. He wasn’t belligerent or misogynistic of course, but he was the most persistent bastard he knew. He had set out to woo Caitlin. And he had been the perfect gentleman. Eventually she would see he was worth her trust.

  He thought back to their last lunch date. She’d had him in fits of laughter as she imitated what she referred to as his “pompous lawyer speak”. She’d totally nailed his accent, and totally taken the piss out of him. He might have been angry if it was anyone else, but Caitlin had such a way about her it was impossible to take offense. She was so honest and forthright it was refreshing. And there was no manipulative game playing. He knew that when she said something, that was exactly what she meant. He didn’t need a fucking manual to discover hidden meanings behind her words.

  Thomas loved the way she lit up when she got animated. But at other times she could be so quiet and introspective. She intrigued him. She was so beautiful and sweet and charming and witty and sexy and fragile and warm and soft.

  “What?” Thomas asked when he realized Geoff was staring at him, sitting on the highly polished credenza, comfy as you please.

  “Are you coming out for drinks after work with the office crowd?”

  “Ah, no.” No fucking way. Caitlin had finally agreed to have dinner with him. She couldn’t make it to lunch, so he talked her into a nighttime rendezvous instead.

  “Ally will be there,” Geoff stated, interrupting Thomas’ fantasizing about a little nighttime rendezvousing with Caitlin.

  “Who the heck is Ally? Oh, you mean Allison, the new secretary?”

  “Mmmm hmm,” murmured Geoff lasciviously. The dirty codger.

  “You know what I say about fishing off the company bridge.”

  “Ah, remind me again. I might what? Bag a catch? Net one in? Dangle my lure and reel in a,” he raised one brow, “redhead.”

  “Shut up, you tosser.”

  “You really need to get laid, my friend.”

  “What?”

  “You said that already,” observed Geoff and smirked. The fucker.

  Geoff was the golden boy of the firm. Although, he was nearing fifty, so not so much a boy, but golden man sounded rather—wrong. Anyway, this blond-haired, blue-eyed, tanned-skinned man-person was loved by every woman in the office, every judge whose bench he approached and every jury who so much as looked in his direction. He was suave in social situations and laid-back and cool as a cucumber, always. Until he got into a courtroom. Then he was like a shark with a can of chum.

  Thomas was starting to feel like a can of chum. He could almost feel Geoff beginning to circle. Swim away fast, little Ally, lest this shark get his jaws on you.

  “I haven’t seen you with one of your women in months.” He said “women” as if it were a dirty word.

  Thomas raised a brow. “Women?” He wasn’t questioning the statement, just the tone. Because Geoff was right, he hadn’t shagged anyone since meeting Caitlin. No wonder he was out of sorts. It had been a long time between drinks, so to speak. He took a gulp of his scotch and ignored the burn.

  “You know, the blonde bombshells with the power suits, always trying to muscle you onto your desk so they can get their sharp red claws down the front of your pants.”

  Thomas opened his mouth to answer, but Geoff continued. “And get you to scream their names in that oh-so-sexy foreign accent. Brandy—Shandy—Candy—Sandy,” he imitated in a breathy voice and an exceedingly poor English accent. The silly git. And then he went on, “While they hope you impregnate them with two-point-five children and buy them an Audi and a mansion in the suburbs.”

  God, Geoff was an arse. Except…well, fuck.

  Thomas felt as if Geoff had just kicked him in the knackers. And the reel played in his mind of all the Brandys and whatever-the-hell-their-names-were. All he saw was a blurry parade of aggressive, shoulder-pad-sporting, red-claw-wielding man-eaters. It was blurry because he forced his mind to play it in fast-forward.

/>   Thomas knew women were attracted to his money, status, career and—according to Geoff—his “gonadal emissions”. The more he thought about it though, the dirtier he felt.

  “So now,” the shark-man-person paused for effect, “you’re determined to seduce the lovely Caitlin.”

  The lovely Caitlin. Yes. Caitlin didn’t give a rat’s rear end about his wealth or status. Or, unfortunately for him, his sought-after swimmers. She was far from being one of those aggressive types. God, the woman was sexually submissive, and Thomas had never been with a woman who was submissive, sexually or otherwise. Caitlin was so sweet and sexy and soft and warm—

  Thomas experienced a large case of déjà vu. He’d already thought that about Caitlin. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t get his mind off her. Oh no, Caitlin wouldn’t demand. She would care about what gave him pleasure, she would be happy to give him what he wanted—sweet, giving, beautiful girl. Thomas was glad he was sitting behind his desk, so old Jaws couldn’t see his cock twitching in his trousers. Ah god, he wanted Caitlin. He wanted to have her and hold her and make her smile and laugh and he wanted to protect her and Christ, if he didn’t get into her knickers soon, he was going to turn into a screaming fecking nutter.

  * * * * *

  “So tell me,” said Thomas as he watched Caitlin from across the dinner table. “Is it the pain that you really need, or what if, say, someone was to whip you,” he looked around the restaurant to make sure no one was eavesdropping, “ah, to whip you without really hurting you? I mean, is that even possible?” he finished, dropping his voice to a whisper.

  Caitlin sighed. “Thomas, can’t we talk about something else?” She looked up at him and she had an adorable crinkle between her brows. She didn’t like talking about this stuff with him and he had to admit, it was all they’d been discussing for the past hour or so. But he was determined to find a way to give Caitlin what she needed. To be the man she wanted. He’d never before been written off as not being able to provide for a woman, sexually speaking, and he bloody well wasn’t about to give up where this woman was concerned. If he had to learn how to whip her without hurting her, then he would, god help him.

  “Caitlin, I really need to know if it’s at all possible. Can’t you just answer that question for me, luv?”

  She sighed again. “Erm, I don’t know, really. He only used the whip to hurt me.” He was how Caitlin referred to Ivan these days. Like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Which was rather fitting, because he was an evil fecking bastard. And if the swine were alive right now, Thomas wouldn’t hesitate to beat the snot out of him before cutting off his goolies and feeding them to him.

  “Caitlin, I’m ever so sorry about what he put you through.” Her mouth turned down in a little moue. Thomas reached out and stroked the back of her hand. “Poor girl. Oh you poor, darling girl.”

  Something flashed in Caitlin’s eyes when she looked at him. Something Thomas hadn’t seen before—well, not directed at him at any rate. He continued, slightly puzzled. “Have you ever thought that it might not really be the actual physical pain that you need, Caitlin? Perhaps it’s just…all the trappings, you know? I really would like to help you get over these problems you have. I mean, I could try…”

  Thomas’ voice trailed off as he watched Caitlin’s face. There was no mistaking it now. She was angry. At him.

  Ah bollocks!

  She looked as though she wanted to grab the candelabra from the table and hit him over the head with it. And then set his hair on fire.

  “Okay, Thomas. I’m going outside. Then I’m going to say what I need to say to you. And then I’m leaving.” Thomas tried to protest but she cut him off with a decisive slicing-hand motion. She stood, grabbed her handbag and strode resolutely out of the restaurant.

  Thomas made his exit from the restaurant in a far more undignified manner. He fumbled his cutlery and nearly knocked over his chair in his haste to pursue Caitlin. More than a few diners stared at him with avid curiosity but he avoided eye contact. He realized how he must have appeared to them—like some kind of bumbling idiot chasing haplessly after a woman. Embarrassed as he was at the picture he painted, he didn’t attempt to slow down or save his pride with some smartarse comment like, “Obviously the fish didn’t agree with her.” And normally while making said comment, he would insert a shrug, a bemused face and a manly chuckle where appropriate.

  God, was he usually such a prat?

  He took a deep breath as he saw Caitlin was in fact waiting outside for him. He slowed his pace a little and approached her with palms raised in a conciliatory gesture, but before he could even open his mouth to apologize, she started in on him.

  “The trappings?” Caitlin repeated his words in a harsh whisper.

  “What I meant to say, is—”

  “Help me get over my problems?” She spoke over him, barely moving her lips since her teeth were clenched so firmly together.

  God, what a cock-up.

  “You’ve been going on and on about how fragile I am. ‘Poor Caitlin this and poor Caitlin that.’ You know what? I don’t want your pity. I can’t stand it. The things you say make me feel like I’m broken—or damaged. And I’m not. Okay, so maybe I’m different, but I fucking survived that asshole. I survived when most other people wouldn’t have. And I don’t need you to fix me, Thomas. You cannot fix me and make me into the perfect little woman for you. And what was your plan anyway, huh? I mean, come on, trappings? You were going to strap on some leather pants and take me to your dungeon and what? Flick the whip around a bit and then…shag me? And if you think that’s all it’s going to take to make me come, forget it. Because I’ll tell you right now, it won’t.”

  Sodding hell, when she put it like that, it sounded like a bloody stupid idea, didn’t it?

  And when the waiter—who had the worst timing of all his kind on the face of the Earth—came looking for him with the bill, Caitlin spun on her heel and made a beeline for her car.

  Thomas looked between the escaping woman and the waiter, torn, wanting to chase after Caitlin but at the same time wishing to avoid a scene.

  As Caitlin drove away, Thomas grimaced at the annoying fellow in black and white and managed to pay up instead of doing a runner.

  God but Caitlin was magnificent when she was angry. All straight and proud, with her eyes sparking, admonishing him as if he were some errant schoolboy. Bloody glorious is what she was. And definitely not broken. She still had fire beneath all that demure, and he was so very glad that the fucking Geezer-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named hadn’t managed to douse that fire or obliterate her spirit.

  Problem was, he (the Tosser-Who-Must-Be-Named Thomas Carter the Third) had royally fucked up.

  But Thomas, like the bloody tank engine, would not give up. He’d find a way to make that incredible woman his.

  Oh, I think I fecking can…

  Chapter Four

  Caitlin was pulling on fishnet pantyhose. No easy task, since she hadn’t had any experience with the things before. She was glad she’d bought two pairs. The first one had ended up with a fist-sized hole in the thigh where her hand had slipped through while she was wrestling them on.

  Slipping into her tiny, flippy layered skirt and her high black fuck-me shoes, Caitlin surveyed her reflection in her full-length mirror.

  Goodness. That was different.

  It was a far cry from her usual pretty dresses or her professional business wear. Caitlin wasn’t sure what to think. She felt sexy and powerful and scared and out of her element and nervous and excited, all at the same time.

  She pulled the hem of her poor excuse for a skirt down as far as it would go. It moved about half an inch. Hmmm. Could she actually do this? Go out in public looking this way?

  But Caitlin didn’t want to stand out. She wanted to blend into the crowd. And apparently this is what people wore to clubs. BDSM clubs, to be precise.

  She knew because she’d bought a fetish magazine that had lots of pictures in it. She was practically over
dressed compared to some of the ensembles she’d seen. But Caitlin drew the line at going out in public wearing thong-style leather panties and a matching collar.

  She pulled her hair up and piled it on top of her head, turning side to side to get a look at her profile. She sighed and let it all go again so it tumbled around her face and down her back. Nothing really ever made her look older, much to her disappointment. She hoped people wouldn’t laugh at her, thinking she looked like a fifteen-year-old wearing her mother’s clothing. Although what kind of mothers wore this type of ensemble, Caitlin could only guess.

  She took a deep breath. She could do this. She needed to do this.

  It had been six months since her last sexual release. Geez, it sounded like a confession. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been six months since my last orgasm.” Ha! The old nuns at her boarding school would have been proud.

  Twenty minutes later, Caitlin stood on the sidewalk outside Dante’s Purgatory, the local BDSM club. Yes, this was probably where people came to suffer for their sins, she thought. How apt.

  Her tightly belted black overcoat flapped in the breeze. She shivered, not sure if it was from the cold or from trepidation.

  And there was definitely a reason to be trepidatious. That reason stood in front of the oversized metal door set in the black-painted brick building. The bouncer—an absolute mountain of a man—stared down at her with arctic-blue eyes, not blinking, not moving, not acknowledging her in any way. Was the man made of stone?

  Tattoos of flames licked up from the back of his neck all the way over his smooth-shaven head, to almost touch his eyebrows. He wore black leather pants that hugged his huge, powerful thighs and a tight black T-shirt in extra, extra, extra—to the power of ten—large that strained across his muscular chest and tightly crossed arms.

  No one would dare misbehave in this place. Unless of course there was no one inside because he’d scared all the potential customers away.