Ménage Material [La Belle sans la Bete Ménages] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (14 page)

A part of him hoped that having Devvy with them, he’d be able to open up to a more affectionate kind of relationship with Sebastien. He both longed for that time and dreaded it. He’d never been an overly tactile person. His home life had prevented that.

His mother, divorced and shamed by it, loved him too much. As a boy, and a man. Only when he was little, there’d been no escape. She’d cling and grasp at him, trying to hold him back for fear of being alone, of being left once more by a man she loved. Frightened of his intelligence, jealous of it and the distance it placed between them. His early childhood had been a virtual tug of war. He’d been relieved when she’d taken a boyfriend, thinking she’d transfer the suffocating love onto her new partner. But that relief had soon turned to horror.

Alex tried not to think about it, tried not to think about the abuse, about what that bastard had done to him, but it was too late. He’d let the poison in, and now it was taking over. Invading his thoughts, memories, turning everything toxic. He tried to slam on the brakes, but to no avail. As usually happened, a question popped into his head, and it was that question that stewed his brain and triggered a meltdown.

Was his mother aware of what had been done to her once-precious boy? A son easily replaced by a man who had been the perfect partner, all of it for show, so his access to a small child would never be cut off.

The thoughts polluted the once-contented atmosphere of his post-orgasm buzz. The desire to be as close as possible to Devvy dissipated, and he pulled free, tugged away from her with a force that jolted her awake. He dragged himself off, sat on the edge of the bed and then, needing to hide from both her sleepy eyes and from the shame of his past, he sank down to the floor. Curling his legs up, he pressed them to his chest and bowed his head.

No amount of therapy could convince the little boy deep inside he’d done nothing to deserve such treatment. Rationally, he could blame the sick bastard his mother loved to this day. But feelings, emotions, memories…none of them were rational.

He wanted to scream. Wanted to rail with fury at those perfect moments of union being forever tainted by his past. Why had he thought of something that could never be changed? Why had he had to spoil such beauty with the stain of his childhood?

This was the major reason he’d been seeking a third for Bastien. Alex poisoned perfect moments. He couldn’t cope with them. When everything was going well, one thought could trigger the past, and inwardly everything would shut down. His brain detonated, and the only escape was his lab.

So many times he’d been with Bastien, happy and relaxed, then something would happen…he’d see a man who looked a little Pierre Defreine, his abuser, or Sebastien would slide a finger along his spine just like that bastard had once done. In that moment, he’d freeze, then usually say something to trigger an argument.

He couldn’t do that now. Not with Devvy, not when she was his and Bastien’s salvation.

That knowledge didn’t stop the pleasure of before turning to ice in his body. It only melted in the form of tears that spread along his eyes and slowly poured down his cheeks.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a soft hand touched his shoulder. He froze, trying to remember that it was only Devvy, not Pierre Defreine.

“Alex?” she asked, and he hated himself for having created that quiver in her voice.

Over the last two weeks, she’d come to relax around him. She’d softened, become content in his presence. In one fell swoop, his behavior would change all that if he wasn’t careful.

But even knowing that, the part of him that would forever be caged in ice wouldn’t let him relax. Couldn’t prod him to let his guard down.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her hand massaging his shoulder a little, kneading the tension gathered there.

“Nothing.”

His brusqueness should have pushed her away. She should have retreated in a snooty fit. After all, what grown lover took to the floor, curled up like a rebellious teenager against the bed?

“You’re lying,” uttered as a statement and not a question.

The words “leave me alone” trembled on his lips, but he thought of Bastien and what Devvy’s relationship to Alex meant to him. Alex had to give his lover Devvy. Her softness, her pure innocence would counteract the darkness in Alex’s soul. Darkness no amount of love from Bastien could counteract.

His therapist had told him to share the truth of his childhood with Bastien. In a relationship as long as their own, secrets of this nature should not be withheld. But Alex couldn’t do it. He couldn’t share this with his partner. He couldn’t taint himself in the other man’s eyes.

At his continued silence, Devvy ceased her gentle massage. She moved and he hoped she was going away, to the bathroom, anywhere so long as he could have a little room to comport himself, to get himself back on track. But she didn’t move far away. Instead, she crawled over the side of the bed and sat beside him, copying his defensive position.

“You’re not upset about what happened, are you?” she asked, her tone conversational, as though they were still bitching about the crap movie she’d wanted to watch.

“No.”

“Okay, that narrows it down. Are you frightened about Sebastien’s reaction?”

“No.”

“Do you think he’ll be mad we didn’t wait for him?”

“No.” He forced his lips to move, knowing how important it was to answer this question correctly. “He’ll be relieved. Happy. He wants this as much as we do.”

“Did I do something wrong?” she questioned, only this time uncertainty had crept into her voice.

He hated himself for making her nervous and made himself answer, “No. It was wonderful.”

She snorted. “Yeah, it really looks like it.”

Alex could sense her hurt, her confusion. The strength of her feelings battered him, and made him curl up a little tighter.

She rolled upward and sank back onto her knees. Tugging his fisted hands with both of her own, she swept her thumbs over the back of his hands, and just sat there with him. Slowly, gradually, she moved closer. Inch by inch, she crept forward. After around twenty minutes, she was pressed into his side, her arms awkwardly around him, tucked against him as though she were protecting him from the demons she didn’t know he possessed.

The crazy thing was…it worked.

Oh, the memories didn’t go. Nor did the oily sludge they left in their wake. But her warmth seemed to melt the chill deep inside and as slowly as she’d soothed and gentled him, he started to respond to her presence.

He swallowed, bitterly regretting the path his thoughts had taken him down. He hated himself for spoiling their first time. He imbued his regret and remorse into the kiss he pressed against her temple.

“Would you like to get under the covers?” she asked quietly, her voice as soft as the brush of a butterfly’s wings.

The inner ice surrounding his heart had sent a chill to all of his limbs. The room was more than comfortable, but to him, it felt as though the temperature were below zero. “Please.”

She nodded and started to move away. He surprised himself by reaching for her, and then forced his hands to stay by his sides as she climbed to her feet. She leaned over the bed and pulled the covers down and then bent over him, grabbed his arm and tugged him upright with surprising strength. She dealt with the wet condom half-falling off his cock. Pushing and prodding him onto the mattress, she—there was no other word for it—nursed him. Arranged him so he was comfortable and with swift hands, swaddled him in the duvet once he was positioned how she wanted him.

She retreated to the bathroom but was only there for twenty seconds or more, just long enough to dispose of the condom. He almost called for her to come back, another shock to his system, not actually wanting to be parted from her, but she’d returned by the time he’d dealt with his surprise at wanting her by his side.

Devvy switched off the lights, climbed into bed, and curled herself around him. She was softness, warm caring. Her very presence soothed the lost little boy that was still a part of the adult Alexei, the little boy who had been wronged. Why she calmed him down, he didn’t know. She was still a stranger to him. A woman who he was slowly getting to know after selecting her out of a magazine for her intelligence and pretty face, the eyes that had spoken to his very soul.

Why did that part of him, the raw and ragged ache in his soul—the part Bastien wasn’t even aware of because he’d hidden it—respond to her gentle nurturing?

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask anything of him. She just lay there, close to hand.

And after an hour in the dark, neither saying anything, both aware the other was awake, when he reached out for her hand, she slipped her fingers between his.

He slept, finally, with their fingers knotted, a bridge between two separate beings desperately seeking a lasting union.

As the lights from the terrace glared behind his eyes, Alex groaned, wishing he’d had the wherewithal to close the curtains the night before. The thought brought with it a memory of what had happened, and he realized
why
he hadn’t shut them.

He groaned with regret. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he tried to wish the night back but there was no use. The damage was done.

That thought was compounded when he turned to his side and found an empty space. A cold, empty space. She’d been gone a while.

His stomach twisted at the way he’d reacted last night. It was rare for the past to take hold of him, to grip him between clawed fingers, and throttle him until he was nothing more than the frightened nine-year-old being raped by a man his mother insisted he call uncle.

The years had a habit of falling away when the memories besieged him. Especially if he was feeling vulnerable, and Devvy certainly made him feel that way. She was special, this one. And he’d just fucked it up. Big time.

He climbed out of bed, feeling ancient as his bones creaked and complained. Padding to the bathroom, he pissed, and after washing his hands, splashed water on his face. The cool liquid soothed the tender throb behind eyes that had wept the night before. He decided to brush his teeth after he inhaled a full cafétiere of coffee. The caffeine was probably the only thing that would make him feel human.

Aside from Devvy or Bastien, of course.

He’d alienated one, and the other was on another continent. It seemed coffee was the only way to go.

Naked and feeling glum, he padded out of the bathroom and into the hallway. His penthouse was large. The bedroom at one side of the building, the lab in the middle, and at the opposite end, his living quarters. When he passed the lab, he heard the gentle tinkling of the piano keys, and at the sound, his heart literally fluttered in his chest.

To no other creature would he admit to a
flutter
, but the knowledge she hadn’t left made him feel as though a ten-ton weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

He hadn’t frightened her away. He’d probably freaked her out, but not enough to make her run.

Dieu merci!

Closing his eyes in thanks, he strode on ahead, uncaring of his nudity or morning breath. He just needed to see her. That would be enough.

He headed into the salon and saw her, shoulders and back bowed over the piano as she tinkled with the keys with a solitary digit from each hand.

Alex managed to enter the room and stand an inch away from her without her even realizing it. She jumped, her two fingers slamming down, when he cupped her shoulder.

“
Bonjour
, Devvy,” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

“Morning, Alex,” she replied, literally radiating tension through every stiff limb.

Feeling guilty for spoiling her moment of peace, he sighed and sat beside her on the duet piano stool—Bastien played rarely, but did if Alex asked it of him. As he took a seat, she chuckled at the sight of his nudity, when she finally peeked his way.

“Didn’t you think to put on a pair of pants?”

He shrugged. “No one to see anything. Apart from you and you’ve already seen it. Why? Does my cock offend you?”

She snorted. “We became quite good friends last night.”

“It is hoping we shall become more than just good friends.”

“I’m sure that’s in the cards.”

Her surety eased some of his own strain. When he didn’t reply, she returned to her single digit playing of
Chopsticks
.

“You are a master of the piano, I see,” he teased, and felt more of his tension disappear as she grinned up at him.

“I’m not a bad player actually. My mother forced lessons on me. She couldn’t seem to understand that I wanted to be a scientist. That I wanted to take a role in what she considers to be a man’s world. I think she’s read too many Georgette Heyer novels…” She paused, frowned. “Or maybe not enough. Mom’s certain the way to every man’s heart is to play the piano, ride, sing, paint…everything a Regency heroine can do.” Her words culminated with a rather impressive arpeggio that had him clapping.

“That’s an odd take on life.”

She shrugged. “That’s my mom for you. She’s very traditional, and because my father humors her, and because they’re quite wealthy, she gets away with it.”