Restless Spirit (10 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Oh shit. Oh shit. There was no time to say a word. I was lost in the feel of his hands on me.

I had asked for his punishment, to experience his “deviance”. I had asked and he had agreed. I had no idea there had been any kind of impetus under it all. Other than I frustrated him, maybe. I frustrated a lot of people.

The blows landed one after another, firm and stinging but controlled. He was not going to hurt me for clearly hurting him.

The realisation that seeing me fucking Reed had hurt Shepherd registered only fleetingly before another blow chased it away.

Like any good man he didn’t let his anger control his hand. He let his hand control his anger. Delivering hard but well-tempered blows so that my back bowed up and my head fell back.

I sighed low in my throat feeling that blissful place where pain bled quickly into pleasure and amplified the need between my legs.

‘Shepherd,’ I gasped.

‘That fucking made me crazy, you know.’ He said it conversationally. Like we were having coffee and he was sharing a secret.

His hands smoothed mesmerising circles over my skin – the skin he had just tortured – and when he dipped a finger into my pussy to test me, all of my body responded. I moaned – a mournful desperate sound that had him growling in the darkness – and then the blows began again.

On the meat of my ass cheek, then down to my thighs. When he delivered one smart blow upward between my legs, smacking my clit so it tingled and throbbed, I sobbed out loud. ‘I’m sorry I hurt you.’

‘You didn’t hurt me,’ he said.

He pushed me to my back, his eyes darting around the room.

‘Nightstand,’ I said. ‘And yes I did.’

He gritted his teeth and spread out over me to reach the drawer. When he wrestled the condom on, he faced me. Anger rippling beneath the surface of his skin, trying so hard to imprint his face with a whole slew of emotions. He stilled his expression into a mask and said, ‘You. Did not. Hurt. Me.’

His fingers dug into my hips and I opened my legs for him. Opened wide so the heated rod of his cock could press to my wet centre, so he could feel how fucking wet I was. How much I wanted him. Just what he did to me.

The muscles in his jaw danced and bunched again as he controlled his emotions. ‘I did hurt you and I’m sorry.’

He put his hand over my mouth, almost – but not quite – blocking my air, and shoved into me. It was a brutal welcomed thrust that had my entire cunt flexing up around him.

‘Shut up, Tuesday,’ he said gruffly but not unkindly.

I had no choice. He was cutting off my air and yet I did not struggle as he drove into me. The heady buzz, the tiny spots, all of it heightened the feeling in my pussy as he nudged my G-spot with every long thrust.

I gasped gently when he moved his hand up for a heartbeat. He shoved a meaty hand under my ass and angled me and when I curled my thighs around his waist to get him deeper he growled. The growl made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and my nipples prickle.

He dipped his head to snag one hard spike of flesh in his sharp, sharp teeth. He tugged it to the point of perfectly controlled pain and I came. I struggled accidentally for a moment when the air did not flood my lungs as usual.

Shepherd moved his hands to rest against my throat, his thumbs pressing my pounding pulse as his movements became more frantic. More animal than man.

‘I’m sorr–’ I started again. Maybe partially to provoke what he did next.

He squeezed my neck just enough to stop the words. To make me choose air or speech and I chose air.

His hips rocked as his bulk covered me. Instead of feeling smothered, I felt secure and I parted my lips and he took my mouth in a kiss. ‘Shut up, Tuesday,’ he said in my ear as he came.

I let myself hold him for a moment. I let myself enjoy the heated weight of him pressed over me. But when it became too nice, too lovely, I moved out from under him.

‘I know it’s late,’ I said, feeling suddenly claustrophobic. Anxiety sizzled through me and I didn’t really know why. ‘And I’m sorry, but I want to go to …’ I waved my hands indicating my bed.

My throat was too small and my eyes burned with what I feared was the beginning of tears. What was wrong with me? I was hurting him again, I could see it in his eyes. He’d nodded once and stood to pull on his jeans. The light from the balcony hit him square in the face and I could see the pain there as plain as day. Buried way down deep but recognisable if you looked.

‘I’m sorry, Shep–’

‘It’s cool,’ he said. He even smiled at me. When he touched my face my heart broke. ‘I get it.’

When he moved his hand away and I felt the absence of his touch, my heart broke again.

‘I’m confused, is all. I am so …’

‘You just lost your grandmother. New life. Ex behind you. I get it.’

I wanted to change my mind and ask him to stay. I wanted to tell him I was stupid and confused and would he please hold me. Instead I watched him go.

I slipped my pyjama pants up over my hips and tied them. Pulling his hoodie back on I felt a stab of some brutal emotion in my chest. Jesus. When I heard the front door shut, I raced down to lock it. Now that he was gone I felt on edge. On edge and nervous and yes, stupid. I felt stupid and horrible for hurting him. It dawned on me as I turned the lock with shaking hands.

‘You just had a bit of a reaction to the pain, you ass.’ My voice sounded hollow and wounded even to me. ‘You got freaked out after the fact. Because of Phil. Because of how it turned last time.’

I shook my head and did allow myself a whole minute to cry. I had just hurt Shepherd because I had wigged out post pain, post orgasm, post … trust.

There was trust and there was trust. There was I trust you to be in my body and fuck me but using my boundaries and rules. And then there was what I had just offered him. I trust you to be in my body and for you to fuck me and I trust you to know where to take me … how to take me … how far to go to get me where I need to be.

I dialled his number and no surprise, it rang and rang and rang. I left a message when his outgoing snippet simply said, ‘Go for it.’

‘It’s me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Shepherd. I freaked out. It was … other stuff. Not you. It’s a long boring story involving a girl who waited too long to leave a guy who lost his way and got heavy handed and stupid with the hitting. And I’m sorry. Even if I didn’t hurt you, you said I didn’t …’ I stammered. ‘I’m still sorry. I think I had a little post traumatic freak out there. And I am sorry.’

I hung up quickly before I could make a bigger fool out of myself by saying I was sorry for the millionth time. Which was ironic because Nan used to tease me I was damn near the perfect person if only I could learn to say that I was sorry.

‘I learned, Nan!’ I yelled.

I ran a hand through my hair and something banged again on the deck. Maybe Shepherd had come back. Maybe he was out there now. I raced to the door and threw it open before thinking.

Nothing but wind. Nothing but wind and darkness and empty night. I shivered and went to shut the door. I pulled the blinds down to shut out the blackness that pressed to my window.

‘Nothing,’ I said. But I had seen that all the deck furniture was pressed to the wall. None of it had moved along the wooden slats. So what had I heard?

‘You heard your own damn guilt stomping around in your head, crazy ass talking to yourself motherfucker,’ I said in my best Samuel L Jackson voice. Then I laughed and dragged myself up to bed.

I shut the lights off along the way and when I got into my room I happened to glance out. Hoping Adrian was warm and hoping soon he’d find a good woman. He deserved one.

There was that flash of light again in the potting shed. A warm glow that I somehow lost when I moved the wrong way.

Maybe it was a reflection of light from somewhere else, I thought for the second time. I’d have to check. But for now, the weight of the day was heavy on me and I curled into the bed, holding a chunk of sheet that smelled particularly like Shepherd to my nose to calm my nerves.

‘It is completely normal to sniff the scent of a man you just shunned. That is totally normal, to feel better having the smell of him in your nose. You idiot …’ I mumbled.

Usually I drop off into sleep like a rock falling from a bridge. This time I felt myself drifting. Felt myself falling. The floaty surreal feeling rushed up to grab me with pliant hands and in that instant I felt his hands around my neck again. And the odd but overwhelming trust and safety I had felt at that moment.

My grandmother was a beautiful woman. Snow-white hair she liked to dye penny red. But when she let it go it was the colour of fresh untouched snow.

I stared at her. I knew it was a dream. Even in the dream I was no fool, but I hadn’t gotten to say goodbye so I let it play out, cherishing the feel of her here with me.

She kissed me. Her lips and skin so very cool and dry, the way they’d always been in life. When she kissed me it always made me think of leather or silk smoothed by time. There was such comfort in a kiss from my grandmother.

Even one that wasn’t real.

‘A man can be aggressive without being violent.’

I blinked at her. Nodded.

‘And you can be scared but honest.’

Another nod. My eyes were going haywire, tears I fought doubled and then trebled my vision. I swallowed, my throat painfully tight.

‘But most of all Tuesday Child, be honest with yourself.’

I woke long enough to brush the tears from my face and zip Shepherd’s hoodie all the way to my neck. Fall wind – violent even according to the locals – nipped and whispered along the eaves of my house. I clutched the man-scented sheet back to my face and slid back into slumber.

This time I dreamed of trolls in small houses, phantom lights, ghosts with bad intentions and pain that had nothing to do with orgasms.

When morning came I was grateful to wake up. I felt less rested than I had in days. And it had nothing to do with Shepherd or hurt feelings or fucking too many guys or confusion. Something was wrong and I simply didn’t know what.

Beyond all the obvious stuff, I mean.

Chapter Eighteen

It amazed me to a degree how easily I’d slid into lake life. I shuffled down to the kitchen after pulling on some big wool socks. Fall did not come to the country the way it did to the city. In the city you got little licks of cool temperatures and then slammed with Indian Summer. The blacktop and the building and the chaos tended to trap the heat and keep it there longer.

At Allister Lake the cooler temperatures swooped between buildings, rushed off the water, rubbed itself against redwood siding and A-Frame abodes. It ripped through the lakeshore neighbourhood squealing like a banshee. And I loved it.

I poured my coffee slowly after sitting in a stupor and watching it percolate. When I saw the rug out of place by the kitchen door I pictured Shepherd standing there. Grinning. Imposing and full of intense energy that always made me feel alive and a little bit kinetic.

‘Jesus, Nan,’ I whispered, recalling my dream. ‘I need to go say I’m sorry to his face. Like a big girl.’

My mind supplied a vivid image of my grandmother’s smile and that made me smile. She always wrapped her arms around me from behind, peeking her face over my shoulder. She was shorter than me so the hugs had always made me laugh. I nearly felt that phantom hug and was grateful for it. My grandmother was the only real family I had, even dead. So feeling her presence, true or imagined, made me calmer.

Some frozen pancakes heated in the toaster oven with warm syrup served as breakfast and I promised myself I’d go to the grocery store today. Irv had called bright and early to say that his niece would be filling in for Delores today but could I do tomorrow. I’d called back to confirm.

A quick shower and then I hunted for clean clothes. Jeans and boots and a big grey sweater seemed good for a day the colour of pewter. But I loved this weather and I wouldn’t complain. Stomping across the gravel to Shepherd’s house, I remembered the light in the potting shed and made a mental note to ask Adrian for the key. But the thought floated from my head as I got up on Shepherd’s front porch.

Jesus. My heart was pounding.

I knocked. For a split second I wondered if Adrian was watching. Or my ghost in the potting shed. Or Nan?

I turned, feeling the hair on my nape sway with nerves, but saw no one. No one to see because no one was there. I was just being a freak.

I knocked again, pounding harder.

Nothing.

The truck was parked by the front as usual. Maybe Shepherd was out back. I walked back down the wide wooden steps and made my way to the side. When I rounded the back I saw a door in the ground open and heard music.

A door in the ground? Was he a hobbit?

For some reason my own confusion struck me as so amusing I started to giggle. Until I approached the hole and the music came into focus. Jeff Buckley’s haunting voice.
Remember when I moved in you …
When he sang Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah my entire body went rashy with goosebumps. Always had, and when I studied my arm I saw it still did.

‘Hello?’ For some reason I whispered. Possibly I was afraid, possibly intimidated. Possibly I did not want him to know I was coming.

‘Shepherd?’ I whispered, trying to force my voice louder and failing.

I moved down three steps and realised it was a storm cellar. Dug into the earth not far from the house, it was set to the left of the house, just a few running strides from his back door.

‘Shep?’ I managed to be a bit louder but nothing compared to the music.

Hallelujah … Hallelujah …

I shut my eyes for a moment, drinking in the song. Trying to get my damn heart to stop pounding so that when I got the chance to say I was sorry I didn’t sound like a moron.

My body swayed lightly due to anxiety and rotten sleep. I steadied myself and walked to the bottom step. The overhang was so low I had to duck my head.

His back was to me. Broad and muscular in a navy blue pullover with a touch of leather on the collar. I had no idea why that was so fucking sexy but it was. His hands, big and dusty, glided over a medium sized bookshelf as he sanded layers of old paint off. I watched him move, how at ease he was. How his hands could make the sander behave and how after he sanded, he stroked the wood almost gently with the other hand. I watched him and remembered those hands on me. The blows of each spank rocking my body but then the gentle throbbing that he soothed with a callused hand.

‘Shepherd?’ And still my voice refused to behave and I went unnoticed. He stood and stretched, dropping the sander as the track changed and a whole new song filled the small stone space.

‘Shepherd?’ I managed in the brief moment of silence. He didn’t startle or tense, he just turned with a smile.

The smile went right to the centre of me. A white-hot lightning bolt of lust wracked me and I hugged myself against its impact.

He didn’t say anything.

‘Hi,’ I said.

He nodded. ‘Hi. Did you sleep well?’

He wiped his hands with a shop rag and tossed it on a stool. My eyes ticked off everything I could find just to distract myself from my nerves. A shelf overhead full of small boxes, jars of screws, a bag of shop rags. A handmade wooden counter ran the right wall and the shelves beneath held everything from heavy duty glue to knots of rope to rolls and rolls of tape.

‘No,’ I whispered.

I looked up to find him watching me. I felt slightly drunk and entirely off kilter. ‘That sucks,’ he said, giving me a half smile.

I wanted to stand on tiptoe and kiss his mouth. Fist my fingers in the short brown and grey of his beard and tug. I wanted to beg him to take me again and promise that I’d do it right this time. The trusting part. Not fuck it up and panic and push him away.

But I also did not want to give my heart to anyone. I refused. Even if I felt those small stirrings, the urge to give him that part of myself, I pushed it away. I could not get to that place again and be mangled. I could not handle any more damage.

And there was always damage, wasn’t there?

‘It does suck. Did you get my message?’

He nodded, tugging a new rag from his back pocket and wiping his already clean hands again. He was feeling what I was feeling. A tense but heady energy that rushed around us, an invisible presence making it nearly impossible not to move toward him and then against him. Just to feel him.

I took two steps forward just as he did and we stood there in the middle of his work space as if in a standoff. I imagined if I shut my eyes I would see crackles and pops of purplish white energy arcing between us.

He touched my lip with his fingertip while my eyes were shut and my whole body jerked. My cunt gave up a small sluice of fluid and I prayed for him to say it was all OK.

‘I got your message.’

‘And?’

‘And it’s fine.’

He was lying to me but I let him.

‘Why won’t you look at me?’ he asked.

‘Somehow it’s easier to say stuff right now like this.’ I smiled but damn if I didn’t keep my eyes closed.

‘So you pushed me away because …’ Then his lips crushed down on mine and I felt like I was swaying in a stiff wind.

‘Because of a very bad man who I took way too long to get away from. We … experimented. And at first it was fine. But when he got … troubled–’

‘He took the pain out of the bedroom.’

I nodded. Eyes still closed. When he touched my nipple through my sweater I tensed and hissed and immediately felt such astonishing want in my pussy it scared me. ‘Yes. And when you … when I … trusted you to do that to me I was happy. And it was good. Really good. And when it was over …’ I shook my head. Tears threatened because I was frustrated and frustration always made me cry.

‘When it was over all those sensations and fears and bullshit rushed over you.’

I nodded and cut him off before he could go on. ‘And I felt like I was drowning and I needed–’

‘To take back control.’

I opened my eyes and he was watching me. His eyes so intense on me I felt utterly bare despite my warm clothes. Was he seeing my soul? God, I hoped not. I was sure it was some dark and twisted thing.

‘Yes, to take back control.’

‘Well then I guess you have to decide whether or not to trust me,’ he said, leaning in. ‘You seem to trust that actor pretty boy putz.’

I narrowed my eyes at him. I felt it. My ornery snake look, Nan had called it. ‘Fucking is not trust.’

He nodded decisively. ‘True enough. But it’s time you decided.’

He was pushing me and I didn’t know why. ‘Oh is it? All several days into our …’ I almost said relationship and caught myself at the last moment. ‘Knowing each other.’

‘Yes.’ He took that final step in and we were nearly belly to belly.

‘Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?’ I growled. I pushed him. Didn’t even think about it, I just pushed him.

I became very aware in the tight space that I was provoking a very strong man. Men can be aggressive without being violent …

I needed to stop. But I didn’t. I pushed him again. ‘I am not yours to order around.’

‘I’d like it if you were,’ he said with that sexy and irritating half smile. ‘Because I’d tell you to get down on your goddamn knees and suck my–’

I swung. I swung and in that still-awareness moment that preceded movement I thought, oh shit. I realised I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to be this person. I had people like that in my family and this was not the woman I wanted to be.

Shepherd caught my hand before it connected and he stared down into my eyes. Burning a hole through me – a hole full of shame and regret and worry and at the bottom of it all, sagging but not dying … hope.

‘Will you trust me?’

‘What?’

‘Will you trust me? Yes or no.’ He squeezed my wrist and the sparkle-bite-burst of pain made me shift on my feet. My pussy flexing greedily against nothing but itself. I would have given a million dollars to have him bury himself in me to the root at that particular moment.

‘I don’t know,’ I stammered.

He still held my arm. He still squeezed. ‘One more chance. Will you trust me?’

I didn’t hesitate.

‘Yes.’