free with a wet, slick sound.
I sense the motion rather than see it and half-brace for the final blow. It knocks my soul from my body, sends my mind spinning into nothing.
My sob turns into a moan, and I fall down onto my knees, my hands on the edge of the bed.
A moan.
Jesus.
Leo picks me up from where I’ve fallen and drops me unceremoniously onto the bed. I can’t see through tears, through the haze of pain and orgasm. He’s a dark tear in the fabric of my world. He’s headed for the door. I roll over onto my side. Push myself up. “Don’t go,” I manage.
It’s too late. He’s already gone.
14
Haley
The part that surprises me is the clarity.
My ass hurts. The pain sticks around. It settles into an ache, rather than a sharp snap. I don’t feel like sleeping. When I’m sure he’s not coming back I ease myself off the bed and go to check the damage in the bathroom mirror.
No bruises. Just redness over my ass and thighs. The strapping felt worse than it was. A person would have to be skilled, in order to do that. To hurt only as much as they intended.
And it was intentional. I rub my hands over the marks Leo left, that strange, clear feeling arranging my thoughts into an understandable pattern. He’s scary, yes, but he’s also trying to scare me. He goes out of his way to keep me off-balance. He never gives me solid ground.
There are characters like that in my favorite books. Their cruelty is a shield for a dark secret, like a wife hidden in an attic.
I splash water on my face, Leo’s voice echoing in my head. There was something he said. Thinking of it now makes hairs rise on the back of my neck. The feeling of it—the truth of it. With my face buried in a hand towel I can hear it.
It hurts like a motherfucker.
He didn’t say it must hurt.
He said it hurts.
I meet my eyes in the mirror. Now I have two questions about Leo Morelli. Who hurt him, and what is he hiding?
The two things have to be related.
Back in the bedroom, my clothes wait for me on the foot of the bed. The lingerie is missing but there’s a new bra-and-panty set. It all smells like fabric softener. Mrs. Page must have come in and dropped them off. Leo must have told her to do it. It would have been meaner to make me go without clothes.
No solid ground.
I get dressed and go out into the hall, not bothering to stop and listen for anyone else. He’s hiding something. He’s hiding from me. I’m going to find him and ask. A reckless plan? Yes. Yes. But I have a clear head and I want to know, damn it.
Something stops me outside the big door that goes into his bedroom. What did Mrs. Page say? His rooms. A suite, then. I listen at the door. No sound comes from inside, but...
I put a hand on the doorknob. This is as good a place to start looking as any, if it’s unlocked.
It is.
The enormous door opens into an equally enormous room.
Leo’s bedroom.
Vaulted ceilings remind me of a cathedral, and so does the polished darkness here. Gleaming wood paneling. Thick, dark rugs. It feels like a fortress. Leo has his own fireplace, more massive in scale than any of the others. I’m going to ask him about the fireplaces someday. Were they original to the house? It would make sense, if this is a historical property. People needed lots of them for heat. The mantel looks original, if redecorated.
Enormous windows look out over the night-kissed grounds. Distant trees are black silhouettes against a navy sky dotted with stars. Pure, clean snow.
And in front of the windows, the bed.
The bed grabs my attention with both hands. He sleeps here. It’s hard to imagine him sleeping. The strap Leo used on me has been abandoned on the comforter. It’s a few inches from the far side of the mattress, like he threw it there on his way to somewhere else.
I’m so busy looking at it and trying to ignore the pulsing heat between my legs that I don’t hear the water running at first.
In my house, it’s impossible to miss running water. It’s too small a space, and the plumbing is too old. Not like it is here. In Leo’s house, the sound of a shower is barely audible.
Loud enough for me to follow.
A