Tranquility (Turbulence Series Part Two), page 29
“Say you are sorry for it,” he demanded low in her ear.
“No.”
He slapped her bare buttock hard as he rammed into her again. “Say another man’ll never touch you.”
“No.”
Two more spanks as he let out another low growl, then he was driving into her. And she let him. She braced herself against the table, pushing back against him when she found the leverage to do so. She lowered her head to the table when he released her ponytail and screamed out her orgasm, raising on her tippy-toes like a dance.
When he came, he fell forward, pinning her to the table for a few seconds with his own body. He caught his breath, startled by his ferocity with her, and rose up, adjusting his clothing before he fell back into the chair, pulling her with him. She curled up on his lap, saying nothing, her face hidden against his chest.
He placed his hand against her head, embarrassed for the second time with her that day; only this loss of control was so much worse. “Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head.
“Are you sure? I didn’t mean to…” He grimaced; he had to have scared her, at the very least. He’d been rougher than he’d ever been; spanked her hard; there was no way he hadn’t hurt her. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She shook her head again and then hiccupped on what sounded like tears.
“Brit!” His heart sank. “Oh god, love, I did hurt you.” He tried to pry her away from his chest so he could see her face.
“You didn’t,” she assured him, fighting his hands as she tried to remain hidden. But he grasped her shoulders and pulled her away. Her cheeks were blazing red. “You didn’t hurt me, but…”
He frowned, concerned. “But?”
“But if you think you did…” she hesitated, “and I liked it, what does that say about me?”
Sean understood immediately; she hadn’t been saying no because she was refusing him; she was saying no to goad him—to get the more brutal response out of him. Because she liked it. Relieved, he smiled at her. “I think it says more about me, treating you like a china doll when I shouldn’t.”
Brit shook her head. “You aren’t.”
“Well, I know better now,” he assured her with a lopsided grin.
“Is there something wrong with me?” she asked cautiously.
Sean shook his head. “We’ve had this conversation before; remember, I was at the other end of that, so if there was something wrong with it, we’re both fucked up.”
She made a face. “There’s a pun in there somewhere.”
He pulled her back to him for a hug. “And if you are ever in doubt, you can always ask Evie.”
She let out a half-laugh.
“If I ever do anything that hurts or scares you, you need to tell me.”
Brit was quiet, not answering him.
“Brit?” he prompted.
“What if…” She shook her head and answered, “I will.”
Sean frowned, wondering what “what if” meant. He ventured, “We’ll need to be talking about limits, then. How far you’ll let me go?”
He watched her contemplate the words; he’d been careful in how he phrased it, took it on himself. He’d give her what she needed; wanted. And if she needed him to take responsibility for it, he would, without hesitation.
When she raised her eyes to him, clear and full of possibility, he knew he’d done the right thing.
Chapter thirty-three
BRIT
In the brief amount of time since Sean had shared the news about the flat, he enjoyed teasing her about furniture shopping. She’d consistently shaken her head at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of contributing to that undertaking, no matter how determined he was to involve her. Even as they drove to the hospital a couple of days later—as she was due for her follow-up with Dr. Thomas and another physical therapy appointment—she was shaking her head at him.
Brit glanced at him as though he’d lost his mind. “It’s your home; you furnish it.” And she wanted to keep as much distance from it as possible; this wasn’t hers. She wasn’t going to let herself have any ridiculous feelings over it or let her imagination carry itself away.
He smiled over at her. “I don’t know anything about furnishing a home.” The look on his face told her he enjoyed the idea of the two of them wandering through shops, selecting items together, like a real couple.
She chuckled, running a finger over her scarred palm. “What makes you think I do? As long as you have a coffee press, you’re set.”
“I’m thinking we’ll be needing more than that,” he mused.
“Towels?” she suggested with a shrug. “Extended stays are the closest I’ve had to a home, and they come furnished.”
“Hm. Towels.”
“Surely your staff can pack something up for you,” she teased.
Sean tossed her a look. “I amn’t to take anything beyond my personal items; it all belongs to the estate. Except, I do have a sofa.” His grin widened.
Brit looked over at him in disbelief. “What?”
“It’s in the attic,” he admitted, casting an amused look her way.
She smacked his arm with the back of her hand. “You jerk!”
“You can’t have thought I got rid of it.”
“What else was I to think? It was gone,” she remarked. “I’m sure there’s an app for home shopping, or whatever it’s called.”
“Or, we can wander through a few shops. We have the time.”
“I don’t know if I’d have the patience.”
“I thought women lived for that sort of thing.”
“Uh-uh, I was raised by boys. They didn’t think to nurture the feminine side of me.” She folded her arms and shifted to sit further back in her seat.
With a wicked grin, he commented, “I’m trying to make up for that now, appealing to your feminine side.”
Brit hid her smile and blush by looking out the side window. “Your mother might enjoy going with you.”
Sean made a noise. “I don’t want my ma picking out my sheets.”
Brit smiled even more broadly. “Hasn’t she already done that? Your bed, your sheets, your towels, your dishes…”
“Bratty Brit.”
“You could take Evie; she loves to shop.”
Sean laughed outright. “Sure, and I don’t want Evie! I don’t want my home to look like something that belongs in the red-light district of Amsterdam.”
Brit shrugged, telling herself that it wasn’t her problem.
“On the topic, I do have something important to ask you.”
Raising an eyebrow, she looked over at him. On the topic of the red-light district or moving into the house? Considering their conversation after Pol Gorm, the first would be… heart-stopping. Exciting. Was he about to suggest they pop into a sex shop?
“With the house.” He glanced over at her. “And the décor.”
Brit looked at him, confused.
“I was hoping you’d let me pick out a few Britton Delany originals as artwork?”
Brit stared at him for a few minutes as they entered the more populated city limits of Cork itself. “You want to put up my pictures?”
“I do. Why not?” He asked, glancing over at her. “I’ll pay you for them if it’s an issue.”
Looking away, she said quietly, “Oh, now you’re going to insult me?”
“Your work should be in a gallery. I’d be happy—”
“Stop it,” she said softly. “Of course, you won’t pay me for them. You can have whatever you want.” She was flattered, thrilled, and maybe a bit confused. A lot of her work wasn’t something someone wanted to put on the walls.
“Are there any I can’t use?”
Brit shook her head. “As long as they’re for your personal use, it doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t suggest the more graphic ones, but it’s your house; you have to look at them.”
Sean smiled. “I will, then.”
After they arrived at the hospital, where Sean parked in the staff garage after their misadventure the last time, and they were sitting in the waiting room for Dr. Thomas. Brit leaned over and told him to take out his phone.
“Why do you need my mobile?” he asked.
“To download my app for my pictures. I’ll give you my login. I have seven years of photographs in the app; you’ll want to start browsing.”
Sean looked down at her. “You’re just going to give me carte blanche access?”
Brit raised an eyebrow. “Are you planning on selling them?”
He let out a half-laugh. “I amn’t.”
“Then what’s the problem? Don’t sell them and don’t delete them,” she instructed.
“Now you have me worried I’m going to accidentally hit a wrong button,” he muttered as he navigated to his app store to download the app.
“Don’t worry; they’re backed up more than once in more than one program. I don’t trust my work to only one place.”
From what she could see, Sean had just started to look through the most recent photos—the ones he knew about, the ones she’d taken here, in Ireland—when they were informed that Dr. Thomas was ready to see her. Although she would have preferred to have privacy for the appointment, she knew Sean would accompany her; after all, he was more in charge of her care than she.
As they walked into the exam room, Brit commented to hide her disquiet, “They are on time here.”
Sean smiled. “There’s a point for the HSE.”
Once inside, a nurse immediately took three vials of blood and rushed off. Sean leaned against a far wall and watched; Brit could almost see him ticking off the tests they would be running in his head. She wondered how difficult it was for him to take a back seat to the process; be treated as a civilian.
Dr. Thomas entered the room with a nurse on his heels, appearing startled to see Sean standing against the wall and then appearing to reprogram himself as though to assure himself that, indeed, the younger man’s presence was expected. He nodded curtly at Sean, who returned the gesture with a tight smile. The older man then turned and looked at Brit. “You look well.”
She gave him a wary smile. “I am.”
He made a sound as though to say he would be the judge and ordered, “Hold out your hands.”
Brit followed the man’s instructions. He made hemming and hawing sounds, manipulated her hands, ordered her to flex, push against his hands, a series of maneuvers. He snapped out commands like a military drill sergeant, and she could only bite her lower lip and try to hold back the sounds of discomfort when he pressed against her side, prodding and poking along her other injuries. Throughout, she refused to look at Sean even though she could feel his eyes on her, steady and intense.
When the doctor started barking out questions about her routine and medication, Sean answered. When he asked how much she was sleeping, she tried to override Sean’s “a couple of times a day” with “nothing unusual.” She lifted her gaze to Sean’s then; his narrowed a bit.
Dr. Thomas stared at Brit for a second but then turned and looked at Sean. Sean repeated, “Twice a day, at least.” His blue eyes challenged Brit to contradict the truth. From that moment forward, Dr. Thomas addressed all questions to Sean because he’d caught on quickly that his patient wasn’t going to be forthcoming.
Dr. Thomas made a sound of satisfaction. “A bit anemic, but not alarmingly so.” He looked at Brit. “Overall, you’re doing remarkably well, Miss Delany.”
Brit cast a glance to a stoic Sean, then back to the older man. She asked, “So, would it be possible for me to return to work?”
Dr. Thomas was caught off guard and laughed; it was short, but it was a laugh. He cleared his throat and then shook his head. “You’re doing well for someone who sustained a lot of trauma. I suspect the care you’ve received has something to do with it, but you are nowhere near close to being well enough to return to work.”
Hopes dashed, Brit dropped her head.
“We’ll see how well you are in a month.”
Her hands were already in her lap; she turned them over and looked at the still-angry gashes; another month. “A month seems extreme.”
He leaned toward her. “And I’ll bet in a month you still can’t make it through the day without a nap or two.”
Brit raised resentful green eyes to him.
“It’s your body, Miss Delany. How you progress is entirely up to you. Treat your body well, and it will respond accordingly. My advice is that you continue to rest and heal. If you choose to ignore my advice, then don’t expect to do so well in the next month.” With that, he turned to Sean. “You can taper off the pain medicine; use only as needed. It will help with the fatigue.”
Sean nodded.
“I’ll see her again in a month unless you see a reason for her to come back sooner; I’ll leave that to your discretion.” The man considered Brit for a contemplative second and then turned to head out the door. Probably for the first time in his career, he made a sarcastic remark to Sean, “Good luck.”
Sean pegged Brit with an intolerant stare when they were alone. “Lying to your doctor isn’t acceptable.”
Her gaze was equally irritated. “He doesn’t need to know everything about me.”
“He can’t make the best decisions if he doesn’t know the full story.”
She looked away.
“The one who suffers is yourself, but he gets the blame. I’ve known you to avoid answering, I’ve never known you to outright lie.”
She barked out a short laugh. “Feeling a bit of camaraderie?”
“Stop being a brat; everyone wants the best for you, except yourself. Everything that’s going on with you right now, he needs to know, down to a hangnail on your toe.” Sean shoved off the wall. “Let’s go; you have physical therapy.” He walked to the door and opened it, looking back at her.
Brit slid off the exam table; he wasn’t happy with her. And his mood didn’t improve. During her physical therapy, he sat to the side of the room, on his phone, his aggravated blue stare settling on her and the male therapist whenever there was a laugh over a shared joke. He would watch for a few seconds, note the placement of the man’s hands, and then return his attention to his phone.
When the session ended, the therapist politely shook Sean’s hand, left instructions with Brit, and walked away toward his next client.
Brit looked up at Sean. “You can’t possibly still be mad.”
“I amn’t mad; I’m annoyed.”
“Is there a difference?” she asked, turning on her heel and stalking out of the room.
Sean followed her.
She wandered the halls with the same stubborn determination she had left the physical therapy suite, her gaze quickly reading signs as she passed hallway after hallway, refusing to admit she didn’t know where she was going. Certainly, Sean knew she didn’t know where she was going, but he hadn’t said anything so far—he was waiting for her to ask, probably smirking in amusement behind her, waiting—but she wasn’t going to do it. They could die in here before she asked.
Her speed hadn’t slowed even though she knew by now that she was lost. A confused orderly frowned at them when they passed him for a second time.
She turned another corner and then spun around and headed back toward Sean so quickly, she barreled straight into his arms. He caught her as he completed the turn. “That’s unexpected,” he said in surprise.
But she didn’t pause, determined to run right through him and keep going. “Brit!”
“Ah, Miss Delany! Dr. Madden!”
Sean kept her in place as he looked over her head. He slipped his arm around Brit’s waist as she stood still against him, facing him, refusing to turn around and acknowledge the man. Her sudden about-face and urgency to go the other way was because Detective Brady was headed toward them.
“Good afternoon, Detective.”
Brit lifted her head and gave Sean a hard green glare of accusation for stopping her before she turned and pasted on a smile. “Hi.”
Detective Brady smiled back at her, his bright gray eyes amused at her evident discomfort. “I didn’t expect to see you both here.”
“Follow-up appointments,” Sean offered.
“And what’s the verdict?” Detective Brady asked, the question directed toward Brit.
She hesitated in responding, wondering what her response would mean. But she answered, “Apparently I’m doing well for someone who’s been through what I have.”
“Hm. Lucky then.”
She tilted her head slightly, the question overly innocent. “Am I?” She felt Sean’s subtle jerk indicating that she shouldn’t be quarrelsome. She amended, “Luckier than some of the women, I suppose.” Although she was resentful, she should have to assign anything about what she’d gone through as being blessed with luck.
Detective Brady looked at Sean. “I was here seeing after one of them.”
Sean frowned. “I thought the last of them had been released weeks ago.”
Detective Brady jerked his head to the side. “You have a minute?”
Sean nodded, saying to Brit, “I’ll be right back.” He walked down the hall with the detective.
Brit sighed in relief, happy the man hadn’t divined that she and Sean were here and had come looking for them. The two walked far enough away that she couldn’t even hear the low tenor of their voices. Whatever the detective said to Sean, his expression was unreadable; the only indication he gave that he even heard anything was a glance further down the hallway, as though he could see into a room, but he looked back at the detective as quickly.
The conversation went back and forth for a few minutes, neither giving away outward signs of what their discussion may have entailed. For all Brit could guess, they were laying bets on the next football game.
When Sean finally stepped back, he looked up at her. The intensity of the gaze almost stopped her heart; she couldn’t have described it if her life had depended on it, but it reached into her soul and wrapped around her. She felt a rush of heat, more from emotion than from passion. If he’d been within reach, she was certain the look would have been accompanied by a protective, possessive hug, making silent promises to keep her safe, thanking her for the opportunity to keep her safe. It shook her.
