Mutual Release (39 page)

Julie put her other hand to his face. Her need to touch him was so urgent she refused to resist it. He leaned into her palm and kept talking. “She got in, actually made the cut, got the coveted offer. But by then he was so deep in her psyche, had her convinced she was the light to his dark, the only thing keeping him sane and grounded…”

He stopped, shook his head. “So after spending her entire life working to dance in New York and being offered that opportunity, she ended up at Michigan, with him. His mother’s life insurance paid for his tuition, and he was a brainiac, got in with no trouble. I left for East Lansing and spent nearly four years ignoring them completely. After the first summer, I never even went back except when I had to at the holidays. I worked, went to school, ended up at Northwestern for law school. While I was there, I… um… started exploring this side to me that I want to share with you. I met a guy who pulled me deeper into it, but he proved to me Damian’s way, the shit he did, was completely wrong.”

He let go of her hand, stood up and started pacing. The raw anger was rolling off him in visible waves. Julie sat, quietly. “Damian was an abuser. A rapist, actually. He attacked a woman I was… um… with the summer before I left for college. He couldn’t stand that she chose me as her Dom and not him so he beat her up and raped her. But she wouldn’t press charges.” He stood at the window, pressed his palms against it, and was quiet for so long Julie thought he’d decided not to say any more.

But he kept talking, in a low voice, so she got up and stood at his shoulder, her hands on his back. He shook some but kept going. “I got a grip on myself, shook off the potential inner abuser, learned what I’d been doing was headed in the wrong direction. The clubs we went to taught me something even more important.” He turned so fast she stumbled back. Gripping her hands, he stared hard at her. “I was a sub, twice, to two different women. I mean, we switched, but for the most part, I was learning what to do to make sure my future partner felt the way she was supposed to – protected, above all else.”

She smiled, flushed, and looked down at the floor.

“But my last semester, while I was in the middle of messing around with one of my professors who was an experienced Dominatrix, Olivia showed up at my house in Chicago. She probably weighed seventy pounds, and was dying of self-imposed starvation. By the time we got her to the hospital she was already fading. And the doctors had to tell me she’d been raped, repeatedly, and had such injuries to her… her…”

His voice broke. Without thinking, Julie pulled him close. “She died after she told me what he did to her. To her beautiful mind and to her perfect dancer’s body. What that fucking asshole did, pretending to be a Dom. And I let her go.”

He sucked in a breath, lifted his face from her shoulder. His eyes were bright. “I’ve been trying to find him ever since. But he keeps slipping out of my grasp. My dad died, left me a bunch of money. I quit the law firm and the woman who was my last playmate. Bought the brewery. Made an appointment to meet with a new distributor. And so… here we are.”

“Evan.” She turned away from him, clutching her arms again. “This is just… I don’t know.”

He came up behind her, turned her slowly, and leaned in for a long, mind-blowing kiss. When he finally broke away, she was weak in the knees all over again. But the compulsion to spill everything was too strong. She took a breath and spoke.

“The only sex I have ever had was forced on me, or used to manipulate me.” She held him away from her, determined to finish this fucked-up conversation. “Since Bart stole my virginity and my mother convinced me I was a dirty whore, I stopped caring or wanting anything but to be in control of everything around me.” She could feel his eyes on her, boring into her soul. “You should know I fucked around with a college professor who claimed he’d help me get into grad school. But that went so bad on me I dropped out before I even got my Bachelor’s degree. I am proud of nothing I’ve done so far with men, Evan. I guess you’ve figured that out by now. Because right after, I found the want ad for the Dawson job. And now,” she held out both hands, her heart heavy with certainty that he would reject her, “here we are.”

He tilted his head and looked at her, confusion in his eyes. “But I thought James was… I mean, you were married, happy for a while, you said.”

“Yeah, we were.” She stepped away from him. “But he had zero interest in fucking a woman. I gave great blow jobs, he was pretty good with a vibrator and… well… we liked each other. After the first time, in his office when I proposed my plan to him… well, he needed something from me, and I needed money.” She blew out a breath and sat, dismayed by his shocked expression. “So, yeah, I married a gay guy for his bank account. After I let a dirty-old-man professor fuck me so I could get into Harvard. Which worked out great, as you can see. Nice, huh?” She wiped her arm across her nose. “So let’s just put out the candles, and go to bed. Our flight’s pretty early in the morning.”

“Uh, wait.” He looked dazed again. “I gotta process this a minute.”

She frowned at him, welcoming the anger that started to fill her chest. “Evan, my story is so convoluted and fucked-up, you really shouldn’t bother.”

“Julie, I’ve spent the weeks since you told me about James being gut-deep jealous of the man, ready to rip his balls off because he… because you let him… fuck.” He sat heavily on the lounge across from her. She ran her hand over the soft suede, nervous, finally coming face to face with her own sick reality. “I’m relieved,” he said softly. “One of the things about this dynamic between us – the bit about you being mine and all mine – it sort of applies to all the men in your life before me. I have been puking sick over the fact that any man had ever touched you. Now I know one was a monster who ruined you as a teenager, one you tried to use but he failed you, and the other was never a real man to you. I’m so messed up in the head I don’t even know what to say, how to explain it.” He rubbed his eyes.

“Yeah, so I was a teenage rape victim, a clichéd horny co-ed, and a beard. Yay me. Let’s just cut this off now. I am not interested in you fixing me or whatever it is you think you can do.” She couldn’t understand it herself, but at that moment she needed space. As badly as she wanted Evan’s lips on hers, his arms around her, his body alongside hers, she needed to get the fuck away from him. It was the oddest, most disturbing dichotomy she had ever experienced.

He needed her. She knew that now. She wanted to help him heal from the horror of his sister’s death. But she was terrified at the same time. The grave responsibility for another person’s emotional well-being was one thing. But this, this connection he kept referring to, it was real and meant a whole hell of a lot more than just helping him through an occasional rough moment or memory. He needed her, body and soul.

“I’m not ready for this.” She stood, tripped backward, but reached the bedroom and slammed the door shut, before sliding down it, already crying, already missing him, needing him so badly her skull pounded. All the more reason to end it before it started, she justified.

He spoke through the closed door. “I’m sorry, Julie. I’m so sorry you got hurt. But you may be right. We may be… too much… even for each other. Good night. I’ve got the alarm set.”

“No,” she whispered to herself. “I love you.” But instead, said, “Okay. Thanks for everything. Good night.”

Chapter Seven

The period between Thanksgiving and Christmas provided a blur of activity Julie relished. The holiday drinking season was hands down their busiest. And when her sales manager up and quit two weeks before the craziest week of the year, she was stuck, right and proper. And it meant longer hours which translated to time she would not have at home thinking about what she’d lost by rejecting Evan and all he had to offer.

“Fuck me six ways to Sunday,” she muttered under her breath, noting the stacks of sales reports she had to process before quitting for the day. In lieu of going to the trouble of hiring anyone, she’d taken on all the sales management tasks. Her staff practically pressed themselves into the walls to avoid being noticed when she would stomp down the halls. She didn’t care. Having come so close to giving everything up, to letting a man take the one thing she had left – control – she felt a need to compensate, to grip everything around her even tighter. If there were a way to become even more of a control freak, she was there, diving into it, swimming around in it. And becoming even more of a giant bitch because of it.

She bit heads off, got shit done, went out to check on her biggest and best retail clients, heard complaints. Then went back to square one – biting heads off. Back to sleeping about four hours a night and forcing her body through harder workouts and less food, unable to even contemplate anything but ways to avoid thinking about Evan. To his credit, when he’d called her a cab at the airport, after a soft, wistful kiss, he bid her goodbye and had not contacted her since.

She’d catch herself staring at one of the empty Big House Brewing bottles she kept on her desk, until one day she swept them into the trash, smiling with evil satisfaction at the loud shatter. She’d laid her head down on her hands, heard her stomach grumbling, felt her sore muscles complaining. The ache that had developed in the middle of her chest expanded, reminding her of the phantom pain she’d had sitting on the floor of the suite after telling Evan about the rape.

Then one day she looked up and realized another December twenty-third had materialized, complete with non-stop background holiday music, cheery admonitions to shop and be merry, to gather ’round a happy family table and exchange gaily-wrapped packages. She got up, walked to her window, and stared at the snow that had started falling the day before. This time last year she’d been so ecstatic about the company’s sales numbers, she’d celebrated by going to a bar, pretending to let some guy pick her up, then escaping to a cab, and finally falling asleep on her couch. Christmases were like Thanksgiving – another day on the calendar she stayed at home, ate Chinese food, and waited until she could go to work again.

She dropped back into her seat, hit the private browser button on her laptop, and pulled up the sites she’d been studying. The serious ones explaining the real psychology and purpose of a Dom/sub relationship she’d spent several hours contemplating. She was learning a lot. And the more she read, the more she realized Evan was right about a lot of things. She did need him as badly as he needed her. And the sort of “play” they might engage in would only serve to enhance and strengthen their connection. Some of the pictures made her positively squirmy, horny, and breathless with want. Sick, truly, but somehow… compelling.

She checked her private email and noted that her building’s doorman had sent a message she’d been waiting for. She checked her watch, picked up her phone, and composed a text.

Evan: I need to talk with you about something. Can you come by my place tomorrow? If you have family plans with your mom, I understand but it won’t take too long. I promise. Let me know and I’ll send you the address.

She hit send before she chickened out.

It was nearly three hours before she got a reply:
Ok. What time, and I need the address.

She quickly sent him the info and put a hand to her chest to calm the pounding of her heart.

* * * *

The doorbell buzzed right on time. Julie stood, pressed the button to confirm the doorman was sending him up. It might have taken her thirty years, but she had discovered something she wanted and was willing to press all her personal comfort boundaries and zones to have it. She adjusted the belt of the Burberry raincoat, rolled her neck around, and counted to twenty before answering the door. When she opened it, the sight of his tall, handsome self, eyes twinkling with happiness to see her, long legs clad in dress slacks, perfect torso covered with a soft blue dress shirt, made her want to burst into tears. She tucked her hands in the coat pockets instead, and invited him in.

He shot her an odd look but walked into the giant main room of her loft. “Nice place.” His voice had been in her dreams for weeks. Actually hearing it made her wobbly.

“Thanks. So I’ve been thinking, about us” she said, taking a seat in her living room but not inviting him to do the same. He stood, crossed his arms, and seemed to actually grow a few inches as if sensing the vibe she was sending him. She smiled, amazed now that she grasped the strength of their bond. “And I need to know something.”

He lifted his chin but stayed silent.

“I need to know if you’re still interested in me.”

She untied the belt, opened the coat to reveal a leather bra, panties, garter belt, silk hose. He sucked in a breath but his face betrayed nothing.

“Because I miss you so much it hurts, Evan. And I realized I’m afraid, but not of you – of being
without
you. Can we try this? Will you teach me how?” She rose to her feet, leaving the coat behind on the chair. She stayed put, needing him to take his cue. But he blew out a breath and turned away, making her heart sink to her feet. “I need you, Evan. Show me how a man treats a woman. I’m a virgin still, in so many ways. Please… show me.” She gulped, willed herself not to cry. She got on her knees and put her hands in her lap. “I want to trust you. S-s-s-sir. Please show me how.”