My Tye (17 page)

“Will do, sir.”

With that, Tye closed the truck’s window and pulled into her driveway. The orange glow from the streetlight cast a shadow as they parked between the house and the detached garage that sat forty feet or so behind it. An eeriness crept over her, and she hated giving in to the shudders it created, even if it was only for a second.

She could feel the awareness heighten inside Tye as he opened the truck door and stepped out. He kept his back to the interior of the truck, taking in their surroundings by looking left, then right, along with everywhere in between before turning back to her.

“Remember,” he said, holding out his hand, “one off feeling and we’re out of here.”

She slipped his fingers onto his palm. “I know.”

She slid from the truck and he ushered her gently toward the back door. The glass was still strewn underfoot and it crunched as they walked over the shards and ground them into the concrete drive. The sound mimicked that of fingernails on a chalkboard to her, and she stiffened within Tye’s hold as another tremble threatened to rack her body.

“I’m okay,” she said before he had the chance to change his mind about going inside.

“I know you are,” he replied. “This would be hard on anyone, Laine. But I’m right here with you. Ready?”

She nodded and he unlocked the door, flipping the light on as he took the lead and stepped inside her house. Nothing felt out of the ordinary, not at first. And not until they made their way through the kitchen and got closer to the hallway. A stench hit her then, but she wasn’t sure if it was real or memory-induced. To think that man had been inside her house…

She gagged a little, trying to cover it up with a cough. But Tye was smarter than that. He stopped next to the first gash in the wall and turned to look at her.

“We don’t have to do this.”

He may not have to, but she did. “Yes, I do.”

She ran her hand along the wall as they continued on toward her bedroom. The jagged edges made her angry all over again, the deep cuts fueling the fire growing underneath her skin. But drywall can be fixed, she told herself. It was only a wall, and didn’t represent anything more to her than that.

But her bedroom was a different story. It had always been her haven, her cozy cocoon where she could let her hair down and allow her fantasies to run wild. She’d imagined Tye inside her bedroom more times than she could count, but she never dreamed it would be like this. Not with him standing inside the doorway with his arms crossed and his face drawn tight with fury.

Her bed had been stripped of its linens, and the doll Tye had told her about earlier was gone, too. The paint splatters showering her headboard and the wall behind it remained, the angry spots traveling as far away as her curtains covering the window to the left and the closet door to the right.

“They had to take the doll and comforter in for evidence,” Tye told her.

She’d figured that was the case, and felt a little cheated because of it. If she was to deal with this head-on, it would’ve been better for her to have seen it all.

Tye cleared his throat and took another step into the room, stopping at the side of her bed. He loosened his arms from over his chest before tucking his hands in his front pockets and gesturing with a hitch of his chin toward the center of the bed. “The doll was in the middle. There,” he nodded. “Closer to the top by the pillows. It was tied to the third rung over on the headboard.”

Laine’s heart stopped for a moment, but not because of the horrific image he described.

“The paint had been poured on the bed first, it looked like, and then the doll thrown on top of it.”

Her heart started up again, blood pounding through every vein in her body. She stood at the foot of her bed and squeezed her eyes. Tye didn’t move toward her. He only lowered his voice and continued on.

“The screwdriver had been shoved through the belly of the doll.”

She felt him shift slightly, felt the electricity from his anger and wavering control scurry over her skin. He was giving her what she needed, letting her live through his vision, even though he hated every second, every word he said to her.

She stood there only a moment longer, until the image he described seared itself into her brain. When she opened her eyes, she didn’t look at him. Instead, she ran her fingers along the edge of the mattress and walked toward the other side.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I know you didn’t want to bring me here. And I know you didn’t want to tell me that.”

“I meant what I said before,” he said. “I’ll take my cues from you, Laine. I’ll give you what you need. As much as I may disagree, you’ll never have to question my willingness to do that.”

She met his gaze then—the steeliness of his eyes in the dim room reaching out to her and the sincerity pouring from them hitting her full-force. He had her frozen with that one look. So frozen she was afraid to breathe. So frozen she had to turn away.

She went to her dresser, opening drawers and pulling out a few pairs of underwear and jeans, along with her favorite old sweatpants. The closet was next, where she yanked out a duffel bag and stuffed all of that into it, then ripped a few t-shirts and an old, ratty hoodie from their hangers and added them to the bag as well.

When she spun to toss the duffel onto the bed, she stopped mid-throw. It was as if a wrecking ball came blasting through the wall from behind her bed. It breathed over the surface of the mattress and headed straight for her. All the air rushed from her lungs as it rammed into her. All she could see were splatters of paint flying off her and landing everywhere around the room. All she could hear was her own scream inside her head.

He’d been here.

Fuck trying to compartmentalize this. Fuck trying to deal with all of it rationally. Her attacker had ruined this room for her. He’d ruined her house. His stench was here, it was everywhere. She’d always smell it. She’d always remember what he tried to do to her. What he
did
do to her. The pain he wanted to cause.

The duffel fell from her hand and dropped to the floor. She bolted from the room, practically running for the attached bathroom all while trying like hell to ignore the sting burning her eyes and the lump building in her throat. She yanked the cabinet below the sink open, grabbing for her makeup bag and standing to toss random items haphazardly inside it. Her toothbrush, an eyelash curler, a tube of Icy Hot and a trial size bottle of shampoo. None of the items made any sense.

She didn’t make any sense.

“Laine.”

Tye’s voice came to her from the doorway, his concern evident in the low tone. Still, she didn’t slow down.

“What?” She didn’t stop for her response, she just kept on throwing odd toiletries inside the bag while losing the battle to keep her composure.

“Laine.”

Again, his tone was low and troubled, but this time her name on his lips came out with more significance attached to it. More dominance. And oddly enough, more protectiveness. She set the bag on the countertop, flattening her palms on either side of it before looking up into the mirror. The purple around her eye almost glowed under the fluorescent light hanging over the mirror in her bathroom. The bruise masked the dark circle she knew lay hidden underneath it. She knew it was there, since there was a matching one staring back at her from its home under her other eye.

God, she hated this. The anger. The weariness. The fear. Every last bit of it.

Tye came into the room then, and stood behind her.

“Sorry,” she said to his reflection.

He drew his eyebrows together. “For?”

She swirled her hand in the air. “This. All of it.”

“Why are you apologizing for something you have no control over?”

She looked away from him, pushing herself from the counter and running her hands down the front of her shirt.
His
shirt. “I have control over my reactions. At least, I thought I did.”

“Don’t you think it’s more important to be honest with yourself than to bury what’s going on inside? Hiding away doesn’t usually work.”

“Neither does telling all,” she said, thinking about last night at Euphoria.

“Depends on who you’re talking to,” he contradicted. “You can talk to me, you know.”

She turned and leaned her rear against the counter, dropping her chin to her chest while gripping the marble’s edge until she was sure her knuckles had turned white. “I hate he was here. In my room.” She glanced up at Tye. “He never should’ve been here, just as I should never have gone to that club last night.”

“Don’t second guess yourself based on hindsight.”

She blew out a humorless chuckle at that. A second later, she said, “I wanted
you
here. In my room with me. Before all this, you were the one I wanted here.”

His jaw tensed just as the set of his eyebrows eased. “Laine…”

“And now he’s ruined that.”

Tye edged closer. “Only if you let him.”

She met his eyes, once again fighting the sting in hers. “How can I not?”

He settled his hands first on her shoulders, staying quiet, even as his heady gaze told all. As he stroked down her arms, her breath quickened and her chest tightened. When he came to her hands, he didn’t take them into his as she thought he might do. Instead, he flattened his palms over them, trapping them between his and the counter. He held her in place, pressing the rest of his body against hers.

“Because I’m here now. Together we can dim what he did here. We can make it so you don’t ever have to remember.”

Ah, God, she wanted that more than anything.

When she moved to wrap her arms around him, he pressed his hands more firmly over hers. “No. Don’t move. Let me do this.”

Let him? Heaven above, right here, right now, she’d beg him do anything he wanted.

But she didn’t have to. She didn’t have to say anything because he took control. He gave her what she needed without having to utter a single word. He gave her what she needed when he kissed her.

A kiss that said more than any of the others she’d shared with him.

He wasn’t rough, but there wasn’t much gentleness to the kiss either. He planted his mouth over her lips like he wanted to consume her. And she wanted him to. She wanted him to take her away, if only for a little while, if only in her own mind. If only in her own body.

He left her lips and nibbled across her jaw until he came to her ear. “I’m going to let go, but I don’t want you to move. Keep your hands where they are,” he whispered.

Her only answer was a slight nod and the closing of her eyes. There was nothing for her to say, anyway. Nothing for her to do but let go of everything around her. Everything but Tye.

There was nothing for her to do but trust him.

He came back to her lips, blowing her mind with how forceful yet gentle he could be at the same time. He brought his hands to her waist, gripping her lightly, making her mind wonder what he might do next.

It didn’t have to wonder for too long. He slid his hands upward, stopping inches below her breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra, hadn’t since she’d been in the hospital. Her nipples tightened and her heart raced as she waited, as he tortured her by not moving anything other than his lips over hers.

She wanted him to touch her, damn it. She wanted the weight of his hands on her breasts, the heat and pressure of his palms covering her aching nipples.

A zing shot from her stomach straight downward, heating a trail to her pussy as his hands crept higher along her rib cage with each beat of her heart. And then he cupped the sides of her breasts while skimming his thumbs tenderly over her nipples.

She moaned into his mouth—she couldn’t hold it in—and clutched the edge of the counter harder.

“Breathe,” he whispered over her lips.

Wasn’t she? God no, she wasn’t. She felt like she’d forgotten how. He moved his left hand, bringing it between her breasts and stroking her there with his fingertips. Up. Down. Easy.

She opened her eyes and locked onto his gaze then, breathing with him, timing every inhale and exhale in perfect sync with his.

“That’s it,” he said, holding her within his stare.

She trembled, but it wasn’t because she was cold. She trembled from the fire racing across her skin, from the power in his eyes as he held her captured. From the light touch of his finger as he trailed it lower. At her bellybutton, he tugged on the shirt, bunching it within his fingers until the hem was firmly in his grip.

Their first skin-on-skin contact as he smoothed his hand over her stomach had her aching to move, had her dying to touch him as well. When her arms flinched, he shook his head slightly. “No, don’t. Keep your hands there, Laine.”

It was then that it dawned on her—this was bondage without bindings. His words were enough to keep her bound. His demand enough to have her willing to submit.

He took her lips again, and she practically saw stars. Her entire body lit up. Her head spun, slowly at first, then faster and faster. He massaged his hand toward her hip, then moved on to her lower back before exploring deeper. Cupping her ass, he pressed his body against hers again. Chest to chest, hip to hip, and thigh to thigh. He held her tighter this time, tightly enough there was no mistaking how caught up in this he was too.