Taken by Chance (17 page)

chapter
19

Chance had hated
to leave Lena up there on the roof, but he had to do it. He had to go sort some
things out on his own, for her sake.
And, truly, for his own
sake, too.
So he’d sent Lola up to take care of her and then he’d gone
straight to the gym.

Ten rounds on the
heavy bag and he was only just
starting
to make sense of the whole thing.

Five minutes after
leaving her, he’d felt like a dick for letting her believe he was some kind of
noble, suffering hero. That was bullshit. The obvious solution was to just tell
her about Jennie, about what Sean did to her, and about what he’d seen in
himself since then—but then she kept going on about how she could only
submit to him. Chance had been a Dom for a long time, and never with any
problems, never with any cause for concern with anyone. It was when he was at
his best. But everything felt different with Lena, and he wasn’t sure how yet,
wasn’t sure what it meant, or if it would change things. So she calmed
him—what would happen if something happened to her? Would it do the
opposite? And telling her—would that take that away from her? Just so he
could get it off his chest?

He pounded the bag
in a non-stop flurry of combinations, knowing he’d just rationalized some
stupid shit. The problem was that his feelings for Lena didn’t stop when the
scene did. And
that
was new to him,
too.

By the time he’d
worked himself into a full sweat he knew what he wanted to do. What his
instincts were telling him to do.

They were telling
him to tie Lena up and take his pleasure with her. That she was ready for it.
That they needed to be closer, not further apart.
He was
always ok as a Dom. It would help him confirm what he thought—if he loved
her.

Holy shit.

Chance stopped moving,
the heavy bag swaying in front of him like a metronome, timing out the seconds
since the word had made itself heard in his head.

He rolled it
around in his mind, trying to get the feel of it, the heft of it.

He loved Lena.
And not just that.
She made him…different. He knew that,
fine. But he needed to know more.

And so did she.
Maybe not the truth, just quite yet—he had to be perfectly sure before he
started dropping bombs on her. She hadn’t even been ready to open up to him yet
about the things that had scarred her, she was skittish as hell, in her own
words—“irrevocably skittish,” she’d said—and he wouldn’t risk
hurting her more by shooting his mouth off just because it felt good and
potentially sabotaging all her progress as a result.

But she damn well
needed to see that he would be there. That he was her Dom.

Fuck. Going to the
gym to work this off? Letting her suffer like this? It was stupid. It was
fucking selfish. It was not who he was—he was a fucking Dom. He might be
a lot of other things, too, many of them not good, but this was one thing he
knew.

And he knew what
Lena needed, at her core.

“Hey, Chance?”

“What?” he
growled. He was already tearing off his gloves, ready to run back to Volare and
do what needed to be done.

Billy was only slightly
taken aback. “You in a hurry?”

“Yes.”

“Ok. Yeah, well, I
don’t think
Mikey’s
gonna
train with you no more. It’s nothing personal,
Chance, but the boy’s been asking so many questions. It’s not just the gloves
this time, it’s all this…this sex stuff. I don’t know. I’m
gonna
send him to computer camp and just…”

Chance looked at
the old man. He couldn’t blame him, even though Chance felt that he was wrong.
Chance knew some people would always see him differently because of Volare, and
some people would always see him differently because of his violent past.

“That’s fine,”
Chance said.

“No hard
feelings?”

“None.”

“Well, all right
then. Chance?”

Chance turned,
already seething, wanting to be on his way. “Yeah?”

“She seems like a
lovely girl.”

“She is.”

Chance made it
back to Volare in under a minute, jogging the last few yards, practically
running into Lola on his way through.

“Hey!” she said,
sidestepping in front of him, blocking his way. “I want to talk to you!”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. You’re
being an idiot. Being a responsible Dom isn’t about
not
getting involved, it’s about being in control and aware of your
involvement. And I know you’ve got special concern because of Jennie Sands, but
honestly, Chance, you’re not like that. It doesn’t mean you can’t care about a
sub, or fall in love, or whatever. Where would Roman and I be if we were that
dumb? Or, you know, had stayed that dumb? Don’t run away—”

“Oh,
Christ
, Lola, I
know
. Now I love you, but get the hell out of my way,” Chance said.
“You’re standing between me and my sub.”

~ * ~ * ~

There were a whole
lot of things in the world that Lena did not understand. First, there was
Chance. Apparently. She loved him as Dom. Loved how even when he was letting
her get away with being a smartass, or letting her tease him, or whatever,
there was always this rumbling undercurrent of…Dom. She teased him at his
pleasure. Part of the fun
was knowing
that there would
eventually be consequences.

And yet so much of
what he did was for
her
. He owned
her, and he…he cherished her.

He’d used the
word. She just hadn’t made the connection.

And now he wasn’t?
Anymore? For some reason she didn’t understand. And she’d had the gall to yell
at him—to
yell
at him—for
keeping something from her when she’d been keeping Paul Cigna’s harassment from
him the whole time.

She’d gotten
another text. The timing, as always, was impeccable. It was like Cigna knew
when she was already down and just couldn’t resist. But this one had been, by
far, the worst: “Play it your way. But I have more pictures.”

More pictures.

Lena had already
been going kind of nuts, freaking out about Chance, wanting him back under any
circumstances and not willing to reflect too deeply on why, but now? Now she
was freaking out about Chance
and
the
idea that there were more pictures. She couldn’t get it out of her head.

She couldn’t stop
thinking about what they contained. How much worse they might be.

If she knew
Richie, he’d be savvy about the whole thing. He was shallow and selfish, not
stupid. It made sense now—he’d release the first batch, then wait until
coverage was ebbing, then release the really shocking ones, just to prolong his
little media party, thinking maybe he could get a new career out of it. He
already
had
a new career out of
it—that part in Roddy Nichols’ new film.

If Lena hadn’t
already been convinced that karma was a complete farce, she would be now. She
had worked herself into a complete mess by the time Chance came through her
door.

They stared at
each other for a moment. No, she stared at him, hopeful. He
studied
her.
That
stare
.
That Dom stare, where his eyes seemed alive and
predatory.
Evaluating, learning, making decisions about what would
happen to her.

“You’re upset,” he
said.

The
voice
.

“Yes,” she said.

“Because of the
things I said,” he said. “And didn’t say?”

“Because of a lot
of things,” she said. The look on his face made her so, so hopeful. She
couldn’t imagine anything better than having him back right now. She wanted it
more than anything.

“I made a
mistake,” he said, his eyes holding her locked in place. “With you. I don’t often
do that. But I’m here to rectify that now.”

A shiver started
in her sex and rippled through Lena’s entire body as he walked around her.

“Thank you,” she
said.

She was so
grateful just to see him. So grateful to notice the black bag he’d brought into
her bedroom, the bag that carried so many of his tools, and to know what it
meant.

A wave of anxiety
returned. She had to double check.

“Chance, does this
mean you’re back? That we’re still…”

Lena faltered on
the words. She wasn’t used to that. She could always find the words to
articulate what she felt, to describe a scene, to get her point across. Maybe
it wasn’t finding the
words that was
the problem—maybe
it was the words themselves. She wasn’t supposed to be attached, she wasn’t
supposed to make this into more than it was,
she
wasn’t supposed to depend on him for more than this one thing.

“Lena,” he said,
walking toward her, his eyes never leaving hers. “I am your Dom. You are my
sub. And I am not going anywhere.”

His voice was like
iron. Something solid, something real that she could hold on to, and her sense
of relief was…oh God, she was going to cry. She willed herself calm. She wanted
him, right now, more than anything. She wanted him to show her that he was her
Dom. She wanted to feel that combination of pleasure and pain, of helplessness
and
safety,
of knowing she was under his complete
control—that at least in this one area, she was safe, because she was
his.

She couldn’t do
anything about those new pictures; she couldn’t do anything about what would
happen. But she could submit to Chance.

He stepped closer
to her, and she saw he was covered in sweat, gleaming. It made her think of
sex. It made her think of that first night, in the roof garden, the way he’d
been just a hungry animal, the way he’d helped her to give in to what she
wanted.

“I’ve been
preparing you, Lena,” he said. “Helping you to feel comfortable. Helping you
learn. But now I’m going to take you for me.
Because I want
you.
Because you are mine.
And because you need
to know that.”

Mine
.

That sent
shockwaves right through her. She did need to know that. She needed to know he
was still her Dom, that this—this thing that felt like the only thing she
had left—that this wasn’t being taken from her, too. Relief.
So much relief.
Enough relief to cover the twinge of anxiety
that she felt when she thought about what any of that meant, really meant, for
her. She just wanted the relief. She just wanted to forget about the mess her
life had become.

She just wanted
him.

“Why are you
almost crying?” he asked.

“I’m relieved,”
she said. “I’m so relieved. I can’t do this with anyone else. At least not
yet.”

Why had she said
that? She’d never even thought about—

Chance’s nostrils
flared, his eyes flashed, and he stepped closer. Studying her again. Assessing.

“I’m sorry I gave
you reason to question me, or to think I’d abandon you,” he finally said. “That
was wrong. But you are
my
sub, no one
else’s, and I’m going to show it to you.”

A current raced
through her, an actual live current, and every single nerve in her body cried
out for more. Yes. This. Him.

Now.

Chance held her by
the back of the neck and claimed her mouth, his tongue roving, licking,
probing—taking. Lena’s body drew to his all on its own, her lips tender
and alive, her mouth dissolving into his. He pulled back, his large hand
holding her in place, and gave her a ferocious look.

“Mine,” he said.

He freed her
briefly to grab the bottom of her t-shirt; she didn’t need to be told to lift
her arms. He stripped it off of her and tore off her bra, throwing them aside,
and placed his hand back on her neck. He lifted one breast, taking the nipple
in his mouth, sucking and biting just enough to make it sting,
then
did the same to the other. He left them tingling and
aching, demanding to be touched, and looked her again in the eye.

“Mine,” he said.

He hooked his
thumbs in the waistband of her comfy old sweatpants, found her underwear
there—frowned—and then stripped her of both. She stepped out of the
pile of clothing without a word, and when he put his foot between hers, she
spread her legs.

He thrust his hand
between her legs, one finger dallying in her wetness, and then he gripped her
there.

“Mine,” he rasped.

She felt her legs
go weak.

Without warning,
Chance spun her around, his arm like an iron bar across her chest holding her
immobile, and bent her slightly forward. He smoothed one hand across her butt,
then spread her cheeks and pressed a finger against her anus.