Page 18 of Brave
She didn’t do anything. She hadn’t even spent the day job hunting the way she’d wanted. Instead, she’d spent eight hours traveling by Greyhound to and from West Virginia’s federal prison, under the dreaded weight of impending and then descending punishment.
She hadn’t been able to hold a job since Ethen’s arrest.
No one wanted to hire someone who collapsed into a neurotic ball every time she was asked to do something.
She was a mess.
“Red,” she choked.
“Have you lived in the D.C. area long?”
Her face got hot.
All her life, unless one counted the two years she’d spent in Hell on Ethen’s remote country ranch.
The anacondas squeezed in so tight she could barely breathe. “Red.”
“Do you have a coat?” he calmly countered, folding his hands in his lap. His stone-gray stare pinned her to the floor.
Her coat was in her closet but getting it had meant letting Pony know she was leaving, and she hadn’t wanted to do that. Not when Pony was already being punished for the last time she’d left.
“Red,” she croaked.
“When was the last time you had a good meal? And don’t say red,” he said, interrupting before she could do more than open her mouth. “This isn’t a safeword kind of question. None of these have been.”
Puppy fled, or at least she tried. She should have taken him up on the pillow offer. After so long spent kneeling on the hard tile floor, it was amazing how out of practice for this pose her legs and feet had become. She stumbled just trying to get up and that stumble was all the time Carlson needed to catch her wrist.
With one sharp tug, she flopped back down, but not on her knees. She toppled sideways, landing on her ass instead. While she scrambled to regain her balance, Carlson let go of her wrist and grabbed her by both ankles instead. Her whole body froze when he yanked her to him. Her jean-clad butt slid across the hard tile floor without any hesitation. All she could do was try not to fall flat on her back as he pulled her in between his splayed knees, heaving her right leg over his left thigh and her left leg over his right, until she was sitting, stiff and still and too much in shock to know how to react, smack between his thighs. He let go of her legs and her feet bumped the floor on opposite sides of his body.
It was the first time in over a year that she’d had a man between her legs, and the first time in her entire life that she’d ever had one there like this. She sat between his knees with her legs draped over the top of his, and the most unbelievable bloom of wanton heat unfurling in the pit of her belly as he softly said, “I’m going to put my hands on your waist. Now, that is something you can say ‘red’ to if you want.”
Trembling, she held both his stare and her breath as, giving her plenty of time to protest if she truly wanted to, he reached for her. The warmth of his palms settled just above her hips, instantly bleeding in through her clothes, and oh, but the things that warmth did to the heat already awakening inside her.
“Put your hand on my arms,” he directed. “That is also something you may say ‘red’ to if you wish.”
Her trembling worsened by the second. His touch on her waist was light; the circle of his arms the closest she had been to an actual hug from a man in a very long time. It was painful how much she realized she wanted to be held.
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep back the rising sting of tears she was too embarrassed to let loose.
Her hands burned as she struggled to find an unobtrusive place to touch that didn’t feel grossly inappropriate. Because, of course this was inappropriate. She didn’t belong to him. She didn’t belong to anybody, although she knew Ethen was less than two months now from happily proving that wrong.
Fingers twitching, her hands found a fragile perch on his biceps. The heat of him burned her there too. He felt so solid, so strong.
Ethen would feel strong too, once he was back to dragging her through the house by her hair… whipping her with the length of her own leash… locking her back in her kennel by the living room hearth…
Puppy couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. The tears were welling fast and she just couldn’t blink hard or fast enough to keep them back. She kept her eyes down, staring into his lap, praying he wouldn’t make her look at him because she really didn’t want him to see just how close she was to losing it.
“Close your eyes,” Carlson soothed.
She hated being blind. Ethen was king of smacks that came unexpectedly out of nowhere, but she had been a menagerie girl for far too long not to obey. Shaking, she closed herself in voluntary darkness, flinching slightly when a whisper of movement came from just behind her. Her muscles tightened, but she was imagining things. No one was behind her. Ethen was in prison; Carlson was right here. Their legs were loosely wrapped one about the other, with the touch of his hands burning through her shirt and her trembling hands resting lightly on his arms. No one else cared enough for her either way to come anywhere near her.
No one else in the world. She bit her bottom lip in a failing effort to stop it from wobbling.
“Deep breath in,” he said, his strong inhale a mirror that she instinctively tried to emulate. Hers was much shakier. “Let it out slowly.”
She very nearly burst into tears. Even closed, her eyes were stinging. She bowed her head, trying to turn her face away, but the only time his hand left her waist was when he caught her chin and gently brought her face back to his.
“Deep breath,” he said again.
