Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Another was softly crying as she whispered to herself, “She was so young.”
Eight years old. She had been eight years old, just like my sisters had been.
I cleared my throat. “Thank you, all of you. We did all we could.” The words felt empty; they were empty. They were true, yes. We had run a perfect trauma activation, had done all the right things, but again, it hadn’t been enough.
From there it was a blur—cleaning up, speaking with the family—Christ, that always killed me—showering, driving home, sitting in the driveway.
Closing my eyes.
Imagining the wreck today that took eight-year-old Olivia’s life.
Reliving the car accident that took Amy and Ari. That took my mom.
“Fuck!” My hands slapped down over and over against the steering wheel. Fuck, I’d wanted to save her. I’d wanted to save them.
It was dark out, almost eleven on a Friday night. The trauma call came in at 6:26 p.m. I was supposed to have gotten off at seven.
Forcing myself to calm down, I took a couple of deep, steadying breaths. The house was dark when I went inside, except for the lamp in the foyer. Finley always left it that way if he went to bed before I got in, and I found myself…disappointed. I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted what he gave me, the parts I allowed myself to take—his submission, his servitude.
His company.
I’d never sought that out in a situation like this. I’d never had someone the day I lost a patient. I usually needed it a day or so afterward, the control, to know exactly what would happen because I willed it so. I didn’t believe I had my desires because of what I’d lived through. It was too deeply sewn into who I was. And there were times it did help.
But tonight I just wanted him.
I went upstairs. He never slept with his door fully closed anymore, kept it open a sliver. I thought maybe because it made Finley feel closer to me, my sweet, precious boy.
I slipped into his room, leaving the hallway light on and the door open. I sat in the gray chair and looked at him as he lay on his side, curled up in a ball, the way he slept when I wasn’t holding him.
I didn’t know how long I sat there, watching him sleep. Rubbed my fingers together and imagined the softness of his hair, tightened my hand into a fist, wondering what it would be like to twine my fingers around the strands roughly as I fucked his throat.
It had been weeks since I spanked him, since he came on me and I felt him shudder against me. Since the heat of his ass was seared into my hand when I touched him, but it was there, so vividly ingrained into my senses. The way he sounded when he cried, and his scent, which was like strawberries from that bodywash he used and fresh sweat.
It had been a year since he’d moved in, and he’d given me more than he could ever know.
Finley rolled over, his eyes fluttered, and he sat up. “Aidan?” His voice trembled with uncertainty.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I just…” Didn’t want to be alone. Wanted him.
“You didn’t wake me up. What time is it?” When I didn’t answer, he plucked his cell phone from the nightstand. “It’s after one in the morning. What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?”
Christ, the simple question made my pulse throb, made blood rush through my ears. The way he longed to serve me was exquisite. “No, my little warrior, you did not. I had a…bad night at work, is all. I lost a patient, and it reminded me of something else.”
There was a quiet, sharp intake of breath. He was shocked at what I’d said. I never talked about what I did. It left me too raw, but tonight, the words had needed to fall from my lips.
“Can I…can I crawl to you?”
“Yes,” I answered simply. There was nothing I wanted more.
Finley got out of the bed. He wore only a T-shirt and boxer trunks. He knelt, then went to his hands and knees, and slowly, so very slowly, crawled over to me. His instincts were so pure. He so naturally followed his impulses to serve.
“Sit between my thighs, with your head on my lap,” I instructed, spreading my legs.
“Yes, Sir.” Finley settled between them, facing away from me with his cheek on me. I touched his hair as I’d imagined earlier, watched it fall through my fingertips, twisted it around, and tugged lightly. Finley gasped…then settled against me further, rubbing his cheek on my jeans.
I didn’t do anything more, just alternated between petting his cheek, his hair, and then tightening my hand in it and pulling gently. At one point he whimpered, and I let go. If I knew his limits, his desires, I wouldn’t have. I would have tested him. I would have worked him hard so he gave all he was willing to me, but we had never had those discussions.