Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
“He’s innocent!” he shouted.
I eased back and cocked a brow.
He swallowed hard and coughed, eyes wild—like they’d been before, when I’d sensed he was lost in the game. “Abel doesn’t know anything.”
Kit tried to yell something behind Colt’s hand, but the muffled noise didn’t pierce Tracy’s guilt.
Thank God. I needed this to end now.
“I got the note,” my boy croaked. “Okay? It’s me. The key is hidden on the pier in the Downtown marina. I’m the guilty one. Punish me.”
Fuck, I felt my whole body unclench and push away countless moments of tension. The entire damn day—hell, the week leading up to tonight.
It was finally over.
I let the knife drop to the ground, and I cupped Tracy’s face in my hands.
“You’re not getting punished, baby,” I murmured. “Nobody is.”
His breaths came out choppy, and he looked like he couldn’t process what I was saying, which made me worried.
“What’s your color, Tracy?”
He cocked his head a little, tears spilling over. “G-green—but…but I got the note. I’m guilty.”
I shook my head and kissed his cheek, and I started untying him from the tree. The fact that he’d been so quick to say green offered me relief; it meant the kink of the evening remained at the forefront of his mind, but it was still clear as day that his mind had been sufficiently fucked with.
“Guilty of being called sticky fingers in a joking manner, maybe,” I agreed. “Otherwise, the only thing you’re guilty of is being a good boy. You did so fucking well tonight.”
He sniffled. “Oh,” he whimpered. “It’s over?”
“It’s over,” I confirmed.
I vaguely registered the other Tops releasing their prey as well, including Ryan, who’d returned with Greg.
The moment Tracy was free of his restraints, he fell against me and locked his arms around my neck.
CHAPTER 12
Tracy Judd
Icouldn’t stop crying.
It was the most bizarre thing. It was a quiet and calm cryfest, but I couldn’t stop to save my life. I just sat there in Daddy’s truck and wept silently, sniffled a whole lot, and processed the night. And every now and then, a memory struck, causing the next round of tears.
Daddy was my anchor. He kept me close, drove fairly slowly, and kissed the top of my head a lot.
“It’s like…” I stifled a sob and screwed my eyes shut for a moment. “Getting whipped fifty times, but you register each strike much later.”
“Because it’s actually more than fifty strikes,” Daddy explained patiently. “It’s been an evening with constant movement, discomfort, tripping, mindfucking—you can’t process everything when it happens, so it comes out afterward.”
Yeah. I wept like a freaking baby, and that was exactly what it was.
I was also realizing that I’d been scared for much longer than I’d originally thought. My brain had just protected me from feeling it when the stakes were so high. And now…ugh.
Plus, it’d fucked with my head to see Justin cry before we’d left Ryan’s property. He never cried.
Everyone had essentially sagged into heaps of relief and emotions when it was over, and we hadn’t seen it coming. Maybe Kit. He’d clearly done this many times before. Angel, too. Even so, they’d fallen apart.
A massive weight had lifted from my shoulders, and I guessed I was crying it off.
Oh my gosh, I looked like a bloody mess! Literally! I hadn’t seen my reflection when Daddy had ushered me into the shower, but now I couldn’t look away. My face and neck had little cuts and scrapes everywhere.
Daddy got down on one knee to drag the towel gently over my legs, and I saw redness and budding bruises along my thighs and torso.
“Can we take pictures of the marks, Daddy?” I croaked.
He smiled up at me and dried my junk. “We’ll do that tomorrow and the day after when the colors come out.”
Oh yeah, good idea.
I sniffled and wiped my nose, and I waited till he was ready for my next step in the aftercare process. He’d asked me some stuff, like what I needed, and I honestly hadn’t been able to tell him. Aside from closeness. I wanted him nearby the whole time. But he seemed to be winging it very well.
“Time to march this cute butt to bed,” he said. “But you can wait in the doorway while I grab some essentials.”
Essentials were essential. I didn’t know what he was referring to, and I was content to find out whenever.
He enveloped me in the biggest towel, while he kept his wrapped around his hips, and I watched him duck into the kitchen for a moment.
I sniffled and scratched my head—ouch, sore! Like a Kinder surprise for masochists. I didn’t know what I was getting until I came upon a sore spot or a bruise.
“Do you need help, Daddy?” I asked.
“No, you just wait there, little one.”
Okidoke.
He rummaged around for a couple minutes more, and when he reemerged, I felt my eyes light up. He’d made an ice cream sundae! Holy crap, it looked so delicious. Chocolate, strawberry, crushed hazelnuts—I assumed, because it was what I had—chocolate syrup, half a banana, and little wafers. He must’ve bought those.