Ensnared (Brutes of Bristlebrook, #1)(117)

“Just shut up, Lucien,” I snap, cutting off that drugging, impossible picture. Because it is far, far too easy to see. My Eden, crawling on her knees to me. Rewarding her with Lucien’s cock. Both of them, mine, to pet and hold and shatter as I like. “It will never happen.”

There’s a long, terrible silence.

“Why? Just answer that, Jasper. I deserve to know why.”

The pain in his voice paralyzes me, and I loathe myself for putting it there.

Why? The why would lay me naked before him. It would flay the flesh from my bones and leave me no place to hide. It might kill me to tell him why.

But I’ve tried everything else.

He’s right.

It’s time for Lucien to know it all.





Chapter 32


Jasper


SURVIVAL TIP #32

Your fight will give out at some point.

Prepare for the consequences.

I breathe in through my nose, calling on every meditative technique I ever learned to pull myself back into some shaky semblance of control. Two, three more breaths later and I’m able to stare at the screens, at that bird flying in and settling on that tree branch.

Why. Where to begin?

“My wife—” I start, then try again. “My relationship with Soomin . . . it was so straightforward, at first. She was a darling.

Sweet, intelligent, and a wonderful, trained submissive. You met her. You know.”

Lucien leans against the desk, watching without speaking, and I’m grateful. This is a difficult thing to articulate. It’s hard to talk about her; harder still to talk about her with him.

“It only took me a year to realize Soomin and I weren’t well matched. Her masochistic tendencies were very light, and I hungered for more.”

I can’t look at him for this. Not because he won’t understand, but because I know he will, and too well. My eyes drop to my ring, and I absently realize I’ve been spinning it. I take another deep breath and force myself to still my hands.

“For seven beautiful years, it was worth it. Or, at least, I was able to convince myself it was.” I swallow, and then lower my voice. “And if I sometimes trembled with the need for more, to push her in other ways, darker ways, I learned to suppress it. I quashed that part of myself viciously, not even allowing myself the fantasy of it—because even in fantasy it felt wrong when I was vividly aware that she wanted no part of that particular facet of my soul.”

Lucien shifts, but when I glance at him, he just nods at me to continue without meeting my eyes. A small frown mars his forehead.

“Over time, the signs of strain began to show, both in her because she was sharp enough to notice how much I held myself back, and in me, for the holding back. And I loathed myself for the weakness. For the misplaced guilt I saw building in her eyes. But we went to the club, we experimented. We loved one another, so we made it work. We made it work right up until . . .” My voice catches, nervousness closing my airways. I gather myself and continue, “Right up until I met someone. A young soldier who changed everything.”

Lucien has gone so still, I’m not sure he’s breathing. His golden hair is half twisted in a bun on his head and half cascading over his shoulders. The harsh fluorescent lights shouldn’t be flattering, but I’m not sure it’s possible for him to look less than devastating to me.

“Young, gorgeous Lucien,” I say tenderly, and his chest hitches, though I don’t hear a sound. He’s turned his face from me, and I wish he wouldn’t. I want to read every thought that crosses his expressive face. “Who wouldn’t have been in awe, meeting Lucien? A soldier who had moved through the ranks at near record speed. A young man who, while a confident bisexual, was also a conflicted, submissive-leaning switch with heavy masochistic tendencies. It was like seeing a notice for my own demise. He was to be under my care as a high-priority patient—and I was madly, urgently attracted to him.”

Fresh from my promotion, I was feeling good. I’d debriefed Beaumont, Dominic, and most other members of the platoon by that stage, and we’d gotten on well enough. I’d wanted to brush up on my notes before meeting with Jaykob after reading about the incident with his brother, and thought Lucien would be a straightforward assessment.

Right up until I saw the shameless interest that lit up his eyes, and all the shadows and needs and fears that hid behind them.

I saw those dimples begging for my tongue.

Straightforward, my lily-white ass.

Now, those dimples are nowhere in sight. That boy might have matured into an incredible man, but right now, he’s still the picture of vulnerability.

I force myself to go on. “This boy was a cruel joke on me—both on my marriage, and on my profession. It was beyond absurd. Me, a thirty-five-year-old happily married man, an experienced psychologist, lusting after a twenty-one-year-old patient. It was . . . a cosmic unkindness beyond my imagination.”

Leaning against the wall, I sigh. “So of course, I locked that down too, into the same place I pushed my sadistic self. I could indulge neither. Perhaps those fantasies could play with one another there, but I was determined never to peek into that box of shame.” Hardening my tone, I add, “You must understand, Lucien. I loved my wife, genuinely, and she deserved the loyalty I promised. And you—you defenseless, flawless thing—deserved a therapist you could trust, who would help you without guile or agenda. For all our sakes, the box could never be opened.”