Ensnared (Brutes of Bristlebrook, #1)(118)

But, curse him, Lucien was a flirt, and curious, and he tested all my limits. Through his sessions we talked about his work, of course, and also his sexuality. His fears and worries about being seen as a submissive. His own calling, for pain and tears and pleases and thank-yous that so perfectly, desperately matched my own. His recitations of fantasies and desires that had me sitting swollen and dripping pre-cum in my chair as I took dutiful notes. His curious, hungry, and entirely inappropriate questions about me.

Present-day Lucien looks at me, finally, intensely, but for once, I can’t read him.

“The lines started to blur. Soomin and I became more involved with events on base. You started showing up everywhere, at barbecues and charity auctions and, worst of all, you began frequenting the club. I shouldn’t have been surprised—there weren’t a plethora around . . . and I was intimately aware of your needs.”

I glare at him, unable to help myself, remembering that furious, helpless panic I’d felt on seeing him there. Lucien’s lips tighten, but he doesn’t look away from my wrath.

“I started taking Soomin to the private rooms for our sessions there, not sure who I was trying to protect. Perhaps both of you. Perhaps only myself.” I swallow, some of my glare softening. “I knew seeing you like that, shattered and tearstained, might be something too big to fit in my box.”

It would have been. It is. Every time, despite the soul-souring shame, I have to admit in the most shadowy recesses of my heart, that he is perfect. This gorgeous, likable man whose masochism rides him as deeply as my sadism does me. Whose mischievous spirit is so enduring and bright, he’s impossible not to love.

So while his cries are delicious, and his pleasure addictive, what keeps me up at night is that moment. The one where he gives himself over to me completely, where he looks up with perfect trust and heartbreaking faith. It’s the moment where I know I’ve satisfied something deep inside him, and the relentless craving inside me has also eased. It’s better than any orgasm I’ve ever had.

And fuck, I want that again. But I won’t have it. Not ever.

This has gone on long enough.

“Soomin noticed, of course. She wasn’t stupid. And over the next three years, I devoted myself to convincing her that I would never take advantage of my patient, that I loved her, that I didn’t need to feed the darkness inside me.”

Old hurt spills over, and I can’t keep it from my voice. “I meant it, Lucien. I truly did. Even if she wasn’t my best friend, even if I didn’t love her, the imbalance of power between you and me was— is—far too great to ever be palatable. In the end, though, she didn’t believe me. She left. She left, and I was alone with the promises that I swore never to break.”

And here it is. The hard part. And I will explain it to him, though I know him well enough to know he won’t accept it. It’s why I’ve held my tongue until now.

Every step closer to him hurts, but I take them, until we’re a breath apart. Always close but that space never closed. It takes several moments before he meets my eyes, still with that unreadable, intense expression.

“Those promises are still promises, Lucien, even though it’s been five years and an apocalypse since our divorce. Because you are still too young, you are still my patient, and I still have an ethical responsibility toward you. I’ve been a mentor and a guide to you, and you have confused those feelings with a crush. It would be wrong to take advantage of those feelings.”

Lucien’s face darkens like a gloaming sky, but I cut him off.

“It’s not psychobabble, Lucien. It’s called transference and it is a very real phenomenon.” I cup his chin, unable to help it.

“I promised my wife you wouldn’t be mine. I made promises to myself when I took on this profession not to cross certain lines.”

I stroke along his jaw, knowing it might be the last time I allow myself to do so. He’s tense and furious, his eyes wet with the worst kind of tears. Hot, filthy shame makes my throat tight too.

“Since we’ve been living here, I’ve slipped more times than I’m proud of. Somehow the box pries itself open, and I relive a new brand of failure as a husband, psychologist, and dominant. You have to understand. It’s terrible, Lucien. The things I’ve done to you—I am the villain I always feared myself to be.”

“Done to me?” Lucien asks, and there’s a dangerous, bladed edge to his question. His eyes flash. “Are you finished?”

Unsettled by his tone, I frown, searching his face. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him look quite like this.

I nod, and he nods back, like we’re agreeing.

“Good.”

Lucien shoves me back, hard. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

He grabs my shirt and yanks me close, and I brace myself against him, stumbling. He turns us and shoves me against the wall. His strength surprises me, though I know it shouldn’t. He’s just never turned it on me before. I finally recognize the raw, unfiltered fury for what it is.

My heart twists until it snaps, severing itself from all vital blood flow. It has to be why my chest hurts so much.

“I am not some tender-hearted schoolgirl who’s never had her skirts flipped before,” he snarls in my face.

Every inch of him is pressed against me, as if in protest of the space I always kept between us. Irritated that he’s missed the point, I open my mouth, but he slaps a hand over it.