Ensnared (Brutes of Bristlebrook, #1)(71)

I move my knight to F6.

“I grew up in a trailer park,” I offer. Sucking in a deep breath, I continue, “My mother was an addict—I don’t know who my father was—and after I was born, she left me with my grandmother.”

“What was your grandmother like?” Jasper slides his queen to B3, placing several of my pieces in direct danger again.

Nerves slide like oil through my intestines. Needing to defend myself, I move my queen out to E7 to protect my pawn from his bishop.

“She was fine, as long as I followed her rules. But I minded my manners and went to church when she told me to, so we didn’t have any problems.”

His eyelashes shade his eyes, and when they fly open again, there’s a crease between his brows. “What I said to you, in the library, about your manners . . . that wasn’t based on anything you said or did, Eden. I’m sorry if I hit a nerve. I was upset about something else, and I have an unfortunate habit of cruelty when I’m caught off guard.”

I study him. “Is that one of the flaws you mentioned earlier? That you’re not so proud of?”

He looks away, unseeing, toward the teapot where it cools on the benchtop.

“It’s one of them,” he murmurs.

“I met my husband, Henry, when I was eighteen,” I quietly offer in return. “He was handsome, and wealthy, and I thought he was so kind when he did me the high honor of lifting me out of poverty. He worked so hard to help me slide easily into his world. To . . . correct . . . all my embarrassing behaviors.” My throat feels sore, no matter how I swallow. “And in exchange, I adored him.”

I falter again. What a humiliating thing to admit.

Rather than taking another piece with his queen, Jasper moves his remaining knight to C3. Distracted, I try to figure out what he’s doing. I’m exposed, and I don’t understand why he’s not attacking.

“When did you realize?” I ask, wanting desperately to even the playing field. “That you liked . . . That you were a—”

“A sadist?” Faint amusement lightens his features. “A frightening word, isn’t it?”

Of course he’s amused—he’s the one on the safe end of the whip.

Jasper appears to think it over. “It was from a fairly young age—certainly from the time I was old enough to start thinking about sex. I can’t remember a time where it was separate from pain in my mind.”

He grows silent for a moment, and it’s like he gathers the shadows, becoming something still and slightly frightening.

Something unholy, but divinely in need of worship.

“As I grew older, I learned. My body called for control, for pain. Craved it like air, or water. It wasn’t a desire . . . it was a vocation.” His eyes gleam in the soft lights. “I saw pretty things and I wanted to break them. I saw pretty people and wanted them under my loafer and begging. I wanted tears, and surrender.” His lips thin, and the shadows darken. “You can’t imagine how much it frightened me.”

I start in surprise, and he smiles faintly at my reaction, but there’s no humor in it.

“I thought I was evil,” he confesses. “Only villains want to hurt people. I spent years burying it, fearing to look too closely at my desires. Which was foolish, of course—only in understanding comes acceptance. It took me a long time before I realized that not just any tears would do. Not any pain would ease the ache in my soul. They needed to be willingly offered. Given freely and gratefully.”

Jasper rolls his shoulders back, and I realize he’s uncomfortable. He directs that penetrating gaze on me again. “I’m sorry.

I’m explaining this poorly. It’s not something I’ve ever tried to put into words before.”

Pulse shivering, I shake my head minutely. “You’re explaining it perfectly.”

Freely and gratefully. For the first time I wonder just how much pleasure a masochist must feel for their pain to become something they beg for.

On the board, I can suddenly see how clever his move is. If he pushes forward with his knight, I will be placed terribly to protect my major pieces. But most of my defensive moves still leave me at his mercy.

I move my pawn to C6, pre-emptively stopping his knight from advancing.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and I beam up at him at the praise.

Something kindles in his expression as he takes in my smile. I wonder if he’d be encouraging while he hurt me. What kind of comfort would come between the torments?

Feeling warm, I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose.

Jasper moves his other bishop to G5 to threaten my knight. “How did you meet your husband?”

My arousal sizzles out. “Ah. Henry was plumping out his extracurriculars for his Yale application, so we met at the nursing home my grandmother was moved to.” Jasper’s brows twitch at the mention of Yale, just slightly, and my smile turns caustic.

Yes, nothing but the best for my dear husband. “Henry . . . he took an interest in me. I’m still not quite sure why. His parents were rather hard on him, and I think he liked playing the hero. His family was wealthy, you see, and terribly educated.”

Jasper trains his eyes on the board, but the lines of him are carefully still. I know he’s paying attention.

I lift my hand in a dismissive wave, though my throat thickens at the humiliating memories. “It’s all very predictable, I’m afraid. He was kind to me, and so willing to ‘teach’ me to be a better person—in their eyes, of course. How I should dress, and talk, and eat so I could fit into his world. It didn’t matter, though. His parents hated me.”