“Come on now, let’s get cleaned up, have something to eat. You’ll feel better after some food.”
The way it’s seething right now, I’m sure I’ll bring up anything that I try to force down but I just nod and let him lead me through the forest. I feel golden eyes on my back and try not to let my shoulders hunch. This is exactly what they wanted to avoid. Me meddling in things I shouldn’t be meddling in. Dom should be saying “I told you so” right now. The least I can do is actually listen to them, the way I should have done in the first place.
I never should have left Bristlebrook.
What’s wrong with being pampered and coddled, really? If it makes them happy, and it means I’m not doing . . . this . . .
isn’t that better?
What’s the point of having choices if I just keep making the wrong ones?
When we reach the water, Beau stops. I stare blankly at the scene. The sun beats down between the trees, sparkling over the clear water. It whispers and burbles around the stones and branches, running in a playful path through the greenery. The grass is soft and thick, almost mossy, and the loamy earth has a kind, welcoming give under my feet. My teary vision gives the scene a hazy glow, the details blurring into each other prettily.
It confuses me. I feel like a whole day must have passed, a century, but it’s only been a few hours. It’s not right. It should be night, all black and shadows, bare tree limbs catching and tearing at my clothes.
I must have stared too long, because Beau’s hand wraps around my wrist, then his fingers skate down to twine with my bloody ones.
I look up at him, and his face is throat-closingly soft.
“Oh, darlin’， I’m so sorry,” he murmurs. Not taking his eyes off me, he raises his voice. “Dom . . . ”
There’s a beat of silence, then Dom says in a low voice, “I know. She needs it.”
A crush of tiredness, of sadness, squeezes me. Needs what?
Beau strokes the pad of his thumb over my hand in slow, soothing motions. “Eden, sometimes we use kink as a way of processing things. To help get feelings out in the open.”
He’s so unusually grave that I force myself to pay attention to him. Why is he talking about kink? Why on earth would he be talking about it now?
“Eden, Dom and I . . . we want to help you. Will you let us do that?”
To process things? I try to keep up. My mind floats back to my talk with Dom before all of this mess, about how the two of them set a scene to work through Beau’s issues, but the memory just makes my stomach sink further.
“Are you—” I have to swallow; my throat is so raw and dry. “Are you still mad at me?” I whisper.
Beau’s expression breaks, and his eyes sink closed. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows too. Finally, his eyes drift open, and he whispers back, “No, darlin’， I’m not mad.”
“Then, what . . . ”
“Do you trust us?” he asks again. “To make you feel better? You can stop it at any time.”
We’re so close that our breaths mix, match, until we’re breathing together. His eyes are the woods that kept me safe for years, steady streams and hidden nooks.
“I trust you with everything,” I tell him.
Slowly, he nods. “Well, alright then.” He squeezes my hand, and his next smile seems to bury all the sadness in his face.
“Get yourself some water, Eden.”
I don’t need a drink. But, wanting nothing more than to get the blood off, I kneel by the water’s edge. I submerge my hands, then rub at my face and rinse out my mouth. Taking a handful of the coarse sand, I scrub it into my skin, managing to get the worst of the blood off my neck and arms.
“Now, now, darlin’， you’re gonna need to get wetter than that.”
I glance up just as Beau reaches over his back and pulls his shirt over his head in one motion. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. Beau without his shirt is . . . a sight, and it must be a common one, because he has a delicious golden tan across his whole torso. There’s a light dusting of dark gold-brown hair across his chest that narrows to a trail that beckons me to his waistline. I hesitate before blinking the water from my eyes.
Seeing him like this with pure clarity might be enough to stop my heart.
When my gaze finally makes its way back to his face, some of the cold blankness in me recedes at his twinkling eyes. The sudden mischief in them reminds me of Lucky. There’s color rising in his face, too, like he’s just gone for a run.
How is he so normal right now? He just took a life. Lives probably. Even knowing who they were . . . That boy was young.
Twenty, tops. Did he really deserve to die?
Beau bites his lip as he watches me too, and sadness flashes across his face before his smile returns full force. He kicks off his shoes and unbuckles his belt, and I suck in a breath as I realize he’s half hard already.
“What are you—” My voice sounds strangled.
“I don’t know about you,” Dom says from behind me, “but I don’t bathe fully clothed . . . and you’re filthy.”
Dom is leaning against a tree, and I need to crane my head over my shoulder to look at him. He’s still vibrating with that odd energy, like he’s about to spring back into motion at any moment. It’s in the twitching of his fingers, his tense muscles, the restless way he keeps shifting.
That intense gaze fastens on me.
“Strip.”
A shiver of warning runs down my spine. The way they’re standing, one at my front, one behind, feels deliberate. I’m reminded of the way a wolf sends a runner to chase down prey into the jaws of his brother. A frisson of nervous energy tingles over my skin.
I wet my lips, eyes darting between them. “I— Uh. I’ll clean up when we get home?”
Why did that come out like a question?
Beau’s brows lift up, and I try my best not to notice, but he’s, well, he’s really hard now.
“That wasn’t really a suggestion, sweet girl.” Beau’s crooked smile deepens, and he takes a deliberate step toward me.
“You should do what he says, hmm?”
I scramble back. He’s still smiling, but there’s an unholy light to his eyes. Something pagan and dangerous. I realize abruptly that I may have underestimated my charming doctor. Dark and feral needs lurk under his good nature.
Beau steps forward again, and I stumble to my feet, not taking my eyes off him. The threat in him is illicit, delicious, and my breaths come faster.
“Remember your safeword, darlin’？”
Fear and excitement thrill through me, and my somber thoughts grow blessedly quiet. I wet my lips. “Why do you need to know my safeword?”
My pulse throbs in my neck, my core.
“Oh, I know your safeword,” he confides, and the way his eyes slide over me is vile. Erotic. “Just making sure you do.”
The back of my neck tingles in warning, and my nipples tighten into sensitive nubs even as I recognize he’s giving me a choice. My still-red hands clench in the material of my pants.
I don’t want choices right now.
Taking a deep breath, I stop backing away.
“Bristlebrook,” I whisper.
The tension in Beau doubles. His gaze flicking up over my shoulder is the only warning I get.