And if I wasn’t feeling so damn weak my next move would be to tie her to the bed, spank her ass, and show her exactly who she belongs to.
Fuck.
Not me. She’s not mine.
She used to be, but that ship has sailed—sunk—and went down the drain somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle. That twisted and that fucking unrepairable.
A sigh rips from her and she places one finger on my shoulder to nudge me back down. It’s a combination of touch and the gentle move that makes me sag into the mattress.
“Pierre is in an open relationship with Donald. I sometimes do the both of them a favor and prep Pierre for Donald. Pierre likes more than a bite of pain and when I get in a mood I need to—”
Her hand turns into a fist, knuckles white and it’s then I realize, “You use the whole BDSM, ‘Domme deal’ to get it all out of your system and get back in control.”
Her throat bobs and she gives me a tight nod.
“Do you feel good or dirty afterwards? Because I for sure as fuck throw up each and every time I get off.” The moment those words fall out of my way too loose lips, I instantly regret them.
Why the hell would I share something I’ve never told another soul?
But instead of being repulsed, shocked, or horrified by my admittance, she merely shakes her head and says, “I never get off. But I have to take a scalding hot shower afterwards.”
She shifts closer to the bed and sits down next to me. Again, she links our pinkies together, gives a little squeeze and says, “Our past sure did screw up our lives if we can’t even have sex or any affection the way normal people do.”
“Normal is overrated. We function. We breathe through it and keep going.” I take a gulp of air and bump our shoulders together. “We’re still here and the fuckers who hurt us are dead.”
“True,” she croaks and takes a sip of her coffee.
“Mind sharing that or is it the double latte sweet shit you used to drink?”
A laugh sweet as fucking bells flows from her and she holds out the cup for me to take. “No sugar, low on milk, and one pump of caramel.”
“Only one pump, huh?” I give her a wink and take the Styrofoam cup.
One pump and yet the sweet taste of caramel hits my tongue and I have to close my eyes. Now memories do assault me. Caramel. She used to put a minimum of three pumps in her coffee and I haven’t had a taste since the both of us were kidnapped. Though the memory is a good one seeing I was always the one who brought her coffee. Yet the bitter taste hits me of the fact that this time, I’m not the one who gave her the coffee.
“Does this Pierre like being gay?” I hand the cup back and one of her eyebrows raises in question.
I don’t fucking care, I am my own man and the world belongs to me; I’m free to ask what pops into my head.
I punch in the number of my Pres and tell her, “Because a beautiful woman like you can make any cock hard.”
She rolls her eyes and stands. “I put clamps on his balls and paddle his ass. That makes his dick hard so Donald can finish him off.”
“That shit you just voiced hurts my ears, Val,” I mutter while her laughter fills the room as she stalks out.
“Valentina, good morning. Any change? Did he at least squeeze your hand again?” Zerox, my Pres, questions and I can hear the concern for me vivid in his voice.
“No touchy, feely shit, happening today, Pres,” I tell him.
There’s a sharp intake of breath followed by some curses. There are some voices in the background asking what’s going on when Zerox asks, “That you, Beecher? Tell me that’s you.”
“It’s me, and I want Morgan here right now. There’s this Pierre fucker bringing Val coffee way too damn early and I’m not liking it.”
Zerox snorts. “You got it, brother. I’m gonna swing by too if you don’t mind. And I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to stop the old ladies from coming with.”
“There won’t be any fucking hugging. You better tell them up front, Zerox. I’m back to my old self, and I might have been knocked out so y’all have been able to squeeze my hand and shit, but that ends now.”
“Understood, brother. See you soon.”
“Later, Pres,” I croak, emotions again going full havoc inside me.
It sure does something to a person to take bullets and dance the fine line of life and death. Not only the physical aspects but for sure as shit the mental one along with it.
Still no fussy touchy feels, though.
Chapter Two
Valentina
The nurse strolls out of Shaw’s room and heads straight for me. I wipe my sweaty palms on my black slacks and pull on the sleeve of my red turtleneck. The sound of my red heels on the floor flows through the air as I meet her halfway. We’re in the living room and I come to a stop when I hit the soft white carpet near the couch.
“Everything okay?” I question.
This nurse has been coming to check on Shaw every day since I took him out of the hospital.
“Yes. Seeing he’s awake and his vitals are strong and consistent, I’d say he doesn’t need daily checkups any longer. Unless things change but you have a list of who to contact and what to do, right?”
I give her a nod as the both of us head to the door. “I can’t thank you enough.”
She smiles as I open the door, revealing Zerox, Corban, Quill, Barlow, and their respective old ladies blocking her exit. They step aside to allow the nurse to head for her car as they all stroll into my house.
The last one to enter is Morgan, Maci’s brother. Maci is the President’s old lady and over the past few weeks I’ve been getting to know each and every one who has been involved in Shaw’s life. Mainly Maci and Quill’s wife, Adley.
Maci rushes to me and pulls me into a hug. She steps back and assesses me with narrowed eyes when she asks, “Are you hanging in there?”
I give her a tight smile. “I am.”
“Is he okay?” Quill asks, his old lady standing by his side.
“He’s been grumpy, demanding, and very annoying ever since he opened his eyes.” I notice Pierre strolling out of the kitchen and into the living room.
It makes me offer the crowd in front of me some hospitality. “Would any of you like something to drink, eat?”
“Yeah, let Pecker here fetch me some bottled water from the Netherlands. I’ve heard everything tastes better there. He should go check,” Shaw grumbles as he stumbles slightly and balances himself on a nearby chair.
I roll my eyes. “See? Very annoying.” I direct my attention to Pierre. “That’ll be all for today, Pierre. I’m taking the day off and I will call you in the morning.”
“Take the rest of your fucking life off along with it,” Shaw mutters a little too loud and it makes me shoot him a glare.
“Uncalled for, asshole,” I snap. “Mind your manners. This is my home you’re standing in, and my people you’re insulting. And by doing so, you’re insulting me.”
I stroll toward the door to let Pierre out, and take the opportunity to apologize for my guest’s rude behavior. Pierre has been my personal assistant for quite some time now and he’s always been nice and respectful and doesn’t deserve Shaw’s outbursts.