“Let me go!” She’s trying to lift my arm off her with difficulty. I tighten my grip.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“Watch me!” She rolls over and shoves me so hard she almost budges me. I push up on my elbow, grab her wrists, and capture both of them in my right fist while I reach for the cuffs with the left.
“No!” she screams. “Not again. Leave me alone!”
“Only if you behave yourself.”
“I’ll behave!” she whines, and it’s almost pathetic how sad she looks. “Please. No more cuffs.”
I hold the cuffs and eye her warily. Her face is flushed red and dotted in perspiration. Her eyes are dilated, and her whole body trembles. I drape the blanket over her.
“Get some more sleep,” I order, my own voice husky from sleep. I’m goddamn exhausted. But I know before I say it that it’s no use. She couldn’t sleep now if she wanted to. The momentary reprieve has lifted, and she’s back to battling the withdrawal symptoms.
So I do what I have to. I help her in the shower, and I feed her breakfast. She doesn’t take kindly to being without what she wants so badly, but the food and showers and rest, and the small bits of respite Sebastian gives her, helps.
A part of me thought that I would hate this, that I’d resent this punishment Keenan gave me. But I almost like it.
Ever since I was a child, I looked after someone. Between my mom’s alcoholism and our poverty, there were many responsibilities I carried. I had to feed my younger siblings, keep them out of my mom’s way, make sure she didn’t lash out and hurt them. I had to fill their bellies and keep them safe, and I did it gratefully. Grateful I could have a hand in making sure they were safe.
A part of me likes knowing that soon she’ll be out of this personal hell.
I want the woman who emerges from this cocoon.
But she doesn’t make it easy.
“Eat your sandwich, Aisling, I tell her at lunchtime, pointing to the pressed panini and bowl of soup on her tray.
She’s dressed in a pair of joggers and a t-shirt. Her hair’s in a wild, messy bun that flops on top of her head, and she’s eying the food with trepidation.
“I’m not hungry.”
Sebastian said she wouldn’t have much of an appetite, but that doesn’t mean I’ll allow her to get away with not eating. She has to keep her strength up and food will help.
“You know the rule by now.”
She sighs. “Oh, aye,” she says with a frown. “Of course I do. Do what you tell me.”
I smile at her. “Fast learner.”
“Or what?” Her eyes are dancing a little today, and it excites me. She’s never given me a look like that before.
I shake my head. “You know exactly what will happen.”
She rolls her eyes and takes a tiny bite of her sandwich, when a knock sounds outside the bedroom.
I check the security feed on my phone.
Cormac.
I open the door and let him in, the door to my bedroom shut tight.
“Y’alright, Cormac?”
He nods. “Oh I’m alright. Question is, are you? You look bloody awful, mate.”
I shrug. “Doing fine. Should be another day or so before things…” I look at the door. “Ease up.”
He sits on the overstuffed chair in my living room. “How are you helping her through it?”
I shrug. “Showers. Feeding her. Making sure she doesn’t harm me or anyone else. Making sure she doesn’t escape.”
I take a long pull of tea from my mug.
“Have you tried sex?”
I sputter it everywhere, and he grins.
“Sex? For drug withdrawal?”
“Oh, aye,” Cormac says, stroking his thick beard. “Make the lass climax, take her brain off of everything for a little while. It’ll help...” He shrugs. “Honestly, both of you.” There’s a crash and howl from the other room.
I race to the door to yank it open, only to find it locked.
“Aisling! Let me in!”
“No!”
Cormac’s brows shoot heavenward. “This far in, and she’s still talking to you like that?”
I don’t respond. She won’t be for long. I’ve held her while she cried, rocked her while her body was wracked with fever and pain, and now she’s acting like this? I don’t care if she’s still in the throes of withdrawal. I don’t care what she’s doing. She won’t behave this way.
Doesn’t matter if she locked the door. I have the key in my pocket.
I slide it in and open the door, just as a soup bowl goes sailing through the air toward my head.
I duck. It crashes and splatters everywhere.
Cormac shakes his head.
“I’ll leave you to your… job,” he says with a smirk. “Good luck, Tiernan. Call me if you need a bit of a reprieve for the night and I’ll arrange for someone else to watch her for a little while.”
The hell I will. No fucking way.
“Thanks very much,” I say. He’ll show himself to the door.
I enter the room to find another glass sailing through the air toward my head.
“How dare you keep me prisoner!” she shouts. “I won’t tell anyone anything. You’re keeping me away from everything! My job. My home. My friends.”
But I know what she really wants is her fucking fix, and I’ve had enough. I duck another flying saucer, bend and duck, lift and arrange her right over my shoulder.
“Put me down!” she shouts, slapping at my back. I put her down when I’m good and ready, straight over my fucking knee. I sit on the edge of the bed and press my hand to her lower back, holding her in place.
“Let me go!” she screams, but I ignore her. Without prelude, I slam my palm against her arse, and she arches her back and screams.
“Let me down! Let me go!” But I ignore her protests and give her the sound thrashing she’s earned. Her legs scissor and kick and she fights me hard, but I hold her in place and let my palm fly.
She screams and howls and squeals, but I don’t put her down until her protests begin to wane, and she sniffles a little. Good. I’ve gotten through to her.
I tug her back over my lap to face me, grab her chin between my fingers, and lock her gaze with mine.
“Don’t you ever throw things at me again,” I say in an even tone. “Ever.”
The anger and fight have left her eyes. They’re now swimming with tears. She nods.
“Be a good girl, Aisling. If you don’t, you’ll be in a heap of trouble, lass.”
She nods again.
I lean in and kiss her cheek. I remember what Cormac says. I drag my hand over her shoulder, and she shivers a little. She wears a thin tank top with no bra, her nipples peaking right through the ribbed fabric. I drag my hand lower, weigh her breast in my palm then drag my thumb over the peaked bud.
She moans, and it spurs me on.
“Take it off.”
She scrambles to obey, her fingers at the edge of the top in seconds. She yanks it off and whips it to the floor. I lace my fingers behind her back, bend, and grasp her nipple between my teeth. Her head lolls back and her spine arches as I suckle her sweet, hardened nipples. I circle my tongue, and she moans.
I press my thumb between her thighs, and she arches into me. I lift my fingers to the edge of her shorts, pull them back, then slide my fingers over her panties to where she’s hot and wet. I stroke her gently, and she moans and whimpers. It’s better than the crying and pleading.