Chapter 78
They pulled up the long drive. Donald jerked the Cobra to a halt in front of the house and threw the keys on the seat. He walked to the passenger door, picked Brian up into his arms, and carried him up the porch steps. Mrs. Santore stood at the door, but Donald brushed right past, looking back to say, “Brandy, my suite.”
Brian’s chest began to heave with the effort of holding back his tears of loss and frustration. He felt dirty, used, and he knew he was now unworthy of Donald’s care.
Donald took the stairs two at a time. He made a quick right at the top and opened the door to the Master Suite. He took great care placing Brian on a leather chaise and disappeared into the bathroom. As soon as Donald left the room, Brian felt the tears begin. He couldn’t hold them in anymore. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered. He had managed to lose it all. He curled into a ball and cried deep, soul wrenching sobs, which bespoke pain so deep, it pierced the soul.
He felt, rather than heard, Bear lean over him. He lay impassive as the man he loved undid the belt of the robe and removed it. He did not notice Bear’s drawn face, the raw anguish and guilt in Bear’s eyes, or the empathic wince as the Dom cleaned the abrasions on his back with quick gentle strokes. Brian kept his eyes closed. Because he didn’t want to see revulsion in the Master’s beautiful grass green eyes, he missed the tear that leaked from the corners and peppered the dark lashes of Bear’s eyes.
He didn’t see Bear examine the heavily bruised arm, or the sad smile at the presence of the gold cock ring still clutched in Brian’s hand.
Bear lifted him again into his arms. Brian turned his face into Bear’s shoulder, breathing in his scent, storing it in memory to bring out for comfort in the long, lonely years to come. He refused to look at the man he knew was his destined mate. Brian didn’t want to view the disgust and shame he knew would be reflected back from Bear’s eyes.
He thought about the huge boot on his back, the beefy fingers with the dirty fingernails that had sullied his new tunic, and the slobber, spit, and whiskey in his mouth and on his face.
He shook as he remembered the hands and the knife touch his privates. Brian broke out in fresh sobs. Donald pulled him tighter into his embrace, but Brian didn’t notice, he was too caught up in his own grief.
Donald kicked open the door to the Master Bath and lowered Brian into a steaming hot whirlpool tub, fragrant with a combination of scents that sung a song of old growth forests.
Brian thought that the scent would forever say, “Donald, my Bear.”
The aroma teased his senses and to his embarrassment, his cock began to harden again. Brian’s long slim cock had channeled a python since he donned the cock ring late that afternoon.
Donald had not given him permission to remove it, so Brian had left it in place until Frankie touched him at the club. As his hard on fizzled, the ring dropped to the floor. Brian had grabbed it and hidden it in his hand, wanting at least a piece of Bear with him so he could endure the rape.
Brian opened his palm and set the ring on the side of the tub.
If Donald didn’t see fit to take it away from him, he would leave and take it with him as a reminder of what he could have had.
Donald washed his body with quick, sure strokes, scrubbing away any trace of his tormentor.
“Will you never speak to me again, my love?”
It was not the words as much as the timber of Donald’s voice that blew the fog from Brian’s brain. His mind couldn’t seem to process what Sir had asked. In a panic born of hope and terror, Brian took his wet hand, laid it, and tapped it twice on Donald’s knee. Could it be in the melee following the incident that Donald had forgotten Brian didn’t have permission to speak?
Donald looked at Brian quizzically and then back at the hand, causing a huge water stain to spread over the fine linen slacks.
Brian’s face reddened as he pulled back his hand. He turned his body in the tub, looking for a small towel to soak up the damage. The frantic motion of his turn in the whirlpool caused a counter wave, which continued up and over the lip of the top and splashed onto Donald’s shirt and shoes.
Brian backed up in horror and hit the side shelf with its neat row of shampoo, conditioner, and soaps. The motion sent the bottles tumbling down into the water. With a cry, he jumped up and sprayed more water on Donald and the surrounding floor.