Page 9 of Shattered Dreams
“Sorry, Master.” She lifted her head to look at him, streaks of tears visible on her cheeks. “I didn’t self-harm, Master. I was a good girl.”
“I know you were. You’re always my good girl.” He cupped her cheek. “Raine stopped in and saw me before you came in. He told me you had a rough patch last night, and he helped you through it.”
“Yes, Master. Just bruises, no cuts,” she admitted. “Raine always helps whenever I ask.”
“He always does, which is why we can deal with the bruises.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “They are always acceptable to the alternative.”
There was a knock on the door, fracturing the moment. He glanced toward it. Lizzie moved to stand, but he shushed her. “Stay, little one.”
“Yes, Master.” She remained on her knees, her hand clasping his.
“Enter.” Max knew he should probably allow his wife to rise, to keep their lifestyle a secret, but at this moment she needed the submissive headspace more than she needed to appear vanilla. If it was the doctor, he’d probably have to have a conversation about consent, but in the end it didn’t matter. What his wife needed took precedence over his own needs.
“Mr. Rodkin?”
The deep timber of the male voice washed over Max. He almost shivered in appreciation. He was very much an auditory type of person. He loved sounds. Whether they were the sounds of flesh smacking flesh, the squelch of his wife’s pussy accepting his cock, or in this case, the deep soothing timber of a man saying his name. His cock stirred. He wanted to groan. The last thing he needed was to sprout wood in the hospital because of a stranger with his wife kneeling at his bedside.Talk about timing.
“Yeah. That’s me.” He forced the words, out as he turned his head to look at the man. The view was even better than the sound of his voice. A big bear of a man, he wore a dark sports coat over a light green button-down shirt and neatly pressed khakis. The silver hair at his temples that shot throughout his neatly trimmed beard gave him an air of maturity that called to a side of him he’d long thought dormant. But he forced that thought away as the man continued to speak.
“...my name is Detective Elliot Landon. I’ve been assigned to get your statement of the events that occurred on Sunday.”
“Okay.” Max shifted a bit uncomfortably on the bed. He definitely needed more pain killers now. This time to dull the ache in his groin. “I’m not sure what I can tell you. Storm and I were leaving Rosie’s after having brunch together. We’d just exited the building when there was a squeal of tires, then I guess shots. It sounded like a car backfiring, but I never even saw the vehicle. I just reacted. I tried to shove Storm back toward the diner, but the next thing I remember was pain and hitting the ground.”
“That matches up with several of the eyewitnesses’ statements.” Elliot jotted something in the notebook in his hand. “I’ve already spoken with your friend. He pretty much is as clueless to the identity of the shooter. From the sounds of it, Anton Martin, was an acquaintance of your buddy, who went off his rocker.”
Max gave a slow nod. “Yeah. We all went to college together. Storm and I are friends from way back when we were snot-nosed kids growing up in Harlem. We met Anton our freshman year at UCLA. He was one of our safeties. Even then, he preferred younger men. Barely legal men.”
Elliot seemed to absorb the info. “Which leads us to his accusation that Storm’s tastes were more extreme than liking his lovers young, which is why he became a target for Mr. Martin’s wrath?”
Max sighed. “Let’s cut to the chase here. It’s a matter of public record if you dig deep enough. A few years back, I opened up a lifestyle club just outside of Aurora. No bank would bankroll it, so Storm gave me an infusion of cash for a percentage of the business. He’s…”
“…a silent partner. And a member?” Elliot asked with a rise of his brow.
“Of course. He’s had a standing membership since the club opened five years ago, and up until my heart attack a few months ago, the number of times he’d been to the club could be counted on one hand. So little in fact, that my accountant, who lives on the premises, had never met him.”
“Raine Donovan?”
Max nodded. “Yes. Raine. He suffers from a pretty extreme phobia. He prefers small spaces, and the fewer people the better.”
“I see.” Elliot closed his notebook. “I’m pretty sure that I have everything I need.” His gaze wandered away from Max to Lizzie, who’d been quiet since the arrival of the detective. “Is that really necessary?” He finally asked, keeping the words soft.
Max glanced down at his wife, surprised to see that during his conversation she’d dropped deep into sub-space. Something she’d only ever done when alone with him or with Raine if a third were present. It was something that he’d have to dissect later, though. He wasn’t about to allow the other man to ruin his wife’s moment.
“Yes.” He lightly touched her hair. “When she’s under undue stress like this…escaping into sub-space is the only release she can safely get.” He met Elliot’s cool green eyes. “Are you familiar with the lifestyle at all, Detective Landon? How a power exchange can not only save a person’s sanity, but enrich it? How giving up control to another for a short time can not only recharge a person’s battered psyche but also strengthen it?”
A thoughtful look crossed Elliot’s face. “How?”
Max studied the other man for a moment, wondering if he had the strength to have a philosophical discussion, and then decided it was a subject for another time. “It just does. If you’re truly interested in the lifestyle, Redemption offers beginner classes to those who are curious. I’ll have Lizzie send you the information later.” He rubbed a strand of her hair between his fingers. “When she feels more like herself.” He turned his attention back to Elliot. Until he was certain of the detective, he would do as he always did with his sub. “But this will be your only warning, Detective. I will tolerate no one belittling my wife for what she needs. So, if you decide to take me up on my generous offer, realize that my wife is off limits.”
Elliot narrowed his eyes.
Warning received.
“I see.” Then Elliot straightened. “I will get the report and complaint order for your signature. I’ll fax it over with Mr. Parker’s.” He turned to leave, paused by the door, then looked over his shoulder at Max. “And for the record. If I find out it’s ever non-consensual, you won’t have to worry about jail time, Mr. Rodkin.” Then the door slapped shut behind the man.
Max gave a sigh of relief. The man was not only protective, but intense. For a second, he wondered how it would feel to be the recipient of both qualities. He pushed the thought away. All he knew was, perhaps under different circumstances, Elliot Landon had the instincts to make an excellent top.But now isn’t the time to dwell on it. Not when you have a sub in subspace at your side.He returned to rubbing small circles with his fingers on the top of Lizzie’s head. He’d deal with the fallout of his initial meeting with the man later. Lizzie needed him now.
Chapter Four
