Page 38 of Leather and Longing
Paul groaned and stretched,his back popping. His legs ached, mostly his quads, but that was due to negotiating the stairs umpteen times. He’d worked steadily all morning, stopping for lunch, and then right back at it until four o’clock. The former dining room was hidden from view, buried under a mountain of cardboard boxes. He hadn’t needed to read the label ‘Books’ to know what the heaviest ones contained. And Adam appeared to have a great many books. Heaven knew where Paul was going to put them all.
Adam was going to need more bookcases, for a start.
Adam had kept out of his way while he’d trudged to and fro between the attic and the dining room. That was fine by Paul. The fewer opportunities for conversation, the better. God, Adam knew how to cut with that tongue of his. He’d thought Adam’s parting comment the previous night hurtful enough, but as nothing compared to his performance that morning. Paul had had to get out of there. He’d felt dizzy, his ribs squeezing his heart, his face on fire.
Fuck, that hadhurt.
Paul had only wanted to know where he stood, for God’s sake. Okay, so he’d had an inkling of the way the conversationmight have gone, butstill…. It had taken every ounce of willpower to get him to walk back into that kitchen, let alone act as if everything was normal again.
Pain flared in his chest.
Don’t think about it. Just… don’t.
Paul had had enough. He wanted out, out of the house, away from Adam, to some place where he could fuckingbreathe….
“How much is there left?”
Adam was standing behind him in the doorway to the library.
Paul turned to face him. “Actually, that was the last box.” He paused, hesitant to voice his request.Fuck itpiped up that voice in his head. Ask him. I’ve fucking earned it today.“Would it be okay if I went out for a while? I need some air, to unwind.”
“Of course.” Adam’s response was immediate. “You’ve done more than enough today. Do you want the rest of the day off?”
“No.” It wasn’t that Paul didn’t think his employer capable of feeding himself if he needed to, he just didn’t want to deal with any possible repercussions if anything went wrong. “Grant me a couple of hours, yeah? I’ll be back to make dinner for us.”And hopefully by then I’ll be feeling better than I do right now.
“That’s fine. Take your time.” Adam left him and walked toward the library. A few minutes later the sound of strings filled the air, peaceful and harmonious.
Paul let out a long sigh. Thank God. He left the dining room and went upstairs to grab a quick shower. A change of clothing and he was ready.
The click of the door told him Paul had gone. Adam turned off the music that had only served to distract his thoughts from their present course. Silence spilled into the house, wide and heavy, pressing against his ears.
He rose from the chair slowly, reaching for the cane propped against the side table. He took a deep breath, then another before tapping his way into the hall, his stomach in knots.
I should leave them alone. I should wait until Paul comes back.
But his feet carried him forward anyway as he swept the cane across the floor in steady arcs.
He stopped at the door to the dining room. The air smelled faintly of cardboard and dust—old paper, old leather.
My past, exhumed.
He edged forward, tapping cautiously. His cane struck something solid, and his shin clipped the corner of a box before he could adjust. He hissed out a curse and steadied himself.
“Brilliant,” he muttered. “Bloody brilliant.”
He crouched awkwardly, letting his fingers trail across the rough edges of tape, the flattened tops, the labels he couldn’t read anymore. The cardboard rasped against his skin, dry and unyielding.
He knew that smell. Books. God knew how many boxes of them, heavy as bricks, the weight of words he could no longer see.
Except there was more than books. He knew what else lay hidden: coils of rope that had once flowed like extensions of his hands, implements polished to gleam, leather softened by use. The tools of a life that had depended on his eyes—the flush of a cheek, the warning flicker in a sub’s gaze, the arch of a body signalling when to apply more pressure or ease back.
He pressed his palm flat to the nearest box, his throat tightening.
How do you dominate when you can’t read the map of a body anymore? How do you keep someone safe when you can’t see the signs?
The questions spiralled, jagged and relentless. He bent his head, his shoulders shaking once before he forced the breath back in.
“Do I even want this?” he whispered. “Do Iwantto open them? Tear myself in two all over again?”
