Chapter Fourteen

Coco

A s I secure the cuffs around Vale's wrists, the soft click echoes in the quiet room. I place the key on the nightstand, within easy reach, before kneeling beside him on the bed. His chest rises and falls rapidly, the metallic clink of the chain against the headboard punctuating each breath. The vulnerability in his eyes both thrills and humbles me.

“You're probably laughing at me in your head,” he mutters, a forced lightness in his tone barely masking his uncertainty.

I place my hand on his chest, feeling his thundering heartbeat beneath my palm. “I would never laugh at you, Vale. Especially not during such an intimate moment.” I meet his gaze, willing him to see my sincerity. “I'm honored you trust me enough to do this with me.”

He swallows hard, nodding almost imperceptibly, his eyes still wary but holding mine.

My hand drifts down his taut stomach, feeling the muscles quiver beneath my touch. "You look so beautiful. What would you like me to do?" I ask, my voice soft but steady.

His throat bobs as my fingers ghost over his cock, giving him a feather-light stroke. "I want you to ride me," he says, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Use me as your toy. Take your pleasure from me. But I want you to m-m-make me beg." This time, he doesn't flinch at his stutter.

I nod, understanding the role he needs me to play. A thrill runs through me—not just at the prospect of feeling him inside me again, but at the trust he's placing in my hands.

I pull the blanket away, exposing his cock jutting proudly from his waistband. It's harder than I've ever seen it, with a bead of moisture glistening at the tip. My body clenches with desire, but I school my features into a mask of cool indifference.

"Please . . . Mistress . . ." he pants, barely above a whisper. The chains rattle as he strains against them.

At the mention of Mistress, something inside me coils. I bite my lip, but quickly fix my features before he sees. I take a quick inhale, channeling my inner Mistress. I didn’t know I had one, but I straighten my spine, flex my fingers, and I feel her.

"Shh," I coo, pressing a firm finger to his lips. I infuse my voice with false sympathy, silky smooth. "You don't need anything, pet. You only think you do." I bite my lower lip to suppress a smile. This is coming a lot more naturally than I would have expected.

But I know it’s all Vale. I want to please him. He makes me feel so comfortable and confident, especially in the bedroom, I have no problem slipping into this role.

He whimpers as I straddle him, hovering just above his tip. My thighs burn from the effort, but the sight of Vale coming undone beneath me is intoxicating.

"Please," he begs, his eyes dark with need.

I sigh dramatically. "Fine, pet. But remember, this is for my pleasure, not yours."

Slowly, I sink onto his length, biting back a moan as each delicious ridge fills me. There's a slight twinge of discomfort, but nothing like our first time. I set a steady rhythm, relishing the control this position gives me.

"Thank you, Mistress," Vale gasps, his hips bucking upwards. Smoke trickles out of the corners of his eyes, as if his cock wasn’t indication enough of how turned on he is.

I tsk at his eagerness. "So desperate," I chide, even as my own desire threatens to overwhelm me. "You're lucky I find you amusing."

Vale groans, his cock pulsing inside me. "Yes, yes," he murmurs, losing himself to sensation. "I'm going to come," he warns, tension evident in every line of his body.

"Not before I do." I still my movements abruptly, denying his release. His whimper of frustration sends a jolt of arousal through me. "You're my toy," I remind him, resuming my pace. Much slower this time—painfully so. "You're for my pleasure only."

I reach down, circling my clit as I ride him. The combination of fullness, friction, and Vale's unguarded expressions pushes me rapidly towards the edge. When my orgasm hits, it's intense and unexpected. I lean forward, capturing Vale's mouth in a searing kiss as I pulse around him.

But I don't stop. I can't, not when Vale looks so beautifully undone beneath me.

"How badly do you want this?" I demand, our slick skin meeting with rhythmic slaps.

"Please, I want you to make me come, Mistress," he pleads, straining against the cuffs.

"I need you to beg better than that, pet."

“Please—” Vale's words dissolve into a guttural moan as he finally finds his release. Warmth floods me as he pulses inside, and I ride out every last tremor of his orgasm.

As soon as he stills, I reach for the key, quickly freeing his wrists. Vale collapses against me, boneless and sated, but I gently push him back to examine his wrists.

“Are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?” I ask, running my fingers over his skin, checking for marks.

He smiles up at me, his expression open and unguarded in a way I've never seen before. "No, that was perfect. You were perfect," he murmurs, pulling me against his chest. As he draws the blanket over us, I settle into his warmth, feeling more connected to him than ever before.

"If they gave Academy Awards for bedroom performances, you'd be taking home all the golden statues," he jokes, his voice still slightly breathless.

I snort, shaking my head against his chest. But warmth blooms in my chest, grateful for the trust we've just shared.

He presses a kiss to the top of my head, his lips lingering in my hair. "Thank you, Coco," he whispers, so quietly I almost miss it.

For a moment, my drowsy brain translates the 'thank you' into something else—something that sounds dangerously close to I love you, Coco.

I love you too, Vale , my mind responds automatically, catching me by surprise. I push down the words, burying the secret somewhere deep and safe where no one can find it. I snuggle closer, letting the steady rhythm of Vale's heartbeat lull me towards sleep.

T he next morning, after being awoken to Vale’s mouth between my legs, and riding his cock until our late check out could be ignored no longer, we finally manage to pull ourselves out of bed and make the trek home. As much as I’d love to stay in that bed with him forever, reality calls. Plus, there’s an angry little chihuahua waiting for us at home. Though I feel refreshed, and delightfully sore in places I haven’t felt sore in a long time, as we leave the cabin, the feeling is bittersweet. This will be our first and only cabin getaway as husband and wife. And the realization of that makes me incredibly sad.

"You go get Mariah, and I'll start a bath for you," Vale says as soon as I pull into the driveway. Judge Grimshaw's car is there, parked in front of a new car I haven't seen before. Does he have a visitor? My heart does a little flip at the thought, momentarily distracting me from the bittersweet ache of our cabin getaway ending.

I give Vale a tired smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes. As much as I'd hate to wash his scent off me, I desperately need a bath. The thought of sinking into warm water makes my muscles sigh in anticipation. Though nothing could compare to how good it felt in the hot springs. I watch him make his way to our apartment, my smile fading. Great, now I've ruined hot springs for myself forever. They'll just make me miss him when he's gone.

Shaking off the melancholy, I force myself to get it together. Once I feel somewhat composed, I make my way to Judge Grimshaw's house. I knock on the door, frowning when I don't hear Mariah's usual yappy greeting. Peering through the window, I'm surprised to find the place empty. Huh. Maybe he's taking her for a walk out back?

I finally spot him in his garage, tinkering with . . . something. My eyes are drawn to the tarp-covered bench I' ve seen in front of his house for ages. Looks like he finally moved it.

He lifts his head, giving me a solemn nod as I approach.

I paste on a friendly smile. "Hi Judge, how was the little terror?" I scan the area for any sign of my pint-sized demon dog. Maybe he locked her in my apartment for some peace and quiet. Can't say I'd blame him.

"She was a perfect little lady.” I resist the urge to snort. “She's already in your home now."

I nod, relief washing over me. Then, remembering Vale's upcoming premiere, I clear my throat. “Judge, I was wondering if I could ask you something about Vale's probation.”

He raises an eyebrow, his expression guarded. “What about it?”

"Well, his movie premiere is coming up, and it's really important for his career. Is there any way you could consider releasing him early? Just for the premiere?" I try to keep my voice steady, professional, but I can hear the hint of desperation creeping in.

The judge's face hardens slightly. "Dr. Sullivan, you know I can't discuss—"

"I know, I know," I interrupt, holding up my hands. "I just thought maybe there was something we could do. He's been doing so well with his community service, and—"

I trail off as my eyes catch on the woodworking projects filling his garage. As I study them closer, I realize they haven't been crafted by tools but burned into shape by his fire. The words die in my throat, my mission momentarily forgotten. "I didn't know you were a woodworker," I say, genuinely impressed. I brace myself for his usual change of subject, still unused to how guarded he can be.

But he surprises me. His face softens, the lines deepening until he looks ancient. "I used to. Not anymore. I stopped after my wife died."

My heart clenches. "I heard. I'm so sorry." The therapist in me itches to ask more, to help him open up, but I bite my tongue. Sometimes silence speaks volumes.

My gaze drifts to the blue tarp, curiosity getting the better of me. "You'll have to forgive me, but I've been dying to know what's under this tarp. Do you mind if I take a peek?"

His face shutters, but he nods, a silent permission.

I lift the tarp, expecting a masterpiece. Instead, my stomach drops. The bench underneath is charred beyond recognition, the wood blackened and warped. What the hell? Is this some project gone horribly wrong? Why keep it? Squinting, I can just make out the words "In memory of Yessica Grimshaw" etched into the char. Oh no.

"What happened?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I meet his hardened gaze.

"This was a memorial I made for my wife," he says, each word heavy with grief. "She loved the local parks more than anything. After she passed, I made this bench for her favorite spot where we used to sit and watch the birds. "

I swallow hard, a chill creeping up my spine. "What happened? Who . . . who burned it?"

His eyes meet mine, a mix of sadness and sympathy that makes my skin prickle. "That's not for me to answer. You need to ask your husband that question."

The world tilts sideways. I know Vale and the judge have history, but this? This is beyond the pale. There's no way, right?

Despite the panic, the analytical side of my brain connects the dots between Vale’s past and present actions. The way he acted around the hidden bench, the destroyed statue—how did I not see the pattern before? As a therapist, I know childhood trauma can manifest in adulthood. My heart aches for the troubled teen Vale must have been, but at the same time, I can’t ignore the question: Has he really changed?

My foot catches on something as I stumble backward, nearly sending me sprawling.

"Dr. Sullivan—"

I wave him off, my mind reeling. "I'm fine. I'm sorry, where did you say Mariah was again?"

He frowns, confusion etching new lines in his face. "In your house. I gave her to your mom—"

My brain screeches to a halt, the words not computing. "Wait, I'm sorry, I must have misheard. I thought you said my mom—"

"No, that's correct," he says slowly, as if I'm the one not making sense. "Normally, I'd never give Mariah to a stranger—even one who looks exactly like you. But you included her name on your list of emergency contacts. She showed her ID, and Mariah practically leapt into her arms. I'm sorry if I overstepped."

"No. No, it's fine—" The words tumble out as I turn and bolt towards my apartment, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm in my chest. This can't be happening. Not now. Not after everything with Vale—

As I burst through the door, I'm hit with a wall of sound: my mom's laughter, Mariah's excited yips, and Vale's deep chuckle. They're all gathered in my tiny living room, looking for all the world like one big happy family. The sight is so surreal, I almost pinch myself.

My mom spots me first, her face lighting up like a Christmas tree. "Coco Butter, sweetheart! Surprise!"

I force a smile, but it feels more like a grimace. "Mom, what are you doing here?"

She waves her hand dismissively, as if randomly showing up in another country is no big deal. "Oh, I wanted to surprise you! Just the thought of you spending Christmas alone in a new town breaks my heart."

"What about Dad? The turtles?" I manage to choke out, my mind reeling.

She blows out a breath. "Oh, he won’t even notice I'm gone. He'll be fine, seriously. He didn't want you to be alone, either. But I guess you're not alone, are you?" She stops, turning to wink at Vale, who looks like he's trying to charm his way out of a hostage situation.

My eyes dart between them, my brain working overtime to process this impossible scenario. Vale, the bench, my mom . . . it's like someone tossed all my problems into a blender and hit puree. What has he told her? I try to catch Vale's eye, desperate for some clue about what lie we're supposed to be spinning, but I can't bring myself to meet his gaze.

"Coco?" Vale's voice is soft, concerned. He must see the panic in my eyes, the way I'm barely holding it together.

"Mom, this is . . .” I take a deep breath, trying to find my center, “unexpected. Can we talk? Privately?"

She looks surprised but nods. "Of course, dear."

As I lead her to my bedroom, I finally catch Vale's eye. There's worry there, and something else. Guilt? I file that away for later. One crisis at a time.

Once we're alone, I turn to my mom, trying to keep my voice steady. "Mom, seriously. Is everything okay between you and Dad? I know I'm your daughter, but you can tell me."

She sighs, her excitement deflating for a moment. "Oh, honey. Everything is great. I just missed you." She frowns, fussing with my bedhead. "Why didn't you tell me you were seeing someone? He seems great. You know you can tell me anything."

I feel a pang of guilt, sharp and sudden. "Mom, I . . ." I suddenly stop, my stomach dropping. "Wait. Did Vale tell you we were seeing each other?"

"No, but he doesn’t need to. His body language told me everything I needed to know," she says with a knowing wink. "That demon is obsessed with you, Coco. His face practically lights up when he talks about you. I'm not surprised, you are my brilliant girl after all." She pinches my cheek, and I resist the urge to swat her hand away. "He seems to like Mariah, and she seems to tolerate him. He said you two met while he was working at your clinic? Is that why you didn't tell me, honey? Because you were worried I'd think poorly of you for dating a subordinate?”

I open my mouth, but the words evaporate on my tongue. That means Judge Grimshaw didn’t say anything to her, either. But that could change at a moment’s notice. The lies are piling up so fast, I feel like I’m suffocating underneath them.

Mom pulls me into a tight hug. I tense but quickly melt into her embrace, feeling like a little girl again. She strokes my hair, and for a moment, I want to spill everything. But I can't. Not yet.

"I understand why you didn't tell me," she murmurs. "I know I can be overwhelming sometimes." She takes my hands in hers, her eyes searching mine. "I just want you to be happy, Coco. And Vale seems wonderful."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. "Mom, can I take you out to lunch? There's a lot we need to catch up on."

She studies my face, her eyes serious. Finally, she nods, her face brightening. "Of course. Should we go tell Vale? I'd love to hear all about how you two got together—"

"No, no." I grab her arm, perhaps a bit too forcefully. "Just you and me." I have so much to tell her, and my head is already spinning. But my mom is the least of my problems right now. All I can think about is Vale and the burned bench. I know I need to hear his side of the story before jumping to conclusions, but it’s hard not to.

Suddenly, the weight of everything—Vale, the bench, the lies—comes crashing down on me. A sob bubbles up in my throat, catching me off guard. Before I can stop myself, I throw my arms around my mom, hugging her tight.

"What's wrong, dear? Everything okay?" Mom asks, her voice laced with concern as she returns the hug.

I hold her tighter, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill. The familiar scent of her perfume washes over me, and I'm struck by how much I've missed her, how much I need her right now. It's like I'm a little girl again, seeking comfort in my mother's arms for a mistake I made at school. But this is much, much bigger than getting a C on my math test.

"I'm just really glad you're here," I manage to choke out, my voice muffled against her shoulder.