Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

"It's better now that Clayton is gone," Kincaid says, getting up and going to the kitchen. "He was trouble. Shouldn't have been accepted to begin with, but sometimes Michael and Everly take pity on those less fortunate, students that don't have a lot of family or money."

"People like me," I say as he pours tea into the mugs.

"No," he says sharply. "You're smart. Your grades prove it. You have potential. You're not here out of pity."

"That's hard to believe when my grandmother and father's death keeps being brought up, as well as my lack of funds." I think about what Nick said, that I don't have a job, or scholarship. That I had nothing. "There was that space on the application form that asked us to list any hardships we had gone through. I regret filling that out now."

And my mind is running away on me, my mind that I can no longer trust.

What do I actually think happened? That Kincaid murdered him?

No.

But if I start hallucinating him, like I hallucinated Amani, then something else is going on and it's not the fault of my brain.

He brings me the mug of chamomile tea and sits down. Sighing, he runs his hand over his face, and I glance at the brass clock on the wall, realizing it's two in the morning. No wonder he's exhausted, I woke him up mid-sleep.

Then again, he's wearing his clothes, so I guess he was already awake.

"I know this is scary, Syd. But everything you've told me isn't surprising."

"What about the unearthed grave? I hope that was surprising."

"It was," he says slowly. "But it was dark. You don't know what you fell on."

I'm about to protest, to tell him I know it was the grave. But maybe he's right. It was pitch black. I could have been anywhere. It could have been any lump of dirt.

"But the mushrooms, the Excandesco ," I tell him. "I saw them glow."

"They do glow at night, faintly, but especially when disturbed. But they aren't that rare. I'm sure we will find some on our trip—" He eyes the clock. "In four hours."

I know this is the right time to say hey thanks for the tea and company and head back to my room to try and get some sleep, but I'm not leaving. I feel undone and unfulfilled.

"Then how did I end up in the forest?"

"My honest opinion is that you were sleepwalking. Just like with your nosebleeds, you're reverting back to when you were younger. Regression is common under high stress situations. It can also show up as hallucinations. We talked about this at the beginning, how even feeling an affinity to Amani in such an isolated, lonely place can make our brains latch on. And you've said yourself that you weren't in a healthy place mentally before you came here."

"Unhealthy enough to hallucinate?"

"You told me you have nothing, Syd. No home, no family, nothing. You lost your scholarship, your lifeline to your degree. Yes. I think that's enough. That's enough to push anyone's mind over the edge." He takes a long sip of his tea. "Sometimes our brains have a hard time letting go. Letting go of events, letting go of places, letting go of people…"

"Is that why you have lipstick in your bathroom?" I spring on him, deciding to turn the tables.

Shame rains down on his face. He looks down at his mug, the steam rising, and doesn't answer.

"Is that your ex's lipstick?" I ask.

He nods.

My heart pinches in response.

"How long ago was it when she was last here?"

"A few years," he says.

I try to act casual and blasé, as if it doesn't bother me that he still keeps her stuff after all this time. "Well, you should probably throw it all out because it's past its expiration date. No one wants to put on moldy La Mer."

"Moldy La Mer," he repeats, smiling softly. "Perhaps we could study it in the lab. Might be even better than the original."

I'm too tired to find it funny. "Since it's so rare for you to talk about yourself, don't mind me while I psychoanalyze the torch you carry for her."

"It's just lipstick, Syd," he says. "It doesn't mean anything."

"So why did you really break up?"

"I told you."

"But…isn't love about sacrifice? I know that if I truly loved someone I would have put up with whatever inconvenient location I had to live in."

"Perhaps our relationship wasn't as strong as I thought," he says bitterly, his gaze unkind. "Sometimes when people fall in love, they stay in love, because they were lucky. Other people have a wrench thrown into their relationship. Sometimes other people enter the picture and fuck things up. You don't know what you'll survive until something like that happens."

"So shit got fucked up and then Keiko Lynn took that opportunity to go back to Japan."

"Are you done?" he asks testily.

I shrug. "I just don't get how you can be hung up on the past and yet…"

"And yet what?"

I shake my head. "Nevermind." I take a long sip of tea.

"And yet what?" he repeats, putting his hand on my arm, the grip firm.

"And yet find yourself fixated on me."

Part of me wants to look away, because what I've said is just so raw, for both of us, but I force myself to meet his eyes. They blaze as they hold me in place, the intensity enough for me to cause the hair on my arms to rise.

"Because you are my future, Syd," he says, his voice low and gruff. "Because that's all there is. The past doesn't exist anymore. Only now and tomorrow is what does. And I want you—now and tomorrow."

Before I can say anything, he leans forward and grabs my face, pulling me into a hard, deep kiss that makes my toes curl. I melt into him, surrendering all control as he claims me with his mouth. He tastes like flowers from the tea, like mint toothpaste, smells like home: the trees, the wild ocean.

That whimper rises up from him again, rattling his chest, sinking into my bones—a plea, a promise, desperation for me, for more. Our kiss deepens suddenly, like a ravenous beast has been unleashed, his tongue strong as it fucks my mouth, everything becoming wet and messy and raw.

Oh god , I think as the pleasure spikes through me. This might be the best kiss I've ever had.

I never want him to stop.

And yet, greedily, I want more.

I want to feel this way across my entire body. Not just my mouth claimed, but every inch of skin.

The grip on my jaw tightens as another hand goes to my neck, choking me slightly, pressing on the windpipe enough to cause me to suck in air, the threat of suffocation.

He pulls away, breathing hard, his mouth wet as he stares at me with heavy-lidded, burning eyes. His grip on my neck remains, possessive, on the border of being too much, while his other hand lets go of my chin and starts unbuttoning the front of my pajama top.

"I am a fool," he murmurs as he swiftly undoes my shirt. "I am but a weak fool when it comes to you, sweetheart."

He slides his hand inside my open top and gently cups my breast, his thumb slowly rolling over my nipple. I gasp, the nerves shooting straight to my core, heat pooling between my legs.

"God, you're perfect," he says, his other thumb now massaging my throat as he continues to hold me in place. His head dips down and he licks at my breast, tongue strong and flat, sucking in my nipple until my head rolls back and I'm writhing against him. The pressure on my neck increases, and I'm feeling lightheaded, and I never want him to stop.

But then suddenly he does stop, releasing my neck just as I let out a moan.

"Sorry," he says, giving me a sheepish look that contradicts the storm in his eyes. "Choking you is the last thing I should do."

I swallow, my neck already tender. "Then what's the first thing you should do?"

A wicked grin flashes across his face, a dimple appearing in his stubble.

He reaches down and grabs me by the waist, hauling me up and flipping my stomach down onto the table, knocking over the tea, the contents spilling everywhere.

I let out a yelp of surprise and he grunts, pushing me down with one hand, the other yanking down my pants and underwear until I'm totally bare.

He lets out a hiss, pausing for a moment, then grabs my arms and holds my wrists at the small of my back.

"I have this need to restrain you," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "To pin you down like a butterfly. To marvel at your beauty but to know that you are caught, that you are mine." He exhales a shaky breath. "Does that scare you?" he adds quietly. "There's not many women who understand the things I desire, at least in the bedroom."

"It scares me in the best way," I tell him, my voice muffled as my cheek rests against the table. "And I understand completely. It's what I need."

"You will want a safe word. Something that lets me know I'm taking things too far. I don't wish to harm you in any way."

"Ocean," I say, the word just coming to me.

He lets out a happy sigh. "Ocean. That's perfect. You're perfect for me, Syd."

Because you have found a kindred spirit in me, a depraved soul who knows your depraved soul , I think, but I don't voice this to him. It's too cheesy and sentimental, too much for what's actually going to happen, which is pure, raw sex. I can be this way when something finally feels good and right; I fall fast but I never keep it to myself. I have to tell the world, or at least the person I have feelings for, which only makes them run.

Which is why I tell him, "Restrain me. Please, doctor."

At least one of us won't be able to run.

He swallows thickly, lust clouding his eyes.

"Don't fucking move," he says, harkening back to my dream.

Is it possible that my dreams are of the future?

While he disappears somewhere in the boat, I look up at the painting on the wall. In the dream it was one of the grave, but now it's the eagle again, thank god. I shut the memory of the night out of my mind, refusing to think about what transpired right before I got here.

Kincaid comes back into the cabin. "Good girl," he says, the praise making me blush. "How well you follow my instructions. Perhaps I'll be more lenient on you."

"Don't," I tell him, pressing my cheek against the wood. "I don't deserve it."

He chuckles and I hear the smooth sound of something being unraveled.

Rope.

"You're right about that, my pet," he growls. "But I'm the one who gets to judge, not you. Now shut the fuck up and don't speak until you're spoken to."

Holy fuck. Yes, doctor.

He grabs my wrists again, wrapping rope around them. Unlike the one in my dream, this rope is soft and smooth, the same kind used for the sails on deck. When he finishes with my wrists, he brings the rope underneath my body, wrapping it up to my shoulders and back down over the bottom of my ass and over my thighs, keeping them together until I'm restrained all over.

The fact that he's using Shibari rope bondage on me makes me want to melt into the table.

You're a dream come true , I can't help but think. Literally.

"Perfect," he murmurs roughly, gliding his hand over me, following where the ropes criss-cross my body. "Almost a masterpiece."

Then I hear him undo his belt, the slick slide of leather. It makes my heart pound against my chest, and my body feels like it's on fire. I brace myself, waiting for him to whip me with it.

But to my surprise he wraps the belt around my throat, tightening it like a collar. Not enough to choke me but enough to keep me under control, which he demonstrates by giving it a tug.

"There," he says. "Now it's a masterpiece. Now you're truly mine."

I hear him take off his Henley and his pants. I try to turn around and look at him but he tugs on the belt sharply as a warning. "Stay," he commands.

I swallow against the leather and nod, though I find it criminal that he's staring at me all tied up and naked and I can't even get a look at his body, or his tattoo. At least I already know what his cock looks like.

He positions himself behind me, long fingers curling over the rope around my waist, while his other hand pushes down at it where it hugs the bottom of my ass, making room for his cock. The head of his dick presses between my legs, teasing where I'm wet.

"Soaked," he says gruffly. "All this for me." I can hear him smile. "You're going to need it."

He pushes inside me with one hard, stretching thrust.

I cry out, stars behind my eyes as his cock sinks in deeper, all the way to the hilt. He groans loudly, his breath ragged as he inhales.

"Fuck, your cunt is tight," he grinds out, both hands now curling around the rope, holding on.

I am fucking tight. My eyes are watering from the intrusion, his dick shoved in so deep that I can't even breathe. I'm stretched so far that the pain showers down on me like sparks.

"Breathe," Kincaid says as he slowly pulls out, his length dragging over every nerve. "Breathe, my pet. Breathe through it. You can take it, I know you can."

I suck in a breath, holding it in before exhaling, and the pain starts to turn to pleasure, the agony melting until my cunt is throbbing and pulsing with need.

"Fuck, yes," he rasps, "that's it. That's it, sweetheart. Keep taking it."

He pushes in again and this time I'm ready, expanding around him, the tight, slick glide of him hitting my g-spot, making my core feel like it might explode.

"You'll let me use you," he says breathlessly as he starts to pound away at me, his hips pistoning against my ass. "Tell me you're mine to use."

"I'm yours to use," I say through a gasp.

"Tell me to fill you up until it's coming out your mouth," he grunts.

Oh, Jesus have mercy.

"Fill me up until it's coming out of my mouth," I say, adding, "Doctor, please."

"Shit," he swears. "You know exactly what to say. Such a little slut, aren't you? Just willing to be used like this, used solely for my fucking."

"Yes," I cry out. My body shakes on the table, the whole boat now starting to list back and forth from his relentless movement. "Use me, please. Take what you want, I beg you."

A low, rumbling sound emits from his chest as he picks up the pace. There's subtle cruelty in his fucking, his movements rough as he plunges into me, his hands yanking at the ropes until they dig deep into my skin. Every now and then he grabs the belt and yanks at it like a leash, pulling my head off the table, and he's muttering things like, "you take me so well, good girl, greedy little slut, yes just like that."

Meanwhile my clit is so swollen, so needy for release that I start squirming on the table, trying to adjust my hips so that the hard ridge of his cock rubs against it, but he only pushes me back down.

"Beg me for it," he growls.

"Please," I try to say, but my words are weak, trembling, my body trying to break against the ropes that hold me in place. I've never felt so desperate before, like it's a creature trying to crawl out of me. "Please let me come."

He grunts again and then reaches down, stroking my clit.

I'm so wet, so wild, that it only takes one hard pass of his finger before my orgasm crashes over me. I erupt with a cry that fills the boat, that must soar up into the sky and down into the ocean below. If it weren't for the ropes restraining me, I am certain there would be pieces of me spread across the waves. I'm sure it would be impossible to put me back together. Where my body can't go, my mind does, floating and freewheeling as it gathers up a million different emotions like a tumbleweed.

He pumps hard, a couple of short, deep thrusts before he stills and releases with a loud, breathless groan.

"Sweetheart," he rasps. "You're too good."

He pushes in one last time, grunting as he goes, and then he leans forward, one hand bracing himself on either side of me. Breathing hard, he places shaky kisses down my spine before he undoes the belt around my neck.

"You're perfect," he tells me again, his voice gravelly. "So obedient and willing for me."

I feel like I'm dissolving into the table. To my surprise, I have tears in my eyes, every feeling inside my chest stirred up like sediment.

He reaches around and starts undoing the rope next, sliding it out from under my body until I feel released. "Stay here, please," he whispers, and honestly I couldn't move even if I tried.

I hear the tap running and then he comes back and presses a warm wet cloth between my legs, cleaning me up with so much tenderness that my heart flutters.

I exhale and close my eyes, relishing the feeling of being cared for, doted on. I may not have anyone in my life to love me, but at this moment, somehow I feel loved.

Then he whispers for me to sit up. He helps me to my knees then bends over the table and literally picks me up. I'm a heavy girl but he does it with ease and carries me, pressed against his bare chest, through a narrow door to the captain's quarters.

He lays me down on a V-shaped bed. I stare at him. Though he's lit from behind, I can still make out the tattoo on his arm. A raven, with a faint moon behind it, its feathers trailing down to his forearm.

"What does your tattoo mean?" I whisper.

"It means I like ravens," he says, but there's levity in his voice. "To many local tribes here, a raven is known as the keeper of secrets."

Very apt indeed.

"To me," he continues, "they are omens, but where one can decide whether it's good or bad. It reminds me of perspective. And to be frank, it reminds me of here. I got this tattoo done during a supply run to Campbell River, back when I was new to Madrona and in love with this nature. I still am."

"Ravens are also psychopomps," I tell him, remembering my lit classes, and also because I like the word psychopomp. "Connecting the living world with the world of the spirits. A mediator between life and death."

"I like that," he says, giving me a soft smile before he climbs into bed with me, pulling up the covers. "But I don't want you thinking about death right now. I want you to sleep. We have to be up in a couple of hours."

He pulls me to him so that he's spooning my back. I twist around slightly, looking up through the glass hatches to see a million stars in the sky. They make me feel so small and inconsequential that I have to look away. I snuggle back into Kincaid as he drapes his arm around me and holds me tight.

"I can fix you, Syd," he whispers in my ear.

"How?"

"Trust me."