“Brant, let me take you home so you can get a shower and change clothes.” He needed one too. “They won’t let you back in until morning.” The man seemed emotionally numb, trapped in the denial stage of his grief. His younger brother had left for home an hour earlier to shower and change clothes and would be back soon.
On the ride north, Brant slumped in the passenger side. “Why are you doing this for us?” he hoarsely asked. “Not that I’m complaining, seriously.”
Sully gripped the steering wheel and fought his own demons.
“Because I need to.”
“How do I get through this? I can’t lose her. She’s my little sister.”
“You keep putting one foot in front of the other. That’s all you can do. Don’t look ahead. Just focus on the next step.”
Over the days that followed, Sully used some of his personal days to stay with the brothers, console them, sit with them. When the brothers made the final decision to discontinue Betsy’s life support, Sully kept a supporting arm around each man as they watched her life end. He helped them plan the funeral and sat with them through the service.
Despite the horrible circumstances, he considered Brant a friend and knew he was one of the few people who could honestly say he truly understood exactly what Brant felt. The anger, the guilt, the what-ifs.
The I should have been there and done more self-loathing.
The sound of pots and pans in the kitchen awakened Sully. When he glanced at the cable box, he realized he’d napped two hours away.
Damn. So much for working.
Mac heard him trying to sit up and hurried out to help him. “Do you want another pain pill, Master?”
Sully studied his lover’s worried face, his dream of their past fresh in his mind. He smiled as he reached out and, taking Mac’s hand, accepted his help. “No, I’m okay. Let’s try the regular stuff. I’m just really stiff.” Mac helped Sully limp to the bathroom, then grabbed a tube of ointment on their way back to the couch. Clarisse stood in the kitchen entrance and watched as Mac worked on Sully’s leg.
Clarisse moved a little closer. “What does that do?”
Mac didn’t look up from where he knelt on the floor, his hands working the tight muscles in Sully’s leg. “The PT showed me what to do, warned me this could happen from time to time.” He shot Sully a stink-eye look. “Especially when someone doesn’t exercise or work their leg like they’re supposed to so the muscles don’t tighten up.”
“He’s worse than any drill sergeant,” Sully quipped. “You sure can tell he was in the Army.”
“Hey, I don’t hear you complaining over the naughty nurse game.”
Clarisse felt her pulse skip when Sully smiled and reached over to tousle Mac’s hair. “Okay, you’ve got me there, Nurse Brant.”
Mac’s beaming smile stirred something in Clarisse’s heart. He obviously doted on Sully, loved the man. Who was she to judge what they did in their relationship?
She wouldn’t deny a twinge of jealous envy. Bryan had never shown appreciation to her. Especially not the way Sully did with Mac.
Sully appeared to love Mac as much as Mac loved him.
Sully tipped his head back and met her gaze. “Watch out. If Mac gets his hands on you for a backrub, he’ll have you melting into the carpet. He’s great.”
Mac blushed. “Thank you, Master.”
Sully spent the entire day on the sofa, working, napping, and talking with Clarisse. They ordered a pizza for dinner. At bedtime, Clarisse retired for the night and the men returned to their bedroom.
Mac surprised Sully when he brought the punishment cane out and presented it to him, then knelt on the floor next to the bed and bowed his head.
“What’s this for?”
“I owe Master strokes.”
Sully tried to replay the day in his mind, as much as he could remember through the medication, pain, and naps. “Okay, I give. For what? You ditched the clothes.”
Mac related his earlier exchange and demonstration with Clarisse and the cane.
Sully considered it, letting Mac sit and stew for a moment. “You didn’t actually touch her though? Just with the cane?”
“Just with the cane, Master.”
“She enjoyed it?”
“Yes, Master.”
Sully fought the urge to laugh, knowing that would hurt Mac’s feelings. Mac had done more to win back her trust with that short demonstration than he realized.
“Stand up and bend over.”
Mac complied. Sully didn’t stand. He lined up the cane from where he sat and laid only one stroke across Mac’s ass. “That’s all.”
Mac frowned. “Master?”
He immediately gave Mac a second one. “That’s for questioning me.”
Mac took the offered can and returned it to the closet. Only when they were situated in bed did Sully explain. “I only gave you one because you felt you needed it. You didn’t break any rules. You didn’t hurt her. In fact, that might have helped change her perceptions in a good way. You know why you earned the second.”
“Sorry, Master.”
Over the years, during the bad times they’d found the best position for Sully to lay propped against Mac, the larger man’s body supporting his leg at the perfect angle to help relieve the pain.
Snuggled like that, with Mac’s arm around him, Sully settled in and tried to sleep. It not only helped with his pain, but the contact with Mac’s body also helped keep the bad dreams away.
His safe harbor.
“Thank you for taking such good care of me, Brant,” Sully said. “I appreciate it.”
Mac rubbed his chin across the top of Sully’s head. “Thank you for allowing me to serve you, Master.”
Chapter Eleven
On Wednesday afternoon, Mac vocally protested when Sully wanted to go downstairs to work out.
“You need to rest your leg another day or two, Master.”
Sully still heavily relied on his cane. “Not exercising is what got me in trouble.”
“Master, I don’t want you to hurt yourself again. Just relax today and—”
“Stop, slave.”
Clarisse looked up at Sully’s sharp tone. Mac’s face reddened before his gaze dropped to the floor.
“Go bring it and meet me in the playroom,” Sully ordered.
“Now.”
Mac disappeared to their bedroom and returned a moment later carrying a punishment cane. He followed Sully to the playroom.
They left the door open.
Clarisse heard their voices. Curiosity got the better of her. She quietly walked down the hallway and peeked through the open door.
Mac knelt on the floor, his head bowed.
“What have I told you about talking back, slave?”
“I’m sorry, Master. I’m worried about your leg.”
“What is the proper way to express your opinion?”
“I ask to talk with you.”
“And did you?”
“No, Master. I’ve earned twenty-five.”
“Over the bench. Now.”
Mac complied. She gasped when he stood and she realized despite that the fact he was about to get smacked, his cock stood proud and rigid.
Holy crap!
Mac leaned over one of the benches, where Sully quickly delivered the blows. Red stripes crisscrossed Mac’s ass and upper thighs, but not once did she hear him cry out.
Pain in her fingers made her realize she’d grabbed hold of the door frame and was hanging on for dear life. She couldn’t bring herself to leave.