“Yes, Master. Please.”

Sully gently worked the lotion into Mac’s skin. “Five for the shorts. And five every day you decide to wear clothes at home, automatically, until you decide you should go naked again. One stroke for talking back, one for the outburst saying you’d go with her to Ohio without asking me first, one for the outburst in her bedroom.

Hard because you were willing to take a hundred for your actions.

Fast because I didn’t want to torture you.” He applied more lotion, feeling Mac relax under his hand as it soothed his flesh. “I’m proud of you for wanting to protect her. I just want you to be careful. You know I won’t let her get hurt. You have to trust me on this. She’s not Betsy.”

“I know, Master. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.” He capped the bottle. “Done.”

Mac gingerly rolled over, wincing a little but not complaining. He would never complain. He never had complained.

Mac also never extracted payback for punishment while on the boat. Sully had anticipated he might and was willing to take it if he dealt it, but Mac’s enjoyment of his limited top time came mostly in the form of sexual enjoyment, not sadism.

Sully used the bathroom, turned their stereo and lights off, and settled into bed with Mac. Not many things drove Mac to tears outside of a scene. Not even punishment, usually. That night, Sully sensed Mac needed more than a Master.

He needed his lover and friend.

Sully wrapped his arms around Mac. “Let it out, Brant,” he ordered. “Don’t hold it in.”

At first Mac tensed, and then he relaxed against Sully as his tears flowed.

“She’s not Betsy,” he whispered in Mac’s ear. “Keep saying that to yourself. She’s not Betsy, and she’s not going to die. We won’t let that happen.”

Mac clutched Sully, crying, shaking with the force of his anguish.

“Fuck, Sul. He beat her to a pulp.”

Sully knew how difficult it had been for Mac, keeping his emotions in check around Clarisse all day. He knew better than anyone how hard this was on Mac, seeing her bruised and battered, helping her with the makeup, trying to maintain appearances in front of Tad.

After twenty minutes, he finally cried himself to sleep. Sully closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to his forehead. If someone had told him years ago that he’d love this man the way he did, he’d have decked them. People asked how he could explore complex and fluid gender roles in relationships in his books in such a realistic way. It was easy for him.

He lived it.

* * *

The nightmare played out the same every time. Knowing it was a dream didn’t help Mac escape it. He’d talked to Betsy earlier that day, confirmed he’d be by at six to help her move. Her husband was going out of town for the weekend on a fishing trip to the Keys with a buddy of his. By the time the asshole returned late Sunday, Betsy would be safe at Mac’s apartment.

When he arrived at five to six, the lights were all off but her car sat in the driveway.

He tried the door, found it locked.

Fear sent his heart racing as he tried calling her, heard the phone ring counterpoint somewhere inside. Then he tried her cell.

He faintly heard it ringing through the door too.

Shit.

He pounded on the door. “Bets! Open up, honey. You’re scaring me!”

He circled the house. All the blinds were drawn and the back gate locked. Highly unusual.

Hoping he was wrong, that it would prove to be a false alarm, he returned to the front door, called 911, and told them he was breaking down the door.

Despite the dispatcher advising him to wait, Mac kicked the door in and screamed when he found Betsy face down on the living room floor in a puddle of blood.

He yelled at the dispatcher to send an ambulance and then checked her pulse. Jesus, she was still breathing.

Barely.

She moaned.

“Oh, honey,” he cried. “Please hang on! Bets, you gotta hang on, they’re coming.” It looked as if someone had taken a baseball bat to her, her face unrecognizable, her hair matted with blood, the house ripped apart.

Unlike every other dream he’d had reliving that horrible afternoon, tonight when he cradled her in his arms, she opened her eyes. It wasn’t Betsy’s brown eyes, but Clarisse’s blue ones.

* * *

Sully felt Mac startle awake. He’d lain there unable to sleep, expecting this. It’d been months since Mac’s last nightmare about Betsy. He’d suspected Clarisse’s unexpected entry into their lives might trigger a return of Mac’s flashbacks. Sully wrapped his arms around his lover as the other man started crying.

“It’s okay, buddy,” Sully soothed. “Let it out.”

Mac eventually cried himself back to sleep, which finally allowed Sully to relax and close his eyes. Mac never dreamed it twice and always slept the rest of the night after waking up. They both had their demons.

His appeared some nights in the form of a woman, who looked like she wasn’t even legal drinking age, pulling a 9mm semiautomatic on him during the drug raid and shooting him in the gut before he blew out the back of her skull. Jason shot and killed her boyfriend, but not until after the guy put a bullet in Sully’s leg. Had Sully not pulled the trigger, the woman’s next shot likely would have killed him.

He never felt guilty about killing her, because she’d also been carrying a .38 in her purse, along with more than three grand worth of crack. His only choice had been to shoot. That still didn’t stop the dreams.

Only the feel of Mac’s body in his arms did that.

Chapter Five

Clarisse awoke just before dawn the next morning, feeling disoriented, in pain, and frightened out of her mind. She’d been trapped in a nightmare where Bryan had found her and was torturing her.

She sat up, crying, trying to remember where the hell she was.

Mac.

As soon as she thought of him, her world went calm, a feeling of security returned. With a pained grunt, she slowly swung her feet over the edge of the bed and carefully stood.

Everything hurt. Not as bad as the day before, but it hurt. A full night’s sleep in a good bed had helped a lot.

She used the bathroom and pulled on the fluffy robe before quietly opening her bedroom door. The house lay dim and quiet.

Chiding herself for not asking Mac where he kept the Tylenol, Clarisse silently padded out to the kitchen and started rummaging through the cabinets as quietly as she could.

* * *

Mac slipped out of bed at his usual time and headed for the bathroom. When he returned, he slipped on a pair of shorts. Sully sent Mac a pointed look.

“I’ll take the five, Master,” he quietly said.

Without another word, Sully headed for their bathroom. Mac silently opened and closed their bedroom door, not wanting to disturb Clarisse. No doubt she’d be asleep for hours yet. With some surprise, he rounded the corner into the kitchen and nearly walked into her, scaring both of them.

The look of sheer terror on her face as she screamed broke his heart. When she realized it was him, she sobbed and collapsed against him. He wrapped his arms around her and held her, trying to soothe her. Drawn by the noise, Sully quietly appeared in the doorway. With her back to him she didn’t know he was there.

Sully frowned, then looked sad. He held up three fingers.

Mac gratefully nodded. Sully nodded in reply and disappeared again.

Mac scooped her into his arms, carried her over to the couch where he held her, consoling her while she got the nervous tears out of her system. Only three strokes? He’d take a hell of a lot more than that to ease her through this. Sully must be feeling generous this morning. Mac had fully expected at least ten, if not more, to allow him this kind of unapproved, unnegotiated contact with her.

After ten minutes, she sniffled in his arms. “I’m sorry I’m such a pain, Mac.”

“You’re not a pain. Why are you apologizing?”

“I shouldn’t be imposing on you guys like this.”

He tipped her face back so he could look into her eyes. Even with her wounds, it was all he could do to not lean in and kiss her.

The sudden urge scared him.

“You’re not imposing, sweetie. You’ll live with us, and we’ll take care of you, and you can be near Tad. Quit stressing.” He helped her to her feet after planting a chaste kiss on her forehead. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Did I wake you?”

“No. I always get up this early.”

“On a Saturday?”

He led her to the kitchen. “Every day. I don’t sleep in. What were you looking for?”

“Tylenol.”

He smiled, opened a cabinet she hadn’t checked yet, and handed her the bottle. “It’s all in there. You ready for coffee and breakfast?”

She blushed as she shook out a couple of capsules and took an offered glass of water. “You don’t have to cook for me, Mac.”

With a gentle touch, he used his finger to tip her chin so he could look into her eyes. “I want to.”

She sat at the counter and talked with him while he cooked. He took a mug of coffee to their bedroom for Sully. When Mac returned, he explained. “He likes to be alone when he first wakes up. Helps him think, helps with his writing. Clears his head.”

She sipped her coffee. “What does he write?”

“Lots of things. Fiction and nonfiction. He travels quite a bit too.

He gives law enforcement and author educational seminars on several topics.”

“What kind of fiction?”

“Mysteries, thrillers, procedurals, erotica.”