“She would, Liv,” he asserted on a squeeze of his arms.
“Okay, Nick.”
She totally didn’t believe him.
He lifted a hand and hooked a finger under her chin, forcing it up.
He caught her eyes in the moonlight.
“She would, Livvie, because you make me happy.”
She melted into him.
“Now that,” she said in that voice of hers, “I can believe.”
He bent his head and kissed her soft.
When he released her mouth, she snuggled close.
He was nearly asleep when her drowsy voice came again to him.
“You’re good at what you do.”
He had no clue where that came from.
“What?” he asked, sounding just as drowsy because he was.
“Taking care of us, the women you love, making us free in all the ways we can be.”
Suddenly, Nick was wide awake.
Just as suddenly, Liv was sleeping.
Nick held her close and turned his eyes to the paned window where moonlight shone in.
“I hope you’re free, Hettie,” he murmured to the quiet night.
Hettie did not reply.
For Hettie had long since been free.
* * * * *
Two Days Later
She was in the kitchen making dinner, an alarming prospect, when the commotion that was him and what he’d picked up in town came through the door to the garage.
She whirled and stared down at the floor in horror as the commotion swept through the room, headed straight her way, taking the braided rugs strewn around with it.
But Nick stared at her face.
Fuck.
He thought she’d freak at his surprise, but in a good way.
“You don’t like dogs?” he asked.
With visible effort, she tore her eyes away from the puppy now attempting to climb up her leg. Her hands were held up in the air, covered in something that looked slimy, a quick glance at the counter telling him she was doing something with hamburger.
If she had the time, she could use hamburger to wipe out an entire army in a way they did not mind dying.
Fuck again.
“What’s that?” she asked, unmoving, her eyes didn’t even drop down to the dog.
He walked into the room. Crouching close to her, he swept up the puppy.
It started licking his jaw at the same time trying to chew his ear and climb on his shoulders.
“Pet store next to the hardware store. It’s adoption day. I went in,” he explained, watching her closely. “I couldn’t leave without taking him with me.”
“What’s that?” she repeated.
Nick didn’t reply as he tried to read her.
“What is that?” she enunciated each word clearly as he continued to try to contain the pup at the same time figure out what was going on behind her blank green eyes. “The breed,” she finished.
“Mutt, but they say mostly Labrador.”
He watched her green eyes instantly round huge.
Then they squeezed tightly shut as she burst out laughing.
He stared stunned as she clapped her slimy hands, catching the pup’s attention, his ears flying out as he looked to Liv, and she stumbled—actually fucking stumbled—gracelessly to the sink.
She did a shit job washing her hands and they were still half-wet when she came back to him, still laughing, eyes on the puppy, hands up.
She tore the dog right from his grip, cooing, “Come to Momma, baby. That’s it,” she stretched her neck as the dog bathed it with her tongue, “give Momma kisses.”
Nick stood still as she wandered away, a princess with shining black hair in designer jeans and high heeled boots in a rustic, old house in the mountains of Tennessee being lavished by dog spit, still cooing and doing it nonsensically as she walked out of the kitchen into the living room
“At least he didn’t take us to a trendy country setting that’s really a suburb. We are firmly in a country setting that is not trendy,” she assured the dog absurdly. “But there are no horses to be raised in sight.”
Nick still didn’t move as she disappeared into the living room but he heard her go on.
“Ooo, you’re a boy. We need to name you.” Her voice rose. “Nicky! We need to name him. Come in here and do not touch the food. I’m cooking dinner and I’m not taking your shit.”
Nick continued to stand still until, slowly, he turned his head to look to the door to the garage. He then turned back to look into the kitchen.
“Whiz.” He heard her say. “You move like lightning. No, Punk.” He heard the dog whine. “You don’t like Punk? Okay, but you can’t be Spot, you’re not spotted.”
He looked back to the garage door.
“Nick!” she called.
He stared at the threshold at the bottom.
Fuck, he hadn’t noticed.
“Sweetheart.” He heard her again and knew she was back in the kitchen. “Our dog needs a name.”
He looked to her to see she was bent over, ass in the air looking fine in her jeans, putting their new puppy on the floor.
It jumped back in her arms.
Now, he noticed.
There he was.
He’d made it.
He’d fucking made it. With his own hands, sweat, balls, gut and brains.
He’d made it and he’d earned it and there he was…
Living it.
His perfect world.
* * * * *
The Next Day
He didn’t gag her. He wouldn’t ever gag her. He liked the noises she made too much.
But he did blindfold her.
And he strung her up.
She took it all, his Livvie. Even if he’d intended to break her in slowly, she writhed against the leather straps around her wrists hung from the hook on the wall, her naked body arching, seeking, inviting, the noises she made telling him where she was.