A single blond eyebrow went up at her complaints. "You have run of the largest suite in the house, yet one maid comes by to assist me and somehow you think you've become some kind of exhibition? I think you're overestimating your importance." He shook his head with a wry grin then and ripped open an alcohol swab. "So many visitors," he murmured as he rolled out a length of gauze next. "Roommates? Honestly? Heaven forbid someone ask if you're alright. Did a parade occur while I was downstairs? Did I miss the part where he paid for a ticket? Threw confetti? Took pictures for posterity? They're curious, yeah. Because they want to help, not because they want to watch."
Connor subsided then, realizing his conversation with Lilly and subsequent tolerance of Ransom had left him unsettled in more ways than one. He chose to not say a word as she made a sassy, decidedly unbroken move to sit and continued speaking, though he clenched his teeth together to keep it that way as she proceeded to break one of the cardinal rules of his house--a rule he would only allow her to be ignorant of once. And then he couldn't speak, his throat inexplicably dry as buttons came loose and revealed patches of cream among dark blues and fainter reds.
If she was nervous in disrobing before him now that she had some semblance of control over the situation, he couldn't see it in the steady motion of her fingers, the shift of her shoulders that dislodged the elegant fabric and discarded it on the comforter behind her. Cautiously, he met her gaze, green to green, assessing her mood and the decided lack of tells. If there'd been a sign of defiance to her movements, any sign at all other than this dispirited, almost bored mien, Connor would have pushed.
As punishment for breaking the rule he would have checked her bruises anyway. Instead, he shook his head again, lifted the alcohol swab, and got to work. "We will go to sleep when I'm done with you. And it will take," he added, his lips dipping into a disappointed frown, "as long as it takes."
"Ransom's not gay," he said after a long moment of tending, of trying not to look and failing miserably. He swiped at a scab across her forearm where it looked as though a chain had wrapped too deeply. A bandage was taped carefully down, his fingertips trailing unconsciously down her arm in its wake. The next cracked portion of skin was sought, continuing the trail across her midsection, carefully avoiding her breasts--though his forearm may have been remiss. More patches were made before he continued, "Kinky, yes. Sensitive, yes. Overly amused by the notion that the title of 'maid' should come with a costume...yes. Ransom has quirks."
He fit his hand around a pattern along the curve of her shoulder. Enduring bruises the shape of a meatier set of blunt digits. "Quirks that involve safewords sometimes but not...this. No one here is into this."
His grip changed, exacted light pressure that probably hurt and would continue to until this point was made, this rule made clear as crystal and unyielding as diamond. Lips dipped downward further as Connor spoke with more severity than he'd used with her thus far, "I am going to explain something to you. Once." Green eyes bored into hers, intense and determined. "You will never again insult a member of this household.
"Let me be clear, Piper. Everyone under this roof is mine. Mine to protect, as I am theirs. It is not a dictatorship. It is a partnership. There is a hierarchy, yes, but everyone in this house gets respect. No matter their role. No matter why they're here--and I promise you for most, it isn't for the reasons you think. Especially, no matter what you think to see as flaws. I promised to protect you, sweetling, but this," and he paused, smoothing the skin of her shoulder with his palm as if he'd just realized he'd come close to doing something he said he wouldn't do and couldn't figure out why.
Connor cleared his throat and moved on to the last injury of its kind on her other arm, detached from the action despite the temptation of promised flesh. There would be time for such things. Later. Right now, he had to sort out why he'd taken his scared, wounded, exhausted mistress to task so firmly, when he'd promised himself she'd get a pass on everything until morning.
The answer came in the form of a beautiful face. The last time a woman had occupied this very room, she'd been a rude, self-righteous princess--and he hadn't seen it at the start. Once she'd wormed her way into his home, she'd shown her colors to be those of a holier-than-thou bitch. She'd believed everyone in the estate beneath her, heaped sly insults upon them behind Connor's back, and saw to it she was served hand and foot. She'd had no interest in him at all, in the end. Only status. Money. She'd been thoroughly disappointed, and Connor had gained wounds of his own from placing his trust--so rarely, so carefully given--in such a selfish woman.
Piper's insult had pressed buttons forged during that woman's tenure, and he didn't care a whit that she knew it.
"This is non-negotiable. You have issue with me, and I can accept that, and we will work through it. You have an issue with one of them, you bring it to me, and we will work through that, too. But our household--no. They offer you respect, regardless of your proclivities, bloodline, or background. And I don't give a damn what bitter pill you think you have to swallow. You will repay that basic right in kind. If you cannot..."
Could he cast her out on her heels for looking down her pert little nose at those in his care? Not tonight, certainly. He just wouldn't accept history repeating itself. His heart couldn't take it. Worse, it would hurt everyone involved, again, the solid workings of his staff and the diva herself, who'd shut herself away from anyone seeking to be an ally, a friend, a confidante. After settling Piper in this suite, seeing something in a woman that called to him at this level for the first time in two long years, something he couldn't yet explain--if it turned out he was wrong about her...
"...then you may find yourself free of me after all," he found himself saying in a voice gone rough, still unsure if he actually meant he'd let her go. He should have done with his former mistress, that much was certain. "Handed straight back to my father. With the rest of the people who can't be assed to care about others."
About whose souls they might shatter in the process.
Those people--they fucking deserve each other.
He stood, gathering the scraps of the medical supplies into cupped palms and abandoning her on the bed to think. Or fall asleep. Whatever. Fuck. Dumping the trash into a small can by the sink and stripping off his shirt with one hand, he propped his palms on the counter for a long while, staring at nothing in the mirror. His biceps flexed hard, frustration from this whole debacle wearing him to the bone.
Connor subsided then, realizing his conversation with Lilly and subsequent tolerance of Ransom had left him unsettled in more ways than one. He chose to not say a word as she made a sassy, decidedly unbroken move to sit and continued speaking, though he clenched his teeth together to keep it that way as she proceeded to break one of the cardinal rules of his house--a rule he would only allow her to be ignorant of once. And then he couldn't speak, his throat inexplicably dry as buttons came loose and revealed patches of cream among dark blues and fainter reds.
If she was nervous in disrobing before him now that she had some semblance of control over the situation, he couldn't see it in the steady motion of her fingers, the shift of her shoulders that dislodged the elegant fabric and discarded it on the comforter behind her. Cautiously, he met her gaze, green to green, assessing her mood and the decided lack of tells. If there'd been a sign of defiance to her movements, any sign at all other than this dispirited, almost bored mien, Connor would have pushed.
As punishment for breaking the rule he would have checked her bruises anyway. Instead, he shook his head again, lifted the alcohol swab, and got to work. "We will go to sleep when I'm done with you. And it will take," he added, his lips dipping into a disappointed frown, "as long as it takes."
"Ransom's not gay," he said after a long moment of tending, of trying not to look and failing miserably. He swiped at a scab across her forearm where it looked as though a chain had wrapped too deeply. A bandage was taped carefully down, his fingertips trailing unconsciously down her arm in its wake. The next cracked portion of skin was sought, continuing the trail across her midsection, carefully avoiding her breasts--though his forearm may have been remiss. More patches were made before he continued, "Kinky, yes. Sensitive, yes. Overly amused by the notion that the title of 'maid' should come with a costume...yes. Ransom has quirks."
He fit his hand around a pattern along the curve of her shoulder. Enduring bruises the shape of a meatier set of blunt digits. "Quirks that involve safewords sometimes but not...this. No one here is into this."
His grip changed, exacted light pressure that probably hurt and would continue to until this point was made, this rule made clear as crystal and unyielding as diamond. Lips dipped downward further as Connor spoke with more severity than he'd used with her thus far, "I am going to explain something to you. Once." Green eyes bored into hers, intense and determined. "You will never again insult a member of this household.
"Let me be clear, Piper. Everyone under this roof is mine. Mine to protect, as I am theirs. It is not a dictatorship. It is a partnership. There is a hierarchy, yes, but everyone in this house gets respect. No matter their role. No matter why they're here--and I promise you for most, it isn't for the reasons you think. Especially, no matter what you think to see as flaws. I promised to protect you, sweetling, but this," and he paused, smoothing the skin of her shoulder with his palm as if he'd just realized he'd come close to doing something he said he wouldn't do and couldn't figure out why.
Connor cleared his throat and moved on to the last injury of its kind on her other arm, detached from the action despite the temptation of promised flesh. There would be time for such things. Later. Right now, he had to sort out why he'd taken his scared, wounded, exhausted mistress to task so firmly, when he'd promised himself she'd get a pass on everything until morning.
The answer came in the form of a beautiful face. The last time a woman had occupied this very room, she'd been a rude, self-righteous princess--and he hadn't seen it at the start. Once she'd wormed her way into his home, she'd shown her colors to be those of a holier-than-thou bitch. She'd believed everyone in the estate beneath her, heaped sly insults upon them behind Connor's back, and saw to it she was served hand and foot. She'd had no interest in him at all, in the end. Only status. Money. She'd been thoroughly disappointed, and Connor had gained wounds of his own from placing his trust--so rarely, so carefully given--in such a selfish woman.
Piper's insult had pressed buttons forged during that woman's tenure, and he didn't care a whit that she knew it.
"This is non-negotiable. You have issue with me, and I can accept that, and we will work through it. You have an issue with one of them, you bring it to me, and we will work through that, too. But our household--no. They offer you respect, regardless of your proclivities, bloodline, or background. And I don't give a damn what bitter pill you think you have to swallow. You will repay that basic right in kind. If you cannot..."
Could he cast her out on her heels for looking down her pert little nose at those in his care? Not tonight, certainly. He just wouldn't accept history repeating itself. His heart couldn't take it. Worse, it would hurt everyone involved, again, the solid workings of his staff and the diva herself, who'd shut herself away from anyone seeking to be an ally, a friend, a confidante. After settling Piper in this suite, seeing something in a woman that called to him at this level for the first time in two long years, something he couldn't yet explain--if it turned out he was wrong about her...
"...then you may find yourself free of me after all," he found himself saying in a voice gone rough, still unsure if he actually meant he'd let her go. He should have done with his former mistress, that much was certain. "Handed straight back to my father. With the rest of the people who can't be assed to care about others."
About whose souls they might shatter in the process.
Those people--they fucking deserve each other.
He stood, gathering the scraps of the medical supplies into cupped palms and abandoning her on the bed to think. Or fall asleep. Whatever. Fuck. Dumping the trash into a small can by the sink and stripping off his shirt with one hand, he propped his palms on the counter for a long while, staring at nothing in the mirror. His biceps flexed hard, frustration from this whole debacle wearing him to the bone.
Dreams come in a size too big so we can grow into them.
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