Page 2 of Leather and Longing (Island Tales #3)

Chapter Two

Adam Kent expelled a breath at the sound of the front door closing.

The guy had a pleasant enough voice and he’d been polite, but that didn’t alter the fact Adam had no intention of letting another would-be companion within three feet of him.

He hadn’t tried silence as a means of dissuading Caroline’s interviewees before now, but after he’d gotten rid of the last one, Adam had decided to shorten the process.

Will this one even return?

God, he hoped not. And he’d do the same thing again and again until the message finally got through Caroline’s thick skull.

I don’t need a companion.

I don’t need anyone .

Maybe if he told himself that enough times, he’d talk it into existence. Because right then, he’d never felt so utterly powerless.

Why can’t I make her understand?

What filled every part of him, what permeated every cell, what choked him when he awoke in the middle of the night, was an overwhelming sense of loss .

It had taken him losing his sight to realize what a dominant, integrating sense his vision had been.

A little more than two months after becoming blind, Adam had no confidence in his remaining senses.

He’d believed the stories that blind people had acute senses of hearing and touch, but it just wasn’t true.

Gathering information about his environment was difficult, and had led to several falls, bumps and collisions.

It was too much to cope with, and instead of practicing using his other senses as his instructors had suggested, Adam had retreated, until his world had shrunk to the size of the library.

For a man who had always been in control, always relied on himself, this…

fear of venturing forth was anathema to him. And as for having to rely on others…

It just wasn’t him, this frustration with trying to accomplish the most basic tasks, a constant reminder that he was blind.

The house itself was an issue. It had sounded like a great idea: to move back to the house he’d known as a child, to leave London behind, with its noise and sensory overload, and hide away from the world.

But his lack of familiarity with the house created more problems, only adding to his sense of isolation.

What made it worse was recalling memories of his grandparents’ home, the spectacular views, and the rich scenery beyond every window.

All he had of those days was the sound of the sea, yet if he concentrated, in his mind’s eye he could still see its movement, see the constantly changing color as it reflected that huge expanse of sky.

The door handle rattled, and a moment later, Caroline’s voice broke the silence.

“It didn’t work, by the way. He’ll be here Monday, so you’d better get used to the idea.”

Adam clenched his hands into tight fists. “But he won’t be staying, so you need be prepared for that. What makes you think he’ll fare any better than the previous applicants?”

“You don’t have to live here. We’ve talked about this.” Her voice was softer.

“No, you’ve talked about it—I’ve ignored you. Now just leave me alone.” He tensed, waiting for her next remark, her next attempt, but all he got was silence. He shuddered out another breath, his muscles relaxing.

Adam sat forward and stretched out his right hand to the side of his chair, his fingers coming into contact with the smooth cover of a paperback.

He knew it was the top of a pile of books.

Adam picked it up and opened it, his fingertips registering the change in texture, the graininess of the paper.

It had the feel of an older book, and when he brought it to his nose and inhaled, there was a mustiness that confirmed this.

More than anything, Adam missed reading.

He knew he could get audiobooks, but it wasn’t the same.

He supposed sequestering himself in a room full of books was a form of torture, but the smell was a comfort to him.

In his head he pictured his flat in London, with the shelves he’d built, full to bursting with books of all descriptions.

Heaven knew where they were now: Caroline had seen to the packing up of his belongings when he’d moved back to the Isle of Wight, and Adam had no idea where all his stuff had gone.

Yet another thing to add to his sense of loss, not that having his own things around him would help him. He could no longer appreciate the beauty of the prints he’d collected through the years. The only place they existed for him now was in his head.

And as for his writing….

A large part of his personal identity was tied to his work and his lifestyle.

His writing had filled so much of his life that without it, he was left with a yawning void of time, intellectual stimulation and social contact.

At first when he’d been staying in the rehab manor house in Torquay, a couple of people had asked him what kind of work he did.

Yeah, that had had been really uncomfortable. What was worse, however, was later on when the question wasn’t asked at all. That was very telling, and all it did was to confirm to Adam that people didn’t expect a reply.

After all, he thought bitterly, what kind of work could a blind guy do? He wasn’t worried about finances—not yet, at any rate—but he knew he wasn’t about to rely on Caroline’s assistance.

He’d rather suffer torture than do that .

That last thought brought him a fresh wave of mental anguish.

He missed the club. He missed his fellow Doms—not that many of them had stayed in touch beyond the first month or so after he’d informed them of his loss of vision, the bastards.

He supposed he couldn’t blame them. That part of his life was over.

Whoever had heard of a blind Dom, for fuck’s sake?

Seth still called, but Adam had ignored his messages of late.

The one thing he was grateful for was that he had no idea what had become of all his BDSM paraphernalia.

Heaven knew what Caroline had made of all that when she saw to his packing, not that he cared.

At least he was spared the possibility of coming across his leathers, floggers, whips, shackles and numerous other devices. Now that would have been torture.

To have been such a physical Dom and have it all taken away was perhaps one of the hardest things he had to face.

I was the one in control! Only now that control had slipped through his fingers, no longer in reach.

Adam drew his knees up onto the chair and wrapped his arms around them, gently rocking, unable to hold in the sobs that racked his body.

This was why he didn’t want Caroline, or whatever his name was, or any fucking one, to be around him.

The person he’d been was dissolving into a puddle of self-pity, and the person he’d become seemed powerless to prevent it.

Eventually he regained control of his emotions, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

So this one hadn’t been deterred.

Fine.

Adam would see how long he stayed when all he met was a wall of silence.