Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
The problem was that I didn’t know what lay on either side. Falling into the abyss led us to something unknown, but stepping away from the edge wouldn’t keep us in the same place we were before we entered the club.
The bigger problem was that I didn’t think I wanted to go back to the same place.
I think I wanted to grab her hand and drag her into the dark with me.
And I think she wanted it too.
I just needed to take the first step and find out.
CHAPTER 15
ASPEN
We didn’t speak the entire drive back to my apartment. I couldn’t organize my thoughts enough to form a coherent sentence. So, instead, I stared out the window, watching the streetlights flash by. Unable to focus on one thing as it all blurred together.
The silence was horrible. However, once he parked, I couldn’t bring myself to open the door to escape it. I couldn’t bring myself to leave until one of us said something.
Part of me hoped he would take the lead like he had at the club. Which only added to my inner turmoil, because I never waited for anyone to take the lead, and after one night of playing a submissive, I sat mute in the car, waiting for someone to tell me what to do. Almost like I needed his permission to get out.
I rolled my eyes, just barely biting back a frustrated groan.
Just say something. I berated myself. Just say anything. Or get out of the car. Just stop sitting there like a docile little girl that doesn’t know what to do.
You’re in control, I reminded myself.
Then. Say. Something.
My internal banter wore me down, driving me to blurt whatever sat at the tip of my tongue—unsure of what it was until it tumbled free. “Why did you pull back?”
His silence stretched on for so long I wondered if I actually asked the question or was going insane and only thought I did.
Should I ask again?
No. God, no.
This was ridiculous.
I sat up, pulling my shoulders back, infusing myself with the reminder that I was Aspen Quinn, and I didn’t repeat myself to anyone. Unfortunately, the reminder fell flat beside my confidence when the leather seats creaked, announcing my fidgeting discomfort with a bullhorn.
Fuck it. Run.
Just as I grabbed the handle, the door locked as he put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb. My attention snapped to his stoic profile.
What the fuck?
The words locked in my chest, my mouth agape as if the single question I managed maxed out my ability to speak until he said something in response.
He pulled down a side street behind my apartment and stopped at a secluded curb away from streetlamps, leaving us in shadows. This time, he didn’t just park and sit there; he cut the engine completely before resting his hands atop the steering wheel, opening and closing his fists.
If I thought I’d been frozen before—it didn’t hold a candle to now.
The air in my lungs laid stagnant unable to move in or out.
Everything held still and waiting.
“Why were you so scared to orgasm?” he asked without meeting my eyes.
His question washed over me like a bucket of ice-water.
I wished to take back every thought that willed him to speak.
I didn’t want him to speak anymore.
I wanted to go back in time and hop out of the car while I still had the chance.
Fuck. Fuck, fuckfuck.
I decided to play dumb. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Unsurprisingly, he called me out, slowly turning his dark gaze on me and raising an arrogant brow. “You made a valiant effort to keep yourself from orgasming, princess. But you wouldn’t have lasted the full five minutes if I hadn’t pulled back.”
I floundered, fighting my initial reaction to deny, deny, deny, but also not ready to admit defeat. Needing to escape the spotlight, I turned the questioning back on him. “Why did you stop?”
“As I explained before we started, a Dominant is aware of his submissive’s limits, even if they aren’t explicit. I watched you for every change—every hitched breath, soft moan, needy whimper. I took note of every goose bump, every desperate thrust of your hips, and each time you bit your lip. So, when I saw the panic enter your eyes, I stopped. I want to own your pleasure and make you like the pain. I do not find pleasure in your pain.”
I wanted to argue that I wasn’t panicked, but the lie lodged in my throat. My mouth hung open, savoring his confession—tasting the need to let him own every part of me.
He shifted, resting his arm on the wheel, and pinning me to my seat with his full attention. “Your turn, princess. Why were you scared to orgasm?”
I swallowed and weighed my options.
I could lie.
I could refuse to answer.
I could open the door and run home as fast as I could and pretend he didn’t exist.