Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
I grappled with believing it meant so little to him—that, through all of this, I was the only one falling deeper. My stomach twisted around the idea that maybe he didn’t care for me the way I did for him.
He glanced at me, his gaze tense but blank. His lack of emotion coated me in a layer of embarrassment and shame, delivering a reality check. While I’d been falling in love with him, Lucian was being a Dom and nothing more.
His warning from when we first started came roaring back.
When someone is new to the experience, they can confuse the trust between a Dom and a sub as love. It’s not. It never will be.
I dipped my head to hide the heat rushing to my cheeks and swallowed. The smack of the crop against flesh faded. The moans and whimpers from other patrons became lost under the dizzying hum in my head. Darkness crowded the edge of my vision, and I pinched my eyes shut. I could deal with the roaring wave of humiliation threatening to pull me under later. I would not fall apart here—not in front of him. He may not care for me as I do him, but I would be damned if I let him know it.
With a few deep breaths, I sucked in a cool composure, building my icy walls, and looked up, delivering my own blank stare and empty smile.
“Yeah. I don’t know what I was thinking,” I said, my voice hollow. “Anyways, let’s go home.”
He nodded, finding no flaws in my act of indifference, and led me out.
I kept my armor in place all the way home. I masked the chaotic, crumbling emotions inside and made an excuse to sleep in my old room, claiming I wasn’t feeling well and didn’t want to make him sick.
I held it all together until I shut the door behind me.
I collapsed onto the bed without undressing.
Tears slid down my temples, and I promised myself I’d only take tonight to get it all out. Tomorrow, I would be stronger. Tomorrow, I would act like this never happened. Tomorrow, I would pretend I remembered his warning and didn’t have any feelings growing that felt too much like love.
But tonight, I replayed everything—every touch, every moment—questioning it all.
CHAPTER 12
LUCIAN
The sound of maracas and drums playing over the speakers greeted me when I opened the door, and my lips stretched into an excited smile. I’d heard the music more than a few times since Aspen moved in, but I’d never caught her unaware enough to see her dancing. She always noticed me and stopped whenever I rounded a corner.
Ever since the club, we’d both been… off.
Like an elephant had wandered into our home and we’d silently agreed not to acknowledge it—hoping if we ignored it long enough, it would shrink, and eventually disappear.
All we had to do was wait.
But the waiting was agony.
The moment we got home that night, she’d claimed she felt sick, retreating to her room before I could say anything else, and I let her go. The next morning, she greeted me with an exaggerated smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
As the days passed, she was overly formal and reserved.
A jarring shift from the woman who’d stormed in with her Vegijante mask, demanding I hang it in the living room, because this was her house too, now, and that’s where she wanted it.
As much as I hated the shift in how she acted around me, I followed her lead. The alternative meant confronting what I’d said at the club—and the way she’d looked at me after.
While I may have avoided discussing anything that lingered between us, I didn’t hesitate to give her pleasure every chance I got. At least there, nothing had changed. She still submitted beautifully, and we both spilled our truths in frantic touches, tender kisses, and desperate, punishing sex.
But I missed the woman who met my challenges with a wicked smile. The one who slipped laughter between our bickering like it was second nature.
So, hearing the music drifting from the kitchen, I felt a rush of excitement. She was relaxed enough to let herself move again. To feel.
It gave me hope that maybe—despite the silence, despite the weight between us—we could still find our way back and make this work.
I gently closed the door and walked as quietly as I could to peer into the kitchen. Other than a few glances, I never saw much of her moves, but today the music held her captive. With her eyes closed, she moved to the changing beat. Her bare feet carried her across the floor with quick steps and long strides that matched the rhythm of the song. Her body flowed with elegant sways of her arms and sharp stops of her shoulders and hips, mixed with rapid undulations that moved in time with the driving beat.