couldn’t he leave well enough alone?
Why couldn’t she hate him for his breach of trust?
He kissed away the tears she hadn’t realized were on her cheeks. “It’s been years since I’ve used one, but I know what a bullwhip scar looks like.” Gabe stepped closer, determination in every movement.
The trembling got worse until she had to rely on the wall to keep her upright. She closed her eyes against Gabe and found a monster instead.
Master Joseph grabbed the whip, the wicked-looking one with a leather barbed cracker on the end. “Slave, why are you being punished?”
She trembled but Master knew best, he knew what she needed to be a good girl. “I overstepped my bounds, My Liege.”
Gabe pinned her against the wall. His weight was warm and comforting and she desperately wanted to tell him everything, but she couldn’t stand to put disgust on his face.
“Shh, you’re safe, Hope,” he breathed into her ear.
No, she wasn’t. The past needed to stay firmly in place. “Blue,” she whispered.
He froze and pulled back, hurt in his eyes. Yeah, she recognized it. She’d put it there often enough.
And she knew it was low, using her safe word like that, but she needed Gabe to keep his mind out of hers.
Hope stood there, hands crossed over her chest and her hip cocked out, trying to pretend he hadn’t gotten to her.
She watched as Gabe put on his boots with jerky movements before returning to the exit. Door halfway open, he said, “You know, Hope, some day you’re going to find a problem you can’t run from. I pray you’re ready when it happens.”
The door closed behind him with quiet finality.
Hope sank to the carpet, fingers tracing spirals in the plush Bordeaux carpet as her mind whirled and her skin burned, branded every place Gabe had touched her. Gabe, who thought he could save her, who thought bringing up the past could fix her present.
It was the same song and dance from their relationship. He couldn’t abide the idea of her having secrets, saw it as a breach of trust. Yeah, if that was a breach of trust, what was him throwing her limits to the wind? He thought he knew better than her. That, above anything else, told her she’d done the right thing leaving him that night without an explanation.
And he was harping on trust. Bastard.
Anger warmed her more than fear and Hope stoked those fires from years of practice. Bastard or not, her body still lit up for him, the only person who could get her to share at all. But it seemed as if Gabe was done with her.
Her back straightened against the wall. She hadn’t needed him the past two years, and she wouldn’t need him now.
She rose from the floor and put her now-wrinkled shirt on, taking one final look around the room, determined to focus on the real reason she came here this weekend.
The room was lavishly designed, all rich purples and reds and browns, but the furniture—bed and chairs and dressers and wooden structures for erotic torture—crowded the space, leaving definite room for improvement. Her gears started cranking out possible ideas so that when she met with Ms. Lamont, she could bring at least that much to the table.
Her evening with Gabe may have ended abysmally, but she knew that he would make good on his end of the bargain. She would have this contract.
Not yet ready to risk coming face-to-face with another guest, she made the bed, admiring the luxurious high thread count and soft down pillows one final time before gathering her resolve and leaving.
Voices drifted from the dining room, but it sounded as if there were far fewer guests there than before. She followed the trail of lights away from the voices and up the hall to the staircase, planning to iron all her clothes, wrinkled from her suitcase, and then see if the masseuse had any appointments open in the morning. It wouldn’t siphon away all her tension, but it would ease things for now.
Despite Gabe’s insistence that this wasn’t a spa, he could’ve fooled
Why couldn’t she hate him for his breach of trust?
He kissed away the tears she hadn’t realized were on her cheeks. “It’s been years since I’ve used one, but I know what a bullwhip scar looks like.” Gabe stepped closer, determination in every movement.
The trembling got worse until she had to rely on the wall to keep her upright. She closed her eyes against Gabe and found a monster instead.
Master Joseph grabbed the whip, the wicked-looking one with a leather barbed cracker on the end. “Slave, why are you being punished?”
She trembled but Master knew best, he knew what she needed to be a good girl. “I overstepped my bounds, My Liege.”
Gabe pinned her against the wall. His weight was warm and comforting and she desperately wanted to tell him everything, but she couldn’t stand to put disgust on his face.
“Shh, you’re safe, Hope,” he breathed into her ear.
No, she wasn’t. The past needed to stay firmly in place. “Blue,” she whispered.
He froze and pulled back, hurt in his eyes. Yeah, she recognized it. She’d put it there often enough.
And she knew it was low, using her safe word like that, but she needed Gabe to keep his mind out of hers.
Hope stood there, hands crossed over her chest and her hip cocked out, trying to pretend he hadn’t gotten to her.
She watched as Gabe put on his boots with jerky movements before returning to the exit. Door halfway open, he said, “You know, Hope, some day you’re going to find a problem you can’t run from. I pray you’re ready when it happens.”
The door closed behind him with quiet finality.
Hope sank to the carpet, fingers tracing spirals in the plush Bordeaux carpet as her mind whirled and her skin burned, branded every place Gabe had touched her. Gabe, who thought he could save her, who thought bringing up the past could fix her present.
It was the same song and dance from their relationship. He couldn’t abide the idea of her having secrets, saw it as a breach of trust. Yeah, if that was a breach of trust, what was him throwing her limits to the wind? He thought he knew better than her. That, above anything else, told her she’d done the right thing leaving him that night without an explanation.
And he was harping on trust. Bastard.
Anger warmed her more than fear and Hope stoked those fires from years of practice. Bastard or not, her body still lit up for him, the only person who could get her to share at all. But it seemed as if Gabe was done with her.
Her back straightened against the wall. She hadn’t needed him the past two years, and she wouldn’t need him now.
She rose from the floor and put her now-wrinkled shirt on, taking one final look around the room, determined to focus on the real reason she came here this weekend.
The room was lavishly designed, all rich purples and reds and browns, but the furniture—bed and chairs and dressers and wooden structures for erotic torture—crowded the space, leaving definite room for improvement. Her gears started cranking out possible ideas so that when she met with Ms. Lamont, she could bring at least that much to the table.
Her evening with Gabe may have ended abysmally, but she knew that he would make good on his end of the bargain. She would have this contract.
Not yet ready to risk coming face-to-face with another guest, she made the bed, admiring the luxurious high thread count and soft down pillows one final time before gathering her resolve and leaving.
Voices drifted from the dining room, but it sounded as if there were far fewer guests there than before. She followed the trail of lights away from the voices and up the hall to the staircase, planning to iron all her clothes, wrinkled from her suitcase, and then see if the masseuse had any appointments open in the morning. It wouldn’t siphon away all her tension, but it would ease things for now.
Despite Gabe’s insistence that this wasn’t a spa, he could’ve fooled
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