Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
“Damn,” she whispers. “But I’ll bundle up and go anyway. I mean, I appreciate your protection and all, but I have things to do.” She turns from the window and heads to the door.
“Yeah,” I say, blocking her way. “And that isn’t happening.”
“Excuse me?” She tilts her head to the side. “Listen, just because we have history doesn’t mean you get to tell me what to do. I won’t drive or do anything stupid, but I am going home.”
But my mind is made up. I wouldn’t let someone I don’t even know go out there. Chandra? No way.
“You’re not going,” I tell her.
The air crackles between us. I want to take her full mouth in mine and silence her backtalk. My palm yearns to smack her full backside and remind her of her manners, teach her some common sense. But I lost that privilege and I haven’t earned it back. Not yet.
Then her eyes soften, and she smiles. It may be my imagination, but I see forgiveness in those coffee-colored depths. “If I’m not going anywhere, the least you can do is give me a tour of the dungeon?”
Chapter Seven
Chandra
It’s like the air in here is laden with some sort of potion that makes me lose my self-control. Coming here was the first crazy thing I’ve done in who-knows-how-long. But I got sick of just writing the books. I told myself I needed a little research.
I have to get to work on my book, as I have a looming deadline and obviously didn’t lug my laptop to the club. But the real reason I’m pushing to get out of here is because I need to get away from him. When I’m near him, I don’t have any control over my body and my mind plays tricks on me. Every day, when I write my books, I’m fully submersed in the erotic pull of the power exchange. I’ve forgotten what it’s like being around him. The way his voice makes my breasts swell and tingle, and the throb of need that pulses between my thighs. I want to feel the loss of control under his capable, trustworthy hands, the way we used to—
But no. I can’t go back there. When he left, who I was shattered to pieces. When I was with him, my mind warred against what I wanted and what was right, but I couldn’t deny how everything we did made me feel. I craved his protection and control.
When the pregnancy test came back positive, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. We were already done. I knew the swelling abdomen and tender breasts meant my body was housing the life of another, and that baby was his. I’d given him my virginity. I’d given him my heart. I gave him all that was me, and he lied to himself when he said leaving me was to protect me. Leaving me killed me.
I couldn’t tell him about the baby because I was afraid he’d think it was a selfish, silly ploy to bring him back to me, and I was far too proud for that. So he never knew I was pregnant or that I lost the baby. He never knew the devastating pain that wracked my body and my heart when I said goodbye to my last connection to Noah. To a life that would never come to fruition.
Still bleeding, my heart lacerated, I took my meager belongings, and I left home. At first, I traveled like a vagabond, a college student living in youth hostels, funded by the money I’d put aside. My parents didn’t pursue me. A daughter who left home was dead to them. And even though it hurt, I knew it was for the best. I thought he was back in my hometown, and since I never bothered to keep in touch with anyone from home, I didn’t know he’d moved, too.
I left my past behind me. But I carried with me a deep, abiding craving for the lifestyle Noah introduced me to. I told myself that it was just how I was wired. It was part of my psyche. Raised by parents who were more enamored with the idea of me than the actual me, the logical side of my brain told me I craved his guidance because I lacked real care and concern in my youth.
I could never pursue the lifestyle apart from Noah, though. It lost its magic. And maybe I feel a little betrayed that he was able to. I did, however, fulfill every fantasy of mine within the pages of my books.
So when I asked him to take me to the dungeon, I pretended in my head it was for research.
“I’m on a deadline,” I tell him. “And feeling very uninspired. Maybe you can show me around?”
He blinks slowly, his blue eyes trained on mine, stern and unyielding.