Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 78521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Control. And she gives me that, even though I know it’s difficult for her sometimes.
“Aren’t you going to eat any?” she asks.
“I ate an entire serving from your body.” I take a spoonful. “But if you insist.”
“You’re some kind of wonderful,” she says.
I don’t respond, just feed her another spoon of chocolate.
I’m not sure anyone has ever called me wonderful. Am I?
No. I’m far from wonderful.
Because somewhere in the deepest recesses of my mind, I know what I’m about to do is not the right thing. I’m doing it for one reason and one reason only—to ease Skye’s pain, which I want to do. But I could find another way to achieve that result. Giving in to Skye—letting her escape at the club—is not the right thing.
Escape is never the answer.
Escape is a double-edged sword. It’s human nature to want to seek refuge from an unpleasant reality. But it can easily become a habit, and then, worse, a requirement. Like a drug, it makes you feel good, but soon you’ll be using escape to keep from feeling bad.
And the dark fantasy of the club offers the ultimate escape.
I will indulge Skye this once.
I will because I promised her in a moment of weakness.
But inside the deepest part of my mind, I have an almost subconscious premonition that I will regret it.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Skye is quiet during the plane ride to New York.
She’s quiet during the limo ride to my building, where we arrive early in the afternoon.
I ask her what’s wrong several times, but she only shrugs and says, “Nothing. I’m fine.”
She’s not. She and I both know it, but that’s her way of letting me know she doesn’t want to talk now.
I won’t force it.
I’ll allow her this escape…but only this once.
“When can we go to the club?” Skye asks.
“Tonight. It doesn’t open until eight p.m.”
“It’s your club, though. Can’t we go now?”
I stare at her, tense, and I ask her the question I’m not sure she can answer. “What are you looking for, Skye? Why is the club so important to you?”
“For the same reason it’s important to you,” she replies.
I nod. “I think that may be partially true, but you seem to be after something more than just sexual gratification.”
“Aren’t you?” she asks.
“I like to be in control,” I say. “You know that, and playing a scene at the club gives me the control that I like to a greater extent than in a regular bedroom. Though I could easily build my own playroom.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“Because…the lifestyle is important to me, but it doesn’t define me.”
“I understand that.”
“Do you?”
She nods, swallowing.
“Because I think,” I go on, “you found something at the club that helps you deal with other aspects of your life.”
“So what if I did? Is that bad?”
“No, Skye. Nothing about the lifestyle is bad. But I have no interest in living that way twenty-four seven.”
“Neither do I.”
“Good. Then we’re on the same page.” At least in that regard.
“How could you think I wouldn’t be on the same page? Do you really think I want to spend my life as your submissive day in and day out?”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think you want that.”
“Then why are you—”
“You resisted my control in the bedroom. You still resist my control in other aspects of your life.”
“That’s true. So why would you think—”
I rub my jawline. “I don’t think that. Trust me on that one. I don’t think it for an instant. As to whether it’s what you want, we’ll find out tonight.”
Shivers overtake her. She tries to cover them up, but I notice.
She’s considering my words. She knows how I feel about escape. She may also know that I’m offering her escape, despite my feelings.
But what is she after?
I have an idea.
And I don’t like it. Not one bit.
Chapter Forty-Nine
No corset tonight. I gave Skye a bustier and a black leather miniskirt along with the fishnets, garter belt, and platform stilettos. I also asked that she wear her hair in a high ponytail.
She stands before me dressed and ready. I suck in a breath at her radiance. The redness and swelling of her eyes and face is gone. She’s excited.
She’s happy.
I’m giving her what she wants.
Rather, what she thinks she wants.
I place the diamond choker around her. “Nice,” I say simply.
Her fingers wander to the choker. In the club atmosphere, it means she belongs to me, and everyone else there will respect that. But there’s another meaning. A real-life meaning.
Some submissives wear their collars twenty-four seven.
They are submissive in real life.
I asked Skye once what it would take for her to surrender her control to me in every aspect of her life. Since then, I’ve done a lot of soul-searching, most of which happened last night after Skye fell asleep in my arms.
I don’t want to control her life. I’m not sure I ever did. At one time, I considered the idea of a full-time submissive. But now? I prefer a challenge, and Skye will always give me that.