Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
You’re never going to see her again.
Alexander pressed her pashmina over his face, half hoping he’d suffocate, putting himself out of his emotional back-and-forth misery.
He would see her in a month. He’d been in romantic relationships in which he saw the woman less frequently than once every four weeks.
A month. He’d wait a month and then they’d be able to scene together.
Unless she got another partner.
Alexander sat up.
He was a fucking idiot.
This was why he couldn’t sleep—they hadn’t said anything about scening together at the next club event. Was that why she’d turned to look at him?
He needed control, and yet he’d been so lost in the tangle of his own emotions he hadn’t stepped in to take control of this very simple thing. It was so blindingly simple that he couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to figure out why he couldn’t shut his brain off.
He’d been distracted by trying to convince himself he hadn’t fallen in love with her.
Jumping out of bed, and no longer caring that it was closer to dawn than midnight, he pulled on some gray joggers and, carrying her pashmina, jogged down the stairs. Determination brought him all the way to her door, but then he hesitated.
She’d said she needed some sleep since she’d be getting on a plane in a few hours, for a flight that wouldn’t be long enough to let her sleep. It was rude of him to wake her up just because he wouldn’t be able to get a good night’s sleep until he knew, without a doubt, that she’d be subbing to him at the next event.
Secondly, what if she said no? Or worse, what if she said yes, but only because she wanted to avoid turning him down in person.
He paced down to the far end of the hall, disgusted with his indecision.
He should just stay away from her. Earlier, when he’d told her she shouldn’t trust him, he’d scared her enough that she’d started to run.
Why was it that every time they were together, the night started off with one of them trying to walk away? Surely that had to be a bad sign.
Alexander propped his shoulder against the wall and stared at the door to her room, imagining what she looked like when she slept. Imagined waking her up by sliding his hands and mouth over her skin.
Imagined forcing her to straddle a wooden horse, her hands tied overhead, feet barely touching the ground. She’d stand on her toes as long as she could, but her calf muscles would fatigue and she’d be forced to put her whole bodyweight on her pussy, her labia splayed open by the narrow top of the punishment horse.
Alexander’s hand curled into a fist. Damn it. Those kinds of thoughts were exactly why he’d been the one to try walking away the first and second nights.
Alena wasn’t the kind of sub that would meekly accept the torture, using it to sink into some calm mental headspace he’d never fully understood, but greatly respected.
She would fight it, challenge him even as she suffered, and that would only make him want to see how far he could push her. To see what it would take to break her, to strip away her regal core, the reserve that made her the type of sub he really shouldn’t ever play with.
Divest her of everything that prevented the power exchange from tipping all the way to his side.
That thought was abhorrent. She’d said he wasn’t a monster, but deep down he was cruel and grotesque.
He’d mail her the damned scarf, and maybe by next month he’d have better control of some of his more sadistic fantasies.
The sound of footsteps made him look up. They were quick, purposeful steps and Alexander tensed. The end of the hall where he stood was dark, so if he held still, the person coming up the stairs probably wouldn’t see him.
It was probably one of his staff who’d stayed late working, or come in early for some odd reason. Most likely it was his chef, who came in early some days to start making bread.
Alena, dressed in black, her hair in a messy bun, cleared the last step and raced for her room. She was carrying a…hair dryer?
He rubbed his eyes. Was he seeing things?
The sound of her door closing was quiet, but very real. He hadn’t imagined it.
What was she doing up, and wandering around with a hair dryer? Did she sleepwalk?
If she was sleepwalking, should he wake her up? He frowned, trying to remember if he’d read somewhere that you shouldn’t wake up someone who was sleepwalking.
Before he could decide, Alena’s door opened again. She walked out, sans hair dryer.
Alexander pushed away from the wall and followed.
* * *
Alena slid into the parlor, and pulled the door closed behind her. She hustled across the room.