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When he released my dick before I could, I spit the words out. “I’ll go back to him. I’ll lethimhurt me if you won’t.”
Luke froze.
After a long, terrifying moment, he ripped my blindfold off, and the look on his face wasn’t what I expected, or even what I wanted. My chest rose and fell with quick breaths and my blood went cold as I took in his expression.
Devastated. Wrecked. I’d hurt him more than I’d ever hurt anyone before.
I waited for him to say poodle. I knew he would.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he untied me, took my hand, and pulled me up from the bed. “Come on. Dinner will be done in nine minutes.”
“Luke—”
“This scene isn’t over,” he said sharply.
“Daddy, please. I’m sorry.”
“Dinner,” he said, pointing toward the door to his room. “Finish making it.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“It’s Sir tonight.”
I gulped. That felt like a punishment in and of itself. “Yes, Sir.”
He adjusted his dick, and then went into the en suite, closing the door behind him. I walked downstairs and into the kitchen just as he’d asked and stood staring at the timer on the oven as it counted down.
Why had I done that? I’d destroyed the night. Sure, I hated what he was doing to me, but wasn’t that the point of it? Worse, I’d targeted where I knew it would hurt Luke the most. Was it worth it?
Tears slipped down my cheeks as the timer clicked over another minute.
Fuck.Whycouldn’t I let someone love me? Especially when I really wanted them to?
Chapter Nineteen
‡
Luke
Iturned onthe water spigot and splashed my face. My hard-on had evaporated when Minty’s hurtful arrow had lodged in my chest, leaving me feeling unfulfilled and frustrated. No, more than that, I felt hollow, like I was bleeding out from the wound.
Which was ridiculous. Subs said cruel things to their Doms all the time. My past boys had made all sorts of threats, and I’d never responded so emotionally before.
I had to shake this off.
Whycouldn’t I shake it off?
I checked myself in the mirror again, hoping I looked steady enough to join Mitchell in the kitchen. But no, I still couldn’t go out there. My bewildered expression wasn’t going to help anything.
If I went to him looking like he killed my puppy, I’d mess up everything. I’d show him that hecouldhurt me, that he had that kind of control over my heart and my head, and then he’d leave. He’d see that I was weak, and he’d hate that as much he hated being loved.
I splashed my face again.
I needed to get back in control. Suck up my feelings. Stamp out whatever affection was growing relentlessly in me, and just be mean to him again. Give him what he’d wanted from the start—pain—and give up on what I’d come to want.
Love.
