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I’ve always survived.
“That will be all,” I say simply. “I had to have you once more.”
Her eyes go wide, and she swallows. “Are you kicking me out of your office? Or out of your life?”
I inhale, hold it for a moment. “Both.”
Invisible fists crush my heart.
This may well be the most difficult thing I’ve ever done, and that’s saying a lot.
I’ve had to do my share of difficult things in my short life.
I walk back to my desk.
“I love you,” she says, her voice laced with sadness.
“I love you, too.” I clear my throat. “Love is nothing without trust, Skye.”
She shudders, nodding. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I do trust you, Braden. I wouldn’t have gone as far as I have without trust. Please, I don’t want to lose what we have.”
I say nothing. Nothing. Because if I try to say anything, try to soothe her in any way, I’ll lose my nerve. My control. I’ll beg her to stay.
I don’t want to end this. I never wanted to end this. But does she truly think I can let everything go? That I can believe she trusts me?
The clock ticks.
Damn.
Damn her! Damn Skye Manning!
Love is always worth another chance.
They aren’t my words. They’re my mother’s. She said them to me when I was no more than six years old, when I asked why she chose to stay with my father.
Love is always worth another chance.
I was too young to understand my mother’s reasoning at the time, especially after what I’d seen her go through with my father.
But I understand now.
I ultimately gave my father another chance as well, and he’s been an asset to my company.
Skye deserves no less.
Her big brown eyes plead with me, and I relent.
“Then be at my place this evening, as scheduled,” I say without emotion. “Christopher will pick you up at six thirty.”
She nods. “Okay.”
“And Skye?”
“Yeah?”
“Be ready for anything.”
Chapter Three
Once Skye leaves, I lock the door to my office and plunk into my chair.
I’m angry.
So very angry.
Yes, at Skye, for refusing to let history stay in the past.
But mostly at myself, for ever getting involved with Addison Ames in the first place. I knew better, even then, but I let it happen.
And yes, it ultimately led me to Skye.
I hate thinking about it, though. Remembering.
And now? It plays in my mind like a fucking IMAX movie.
…
“I’m going to take a shower. I’m a mess.”
“I think you look great,” Addie said. “All dirty after a day of hard work. Work that gives you those amazing muscles.”
“Are you saying you don’t want me to take a shower?”
“No,” she said. “I want you just as you are. You’re so hot.”
I walked toward her, intentionally not touching her. “Honey, this isn’t about what you want.” I walked to my bathroom, stripped off my clothes, and got under the pelting water.
I scrubbed my body clean with lukewarm water. What would I find once I returned? Most likely, she’d realize what she’d gotten into and turn tail and run. That’d be okay. Better, in fact. I’d jack off and be done with it. Not like I’d never done that before. It was most of the sex I had these days, rather than try to find a woman who might be willing to experiment in the darker side of sex with me.
I stepped out of the shower, dried my hair and body, and then wrapped a towel around my waist.
Here goes nothing. I opened the door and walked out into the living area.
I’d gone over in my mind what I might find. Most likely, she’d be gone. If not, she might have gone into the small kitchen area and gotten a couple beers out of the fridge. Maybe some bourbon. Maybe just some ice water. That sounded great right about now.
Or maybe she’d have discarded her trench coat and be lying spread-eagle on my bed.
Those were the things I expected.
Not what I got.
Addison was kneeling by my bed.
Kneeling.
This woman knew something about submission. More than I knew at this point.
And I was more than slightly turned on.
I walked to her. “What’s going on here?”
“May I look you in the eye, sir?”
She asked permission to look me in the eye? This was what she wanted? What she thought I wanted?
Fine. I’d give it a try. It was kinky.
“You may.”
She raised her head, meeting my gaze with her neck bent backward. “What can I do to please you?”
“Bring me your flogger and then get on the bed.”
She walked to her trench coat, got the flogger out of the pocket, and then sat down on the bed. She held the flogger out to me as if in offering.
Okay, I could live with this.
“This is a two-way street,” I said to her. “I’m going to tell you what I want to do, and you have the choice to say no.”
