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"Because I knew I'd beg you to come be with me," I admit.
"And that would be horrible, now, wouldn't it?" Riggs snarls.
I shout, "Well, we both know what happened the last time I begged you to be with me."
He freezes, silent tension crackles in the air between us, and once again, embarrassment washes all over me.
I look away, unable to stand his painful gaze and thinking about how I begged him to be with me in Detroit.
He says in a calmer tone, "It wasn't because I didn't want you."
Hurt flares through me as fresh as that evening. "You didn't just deny me. You left me, never came back, and made me wonder where you were all night. I even started thinking I would never see you again." I try to control the new wave of emotions that assaults me and put my hand over my eyes.
He steps forward and turns my chin, removing my hands, muttering, "Pet."
My flutters take off. All I want to do is melt against him and forget everything that's happened.
He swipes his fingers over my cheek, wiping away the tears, and stares at me. Unspoken words spiral around us, with too many distraught emotions lighting up his normal confident expression. He opens his mouth but then snaps it shut.
My voice shakes as I say, "You don't want me, but you do. And I'm over the mixed messages."
"That's not true," he declares.
"It is," I insist.
In a firm tone, he asserts, "No, it's not. But I can say the same about you."
More tension fills the air, buzzing between us. I do everything in my power not to flinch under his dark gaze. I believe he's going to retreat, but instead, he takes me by surprise. He slides his hands into my hair, pressing his lips against mine. His tongue flickers in my mouth—hot, greedy, and exactly how all of our kisses are, as if nothing wrong has happened between us.
Every second lights me up, and the fight within me lessens. Within seconds, he has me pressed against the wall, his naked body against mine, and the anger between us begins dissipating.
His palms stretch against my ass, lifting me up until my legs wrap around his body seamlessly. He kisses me harder, groaning while his body glides into mine, filling me to the point I finally feel whole again. He drops his mouth to my neck, sucking on the curve and teasing me with slow thrusts.
I lose all of my resistance, unable to deny myself what I don't only crave but what I need. Then my eyes flutter open, and the green light blinking in the corner of the ceiling appears in my peripheral vision.
He's recording me.
Even in our home, he's always been recording me.
Of course he is. That's how he got all the footage of me.
The sharp sting of what he's done and how he asked for Papi's permission to record me at the club assault me into a new tornado of horror.
I freeze and push at his chest, needing to stop the new nightmare spinning around me.
He mummers in my ear, "What's wrong, pet?"
It's all too much. We have too many problems. There are too many things I don't understand and too many fears that I need him to squash. But I can't fathom how he'll ever be able to.
As the green light blinks, the trust I yearn to have for him again doesn't seem like it can ever be repaired. So for the second time tonight, I use the safe word and order, "Stop."
His body tenses. He stares at me with fresh hurt in his expression. He furrows his brows, questioning, "Why? What's wrong?"
I reply with the only thing I can come up with. I recite, "I utilized the safe word. According to your rules, our play is suspended for the next seventy-two hours."
He blurts out, "I'm not playing, pet. This isn't a session."
My face hardens until I feel it may somehow break.
