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“I’m so sorry. He shouldn’t have said that,” Markus says softly, still misinterpreting my reaction.
He doesn’t know I’m crying because he sent Grigory away—because I crave Grigory’s sadistic brand of humiliation and can’t bring myself to admit it. He doesn’t know it’s because I don’t want to be here in his arms where I should belong.
— CHAPTER 20 —
CLARA
“Grigory has asked to see you,” Markus says after lunch the next day. “Would that be okay with you?”
I cringe at his wording. I hate that Grigory has to ask for anything. He should be able to see me without going through Markus. They might call this arrangement sharing, but really, it’s still Grigory lending me from Markus.
“Of course,” I say.
“Are you sure? You were quite distraught yesterday. It’s okay if you need to take some time. No one would blame you.”
Markus still thinks it was Grigory calling me a whore that prompted me to safeword, and I think he’s actually angry with Grigory for it. Markus is always the one to say how important aftercare is to both the Dom and the sub, and now he’s trying to deny Grigory the aftercare he didn’t get—thatIdidn’t get.
It pisses me off.
“You can’t just deny Grigory aftercare like that,” I say, not doing a very good job of hiding my frustration.
Markus must be on edge today because it usually takes a lot more than an irritable tone to exhaust his patience. He gets up from his chair and plants both hands on the back, giving me a hard glare. “I sure can. If that’s what’s best for you.”
I stare off to the side and fold my arms over my chest, contemplating how to proceed. Most of all, I’m inclined to throw back some snarky comment, but I know it would do no good. So instead, I call it like I see it. Markus can read me, but I can also read him.
“This is not like you,” I say, turning my eyes back to him and dropping my hands into my lap. I really don’t want to fight with him. The distance lingering from yesterday is bad enough. “Is it because he called me a whore?”
Markus’s flinch says everything. He detests it, and it hurts. It makes me feel wrong for liking it.
“He shouldn’t have done that.” He snatches our plates from the table and stalks toward the dishwasher, clearly not in the mood to talk about it. But we have to.
“Why not?”
Markus turns, plates in hands, and gives me anare you kidding melook. “You safeworded, Clara. You haven’t done that once in the time we’ve been together. Now he made you do it. So yeah, I’m pissed.”
I get up and go to him, then place a hand on his arm, needing to be close to him when I say the next thing. I know Markus would never push me away, but some part of me dreads it anyway. “It wasn’t what he said that made me safeword,” I say, tightening my grip on his arm as trepidation wreaks havoc on my nerves.
Markus sets the plates on the counter and grabs my arms gently. “Sweetie, look at me.”
I lift my gaze to meet his now concerned eyes.
“What was it that made you safeword?”
I look away again, unable to face him when I say it, knowing it will hurt him. “Your reaction,” I mutter, feeling like a shitty sub. First, I took control by using my safeword even though I didn’t truly want Grigory to stop, and now I’m hurting my Dom.
Markus is quiet for a moment. “What—How did I react?”
“Like you’re doing right now. With shock. Like it was wrong. That made it humiliating. For real.”
“Sweetie,”—he nudges at my chin to bring my eyes back to his—“did you like what Grigory said?”
I nod, hugging myself, for the first time hating my kinky sexuality.
“I had no idea.” His eyes flicker back and forth between mine as if he doesn’t know how to proceed. Finally, he finds the words. “I’m sorry.”
I close my eyes and breathe a steadying sigh.I’m sorryis not what I need. But I know Markus won’t be able to give me what I need. He can’t say that he liked seeing Grigory humiliate me—he can’t say that it didn’t bother him.
He pulls me into him and strokes my hair. “It’s okay that you liked it. I don’t mind that you and Grigory play with such things. But I’d rather not be part of it.” His hand stills on my hair like he’s uncertain how to proceed. “I’ll talk to him,” he finally says with a resigned sigh. “Or maybe all three of us should have a talk.” Grabbing my shoulders, he leans back to study me with a question hovering in the air.
