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“I don’t think I’ll ever touch those again,” I say, gulping to repress the nausea rising at the thought.
“That bad, huh?”
“That bad,” I confirm.
I throw a couple pieces of bread in the toaster and pad to the fridge to retrieve a cola and butter. Once the bread pops up, I grab it all and plonk down on a chair beside Markus. “When did you go to bed?”
“Most people wanted to go out, so I shut down the party at two and joined you under the covers.” He pulls me to his side and kisses my head, and I snuggle up against him, ignoring the guilt roiling in my stomach. It really does feel good to be close to him.
***
As the headache and nausea fade during the day, the guilt grows, like it’s just been waiting for room to expand.
It’s not just guilt from the orgasm—it’s everything that’s happened in the last month. Markus has been putting more effort into our relationship, calling more often, and even declined Lucia’s offer to join her on tour, whereas I’ve been withdrawn, thinking about another man, wondering what it would feel like to be his.
The orgasm is really just the tip of the iceberg.
When Markus wants to have sex later in the day, I’m distant and tense. I was so hot for him last night, but now I can’t get into it.
My body responds like it always does, welcoming him in after a few strokes of his cock between my folds. But my mind is everywhere else. Or not everywhere. On one single person.
I keep imagining it’s Grigory pushing inside me, demanding my full attention on him, making it impossible to think a single thought that’s not concerned with the immense power he holds over me.
I imagine he says the words I’ve become obsessed with—the words I crave with a fury that eradicates everything else.
You’re mine.
But when I open my eyes again, it’s Markus on top of me, moving inside me, seeking the pleasure I denied him last night.
Suddenly, everything crashes, tears spilling from my eyes.
“Please stop.” My voice is barely above a whisper, and Markus doesn’t notice my distress as he presses his thumb to my clit, seeking to coax out my pleasure. But I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve him. Ever since the first moment I met Grigory, I’ve been gravitating toward him and away from Markus.
It’s wrong. I hate myself for it.
“STOP!” I yell and pull away with a suddenness that makes him fall out of me.
Markus jerks upright, staring at me with shock painted across his features. All I can think is that I did this. And if he knew the deepest desires constantly swirling in my mind, the shock would edge even deeper.
It takes him a moment to recover. He leans in to swipe a hand across my wet cheek, asking in an urgent voice, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
I shake my head as a sob breaks from my throat.
“Oh, sweetie.” He quickly moves up against the headboard and gathers me against his chest. “What’s going on?”
I know I should tell him about the orgasm and my burning desire to belong to Grigory; just get it all out and let him in. But I can’t bring myself to do that. It would only hurt him.
And it wouldn’t change a thing, anyway.
So I don’t answer. I’m not even sure I could with the despair wrenching from my body in heaving sobs and uncontrollable whimpers. So I just cry, clinging to him with all my might.
“Did something happen?” Markus asks, and when I still don’t answer, he adds, “Or is it just the alcohol? You did drink a lot. More than I’ve seen before.”
Why can’t I just shut my brain off and appreciate this wonderful man?I love him with all my heart, yet somehow, it’s not enough. My submissive heart craves the constant, all-encompassing authority Grigory easily provides—a power so total that it seeps into my mind and eradicates my thoughts and everything I am beyond him. I want to feel the full force of it, breathe it with every drag of air.
But I can never get that. Because I’m not his.
I press myself harder into Markus at the thought. Part of me badly wants to give up everything to belong to Grigory. But not Markus. Not the man who means everything to me.
