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The gesture was bittersweet.
Anarchy thought of the time she’d spent resting on her knees beside him in the hospital waiting room, her cheek against his thigh or her head in his lap. His fingers stroking through her hair as they waited and waited for news of Bodie.
Despite the circumstances, they had been the happiest times. Snapshots in her life where he touched her, the connection between them deepening—or so she thought. Moments where his skin brushed hers and made her feel alive. Gave her purpose.
“Until then, with your consent, I’ve asked someone I trust to take care of you when you’re in Avalon. He’ll scene with you, guide you, explore your limits.”
Anarchy jerked her face away from Jasper’s hand as her heart took one blow too many and shattered into pieces. Some of the fire buried beneath her submissiveness rose swiftly to the surface, lashing out in the form of slapping his hand away.
What the fuck? Not only was he rejecting her, but he was also passing her off to someone else so, what, her love didn’t inconvenience him? Was he fucking kidding? He’d rather see her with another man than give her a chance to prove herself capable of handling his sadism?
Tears filled her eyes.
He didn’t understand her. Was he so stupid he couldn’t see what she felt for him? “I don’t want to be with anyone else. It’s been you from day one, Master Jasper.” She wrestled the fire back, forced her quiet demeanor into place. Calmer, she tried to reason with him. “Please, Sir. Just let me show you I’m strong enough. I can be what you need, I promise.”
“Maybe you could,” he murmured, those beautiful eyes softening as they studied her face. “But I can’t be what you need, kitten.”
He pushed to his feet as a hard knock on the door saved her from completely abandoning her dignity. His hand stroked over her head before he went to answer the summons.
Utterly destroyed, Anarchy stared at a framed photograph hanging on the far wall. Through blurred vision, she made out two figures, realized it was Master Braun and Bodie. Taken at Bodie’s collaring ceremony six weeks ago, the photo captured the moment when Master and submissive sealed their union in front of their friends, their community, with a kiss.
The love on Boadicea’s face was no less than what Archie felt for Jasper, but the sheer adoration written over Braun’s features would never be reflected on the face she loved.
Was it too much to ask to be loved that way? Obviously, she couldn’t please anyone. Too excitable, too submissive. Too sensitive. She swiped at the tears dribbling down her face, tempted to bury her face in her hands and just bawl her eyes out.
“Ah, shit, Jasper. What did you do?”
Yes, Jasper, what have you done? she thought morosely. At the sound of Master Atticus’s voice, she gave in to the pain and lay down on the couch, curling into a ball of misery. She should have connected the damn dots. Closing her eyes, shutting them out, she rolled over so her back was to them.
She just needed some privacy to get herself under control. Sweeping the ashes of foolish dreams into the trash would wait until she dragged herself home.
“What I had to.”
Yeah, well, she was going to do what she had to. As the tears came harder and faster, she clamped her hand over her mouth to muffle the rising sobs.
This was her last night at Avalon.
The club was his sanctuary, not hers. Not anymore. Everywhere in here was tainted by him. She wouldn’t be able to go into any part of Avalon without memories of him playing through her head. Wouldn’t be able to meet anyone’s eyes, knowing they knew how much of a naïve fucking idiot she’d been, falling in love with the resident sadist.
How stupid can you be, Archie? Nine months of doting on him, craving him, and not once did you notice he hasn’t reciprocated anything. The most he’s given you is a stroke on the head and a pet name he doesn’t mean. He can’t even drop the formalities and call you Archie.
“If you’re leaving,” Atticus rumbled, his displeasure evident in his tone, “leave. Once you’re out that door, she’s no longer your concern. Don’t even think about interfering, Jasper. You either want her or you don’t.”
How insane was it that hope blossomed among the wreckage of her world? A tiny little seedling of positivity, unfurling from between the rocks of her broken foundation and…squashed flat as the door clicked quietly closed behind the man she loved with every fiber of her being.
Defeated, Anarchy went limp.
“Stubborn fucker,” Atticus growled under his breath. There was a long, heavy sigh and then the air around her seemed to shrink, vacuumed into the shadow of the big Master’s presence.
She flinched, too exhausted to yank away from the massive hand that pressed against her back. Heat from Atticus’s palm burned into her skin, without the delicious spark she felt at Jasper’s touch. “I want to go home.”
“Bet you do, sweetheart. I can arrange that for you, but I’d like to talk to you first.”
“There’s nothing to say.”
“There’s plenty,” he argued, sliding his hands beneath her and scooping her effortlessly off the couch. She struggled, not wanting to be touched, to be exposed as a ruined mess, but Atticus simply sat down and arranged her on his lap, curling his arms securely around her waist. “Are you giving up on me, Anarchy?”
Her head was too heavy, stuffy from crying. She hated crying. Whoever said crying was good for a person was a moron. It did nothing but leave puffy eyes, a blocked nose, splotchy cheeks, and a sore throat in its wake. Yeah, she was aware she was an ugly crier. “Yes.”
