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But sex club Clay and real-life Clay are two different people, and seeing him here is like having the air punched out of my lungs.
My heels click against the floor as I make my way toward him. I’m rushing like someone might beat me to him. The mere thought of someone else taking him into a room makes my stomach clench and my blood boil.
As if he can sense my approach, he turns toward me, our eyes meeting just before I touch his arm.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, sounding far too possessive for my own comfort.
“Relax. I’m just here to talk to you,” he answers with a harsh bite in his tone.
I lean in closer until our faces are only inches apart. “There is absolutely no talk ofhimhere, understand?”
He knows instantly that I’m talking about Jack. There is no mention of my son at the club. His gaze burns with intensity as he subtly nods in agreement.
Turning on my heel, I start toward the stairs again, expecting him to follow. When I don’t feel him behind me, I stop and glance back.
He hasn’t moved from his spot at the bar-top table.
“I can’t be in a room alone with you,” he mumbles quietly as I return to where he’s standing. “I have a girlfriend now.”
I force myself to swallow as I stare into his eyes, suddenly realizing that he has no idea how many times I’ve had his girlfriend in a room alone with me in the past few weeks.
I also realize just how little he trusts himself with me, and that thought makes me ache with both regret and hope.
“Fine. We’ll talk here,” I reply, taking the stool across from him. “What is this about?”
I seem annoyed, and I don’t mean to. But Iamannoyed. Maybe not annoyed with him, but with the whole situation. I’m annoyed that I feel so much with this one man, this oneclient. I’m annoyed that I’m entangled in his relationship and that he’s become a part of my son’s life, even in the smallest way. More than anything, I wish I could go back to that night one year ago and never strike up a conversation with a certain young, cocky suit at the bar.
No, I don’t.
He clears his throat and shifts in his spot, tugging on the collar of his shirt. “You owe me,” he says with conviction.
I flinch, my brow furrowing as I stare at him in confusion. “Excuse me?”
Leaning in, he wraps his hand around my arm before catching himself and letting go. “You ruined me, Eden. You’ve made it impossible to move on, and I asked you to tell me to stay gone, and you wouldn’t. So then you gave me hope, and that was unfair.”
“Clay, I’m not responsible for—”
“And after all of that, Ihelpedyou,” he says. He’s staring point-blank into my eyes, and my argument slips from my lips. “So now you owe me.”
Everything is so simple to him, like everything has a value that can be traded and paid for. It doesn’t work like that.
“What do you want?” I ask softly, both hesitant and excited to hear what he has in mind.
His lips close, and he eases backward. As his eyes cast downward, he speaks as if hesitant to admit something. And when the words finally leave his lips, I realize why. Because his favor isn’t a favor at all—it’s insanity.
With a rasp in his voice, just above a whisper, he mumbles, “My girlfriend wants to watch us.”
Rule #19: Be honest with your Domme—even when it hurts.
Clay
She’s staring at me like I just suggested something unfathomable.
Because I did.
And I know how it sounds. I had the same reaction when Jade asked me. And I’m pretty sure evenshethought it was crazy, but let’s be real. This is one of those things none of us can deny.
Eden ruined me. Jade loves me. And I’m clearly so fucked that I need this to make it work.
