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It’s been three weeks since I learned Saint will be my Lord. It’s gone about how I expected it to. Slow as fuck.
After my drunken outburst, he never came back to see me again. We’ve talked on the phone, and he’s texted me, but it’s not the same. He’s been distant, and I’ve been losing my mind.
I should be mad at him, but instead, it makes me even more greedy for him. I’ve accepted my fate tonight. Being fucked in front of a group of men is the least of my worries.
My mother has had me go to therapy every day this week with her. I sit there and zone out, ignoring them both. What’s done is done.
I go to my classes, but I don’t pay attention to any of my professors. Whitney asks me nightly to go out, but I avoid her. If I’m not with Saint, I want to be alone.
I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, wrapped in a towel fresh out of the shower. My hair is still wet, and I haven’t started my makeup yet. I have an hour before my mother picks me up to head to Carnage.
She insisted on driving me, which I found odd, but whatever. She wouldn’t let it go. I don’t know if she plans on waiting in the car once she drops me off or what. It’s not like she can come in and watch the show. The only women allowed to be present are the ones handing their lives over to their Lord.
My cell rings, and I look to see it’s Saint video calling me. This is the first time I’ve heard from him in three days. I want to press ignore, just to piss him off, but doubt fills me, and I worry he’s calling to tell me he changed his mind. He believes my mother and her therapist, and no longer wants to make me his. If I’m not innocent, then I don’t deserve him. That’ll embarrass him and his family.
I nervously wipe my sweaty hand on my towel and answer. “Hey?” my voice is soft to try to cover up the hesitation I feel when my heart begins to race. If he tells me not to meet him at Carnage, I’ll do what my mother said to do and run. I’m not sure where I’ll go, but anywhere will be better than staying here and seeing him with someone else.
“Go to your nightstand,” he orders.
I frown. “Saint—”
“It wasn’t a suggestion, Ashtyn.”
I look around to see where he’s at and notice he’s propped up against a black headboard. But it’s not the one at his parents’ or the house of Lords. He must be at Carnage. He’s also shirtless, and I can see his brand on his chest. The Lords crest is a circle with three horizontal lines through the middle of it. It represents power. All of them receive the brand at the beginning of their senior year at Barrington. You can tell it’s fresh by the raised and reddened skin.
I walk over to my nightstand. “Now what?” I ask, staring at the white wood.
“Open the bottom drawer and grab the black box.”
Doing as I’m told, I pick it up with my free hand. “Okay.”
“Now grab the chair by your window and take the items into your closet.”
“The closet?” I question. “Saint, what the fuck?”
“Now, Ashtyn,” he barks.
I slam the bottom drawer shut and walk over to the table by my windows. I set everything on the cream leather cushion, including the phone, and slide it across the white carpet over to my walk-in closet. I wanted this house strictly for the closet. It’s like another bedroom on its own, and I’m obsessed with it.
Once inside, I go back and pick up my towel off the floor that I lost along the way because I couldn’t hold it up under my arms. “Okay. All in the closet.”
“Now shut the door,” he commands.
I do it and show him with my phone. “It’s shut. Now, are you going to tell me why I’m hiding out in my closet like there’s a burglar about to break into my house?”
“Face your floor-to-ceiling mirror and lay your towel flat on the floor in front of it.” He ignores my question, but I didn’t expect an answer.
Laying the towel down, I stand to face the mirror, showing him with my cell once again.
“Prop the phone up on the chair facing the mirror. Then kneel in front of the mirror, facing it as well.”
I get into position and slap my bare thighs. “This game is fun and all, but I’m short on time,” I inform him. Now that I know he’s not ditching me, I need to get ready.
“Open the box,” he commands.
Knowing he’s not going to stop, I pick up the box he had me get out of my nightstand and pull the lid off. My breath hitches, my eyes rising to the mirror to look at my phone propped on the chair behind me. I have it at an angle so he can see me clearly. “Saint…no.”
His eyes are on mine as he speaks. “Pour the lube on it, spread your legs, and slide that plug into your ass.”
