“How was her mood today?” I’m trying not to be terribly obvious, but the memory of our session is still buzzing through my veins, and I feel guilty I didn’t pay any mind to aftercare. It went against everything I knew as a Dominant, but I was painfully aware I couldn’t handle the level of emotional intimacy that comes along with it.

“What do you mean?” Hale asks, now helping himself to a handful of my candy that’s scattered across the coffee table in a colorful mess.

I shrug, trying to downplay my concern. “Just curious after our session yesterday—”

I don’t get to finish, because he rises to his feet, clenching his fists at his sides. “You fucking went through with that?”

“Of course I did. I told you I was going to.”

“You’re a selfish asshole, Reece. What the fuck?”

Confused, I stand as well. “I thought we both agreed it was better that I introduce her to the scene than some sadistic Dom doing God knows what with her.” Was he smoking crack when we met for lunch that day?

“Don’t you have enough subs on speed dial? Macey’s my sister. Since I apparently didn’t make it clear before, I don’t want you messing around with my goddamn sister.” His voice rises three levels, and if I had any neighbors, I’m pretty sure they’d be able to hear every word.

He said no sexual contact, and apparently he thought that was going to make me scrap the whole idea. Not that I abided by his request anyhow. The visual of Macey’s full lips wrapped around the head of my cock is permanently burned into my brain. And I can’t even find it in me to feel guilty about it. In fact, I want to do that again and again. Shit.

Realizing Hale’s still fuming, still watching me and waiting for an answer, I grab my glass, knowing I’ll need a refill to continue this conversation. “Another measure?” I ask, glancing down at his empty glass on the table.

“Answer the damn question,” he barks.

I walk to the bar and pour myself another. “I’m not seeing anyone right now. Just Macey.”

“You make it sound like an ongoing arrangement.”

Turning back to face him, I try not to flinch when I see the vein in his forehead that only appears when he’s mad. Like fighting mad. Shit. This isn’t what I anticipated when I told him to swing by tonight.

“It is. I promised her three sessions; I just don’t know how she’s feeling about continuing them. That’s why I asked you what her mood was like. She kind of rushed out of here.”

“If you did something . . . if you hurt her, so help me God—”

“I didn’t. I’d never hurt her.” The sincerity in my tone makes him pause, and he looks at me as if he’s looking at me for the first time. For a second, I think he’s going to see straight through me, that he’s going to discover that I’ve held feelings for her all this time. But then he lets out a deep exhale and gestures for me to continue.

“So, what happened?” he asks, pressing his lips together.

I take a swig before continuing. “I didn’t hurt her. I just might have . . . pissed her off. Ended the session earlier than she probably expected.”

“That’s it? You cut it short?” This seems to make him happy, his tight posture relaxing just slightly.

Staring at my glass, I say, “I’m trying to be careful with her.”

I don’t explain that my concern has nothing to do with the fact she’s his sister, and everything to do with protecting my heart. The damn thing got crushed the last time she walked away. I can’t go through that again because this time, it would be much harder. She’s living here, in the same city. I’ll see her at holidays and parties, and fuck, will probably have to watch her get married. All at once I feel like punching something.

“You know my stance on this,” Hale says with a no-nonsense glare. “No good can come of it.”

I give him the nod he’s looking for; he’s one thousand percent right. “Understood.”

He frowns and stands. Then without another word, he makes his way to the door, our conversation and our evening over, it seems. The door closes softly behind him, and I’m alone once again.

Hale and I have never fought. Not once. I’m confused and feeling even more vulnerable than I imagined. When another Dom tells you you’re in the wrong, you stop and take note. Period.

Alone in the quiet solitude of my apartment, I reflect on all the ways I’ve fucked up lately. First Chrissy asking why I’ve never settled down with a submissive, then my murderous feelings toward Oliver when he touched Macey, and now Hale questioning what I’m doing, coupled with my sullen mood after she moved out today.

I look down at my coffee table littered with colorful candies and an empty glass of Scotch. This is like a damn post-breakup pity party. All that’s missing is the ice cream and cheesy romantic comedies. I need to fucking man up. I’m Reece-motherfucking-Jackson. I own Crave—Chicago’s hottest sex club. I deliver the pleasure; I decide the punishments. I can’t let one feisty girl who I used to be hung up on call the shots on our arrangement.

Through my confused fog, clarity emerges. I might have fucked up running from Macey like that yesterday. But in our next session, I will make damn sure I don’t make the same mistake twice. She wants to experience this? Fine. I’ll let her see every ounce of my depraved side and let her decide for herself if she can handle it.

Chapter Nine

Macey

 

I’m standing in the bathroom, arranging my toiletries on the little shelf above the sink, when my phone rings for the third time.

“Uh. Fine, I’m coming,” I say to no one in particular, stomping across my new apartment to hunt for my cell phone. I find it underneath a pizza box that has sustained me for the last two days. I’m tired and irritable, considering all I’ve done over the past forty-eight hours is unpack boxes¸ scrub floors, wash windows, and stew over the memory of my awkward session with Reece.

When I strutted into his club on New Year’s Eve looking for a good time, I never envisioned what could have happened. The Reece I remembered was a diligent, kind, and thoughtful lover. Not the kind of man to just walk away when it was over, leaving me to unbuckle the ankle restraints he placed me in, feeling confused and alone.

My phone displays a number I don’t recognize.

“This better be important,” I say.

“It is.”

Reece’s deep growl of a voice slams through me, and I have to brace myself with one hand against the counter. “Reece? Where are you calling from?”

“My office phone. You didn’t answer when I called from my cell phone.”

“I’m just in the middle of something. What’s going on?”

“I’m calling about our next lesson.”

He sounds so formal, as if we’re scheduling a dentist appointment together or something. I want to give him a piece of my mind, and I will. But now isn’t the time. I want to be face-to-face with him when I demand an explanation for the way he acted. He owes me that much.

“Okay. What about it?” My cool, detached tone matches his. Two can play at this game.

“Tomorrow. Eight o’clock. We’ll meet in the lounge for a drink first.”

“Fine. See you then.”

I hang up, determined to show him once and for all that I might be submitting, but I’m no pushover. Deciding that I’m done with the unpacking and organizing, I text Brielle.

Hey . . . How about that margarita?

Thirty minutes later, we’re sitting at a little place called the Lettuce Leaf, munching on organic chips and salsa, and sipping peach margaritas.

“I’m glad you texted,” she says, taking another long sip of her icy drink. “Aren’t these heaven?”

“They’re delicious. I think I’m almost ready for another.” I’m drinking embarrassingly fast, but dude, these are amazing. Like orgasms in a cup.