3. – Jaxon
Letting her walk out of my room was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do in my entire life. And I had a pretty extensive list of fucked up things I’d had to endure. Before my mind could latch onto one, I went downstairs to take my mind off of the temptation to run downstairs and bring her back up where she belonged.
In my bed.
In my arms.
With me.
In my office, I closed and locked the door, feeling no peace. I could feel her through the floor. She had a life force stronger than drywall and paint. It was bigger than all other things. I turned on my computer and tried to drown out my thoughts by turning an eye to the present. I had class on Monday. I reread the email that I’d gotten from the dean reinstating my position at the university after Vega tried to get me fired by sending in images of Miya and I together off-campus.
The vindictive wench. My eyes darted around the room instinctually. Even after nine years of being free of her, my respect still remained. My submission. Bad talking her, even in my head, set me on edge. But she and I were over. Had been for a long time. My mind was my own again. I was an adult, and not the broken soulless monster she healed at seventeen. It wasn’t as easy to distance myself from her entirely, considering Vega was my aunt Pyper’s moral support. I didn’t see another option at that point.
Thirty days or not, Miya did not like the woman and made her distaste known. She braved punishment to express her anger, which said something, considering I was her Dominant. I hadn’t helped, at all, cheating on her with my ex-Mistress. I hung my head, groaning into my hands. Losing Miya wasn’t an option, but love was an impossible task. She had to know that. See that. Monsters didn’t have happily-ever-after. We got right now, and that was it.
That was supposed to be good enough.
What if it wasn’t? What would happen to me if I couldn’t give her what she needed? I had every right to control her, if that’s what she desired. The moment she decided she had enough of me, I couldn’t stop her from leaving.
From smashing what little bit of my heart that still remained.
I blew a breath out through clenched teeth and then pulled open my drawer, retrieving a cigar from my office collection. I cut the tip and then brought the cigar to my lips, bringing my lighter out with it and guiding the flame to the tip. The moment the nicotine hit my system, my body relaxed. I hadn’t turned the lights on and the dark suited me just fine. After all, I was the monster in the nightmares.
The only thing I feared was the beautiful innocent woman hiding out in my basement. How a girl could bring me to my knees I didn’t know. But she did. Over and over again. I relished the scars on my knees, from constantly falling for her.
The impulse to go to her roared in my veins. My breathing deepened. It was times like that which made me highly aware of the fact that I was still very much an addict. Once an addict, always an addict. Chasing anything at all to numb my demons.
My demons were bloodthirsty. They liked to chip and chip away at my sanity until I wasn’t sane at all unless I had a sub at my feet waiting for my command.
I got up and paced, blowing out a stream of smoke. My fingers went to my hair and I tugged at the roots. I could feel her, damn it. Sense her fucking being. I wanted to wallow in it. Spank her ass raw and then kiss her red flesh.
I wrenched my office door open and stomped to the back of the house for the basement door. Just as my hand touched it, I paused. This was stupid. We didn’t need a month of detached sex to see what we already knew.
We were fucked up.
I didn’t care.
And she was my everything.
What more was there?
And then a little voice said, what about what she wants?
It was first nature, and frankly, my only nature, to seek what I desired. It went with the territory. But giving Miya what she wanted gave me a sick sense of happiness. I took great pride in soothing her wounds. I put them there. I made them feel better. Every time I soothed her, I created a blank slate to hurt again. We could do it forever.
Hurt. Soothe.
Fall. Get up.
Make love. Fuck hard.
Cry. Forgive.
A slam of longing and regret punched me in my chest. That damn girl made me want things I didn’t know how to have.
I did the only thing I could think to do when my dominance and love life got too twisted together. I called Samuel Carter. Fellow Dom. Openly obsessed with my woman. Begrudgingly made for this lifestyle.
I took a seat at the middle of my staircase, casting my gaze around the first floor. It was still dark from pulling the blinds, and the little shred of light that did manage to seep through the blinds barely did a thing.
“Jaxon,” he greeted, tone hesitant. “What have you done now?”
I grunted. “What makes you think I’ve done something?”
“Every single situation before this one.”
I smirked tiredly. “Fine. I haven’t done anything, so much as put my foot in my own ass.”
“As intriguing as that sounds… what are you talking about?”
I could hear other voices and the sound of rustling on the other end. “What are you doing?”
“I’m scouting buildings for my BDSM nightclub. Not an easy task,” he tacked on bitterly. “Everyone’s terrified of sex, Jaxon. How did I settle in a city that won’t even allow zoning for a nightclub?”
“Is that what you’re calling it? A nightclub?” In all honesty, I thought he had a good idea on paper. In reality, I was doubtful.
BDSM was something done behind closed doors. It was sensual and deep. It didn’t need the world’s approval, and it may never get it at all. BDSM gave the lost a place to find something I thought we all lost at one point in our lives.
Control.
Or for those who submitted, the choice of letting go. There was a rare sense of peace in letting go few understood until they were bound, gagged, and euphoric.
“I can’t call it what it is. All the training places we partook in were underground disease fests. I have a vision. I’m a business man.” He sighed sadly, like he was missing something.
I knew what that something was. A submissive on her knees with his cock down her throat. Samuel was socially palatable. He could blend in with the rich and shake hands with them too. He came into money and was a fantastic actor. They had no idea he was deep into the degradation kink. That he could take a strong woman and have her eating out the palm of his hand in minutes, swallowing filthy insults like they were candy. I didn’t know what drove him to this lifestyle, only that if anyone belonged, he did.
A dark knight throwing darkness all around him like onyx confetti.
“How is my Sweet?” he asked, his voice warming.
Rage immediately moved through me. I wasn’t a man who shared, but I couldn’t think of a batter way to get Miya to understand than to let Samuel play with her. Letting him get his hands on her had been a mistake. She ran to him when she was upset with me, and he was all too happy to invite her in. I hated their connection, mostly because it looked so easy.
“She’s in the basement.”
He perked up. “Oh? What travesty has she committed to be punished? She’s usually so well behaved.”
I didn’t miss the undercurrent in his tone. “That’s why I called. I need to ask your advice.”
He sighed, muttered something on the other end, and then excused himself. “What the fuck have you done to our girl, Jaxon?”
“Our girl? If I remember correctly, she’s in my basement, sore from me.”
“You don’t deserve her. You know that right, you fucking monster? She’d be much better off with me.”
The part that hurt wasn’t his words. It was the fact that I knew he was right. Sam degraded, but he also loved. Not to mention he was loaded. He needed someone sweet, to counteract his bad. But the thing was, I didn’t give a fuck. Miya was mine because that’s what she was. “Are you going to help me or not?”
“What?” he grumbled.
I told him about our month-long deal, and then the month-long deal after that. I waited on my end, wondering what the hell was taking him so long to respond. “Well?” I prompted.
“Why are you playing games?” he barked. “Why do you toy with her? That woman wants love, Jaxon, and you’re never going to give it to her. Let. Her. Go. There comes a point in our lives where we have to accept what we gave up when we went into this lifestyle. And that’s women like her. Honestly, you’re wretched for even giving her hope.”
I growled. “What the fuck do you want me to do? I’m not letting her go.”
“Then give up the lifestyle. It’s that simple. Tear out that play room you have in the attic and buy her a minivan. That’s what she wants. That’s what all women want. A minivan with screaming children and bags under their eyes. That’s beautiful to them. Which is everything you’re not. You can’t even get her pregnant.”
“What are you saying?” I hated how panicked I sounded. “It’s either lose her or lose myself?”
“Jaxon,” he sighed. “You’re already lost. You’re lucky she’s still trying to find your sorry ass.”
“You’re wrong!” I bellowed. “I can have both. Her submission and she can have her damn minivan.”
“What are you going to put in it? All your floggers?”
I hung up, my rage gripping my chest. Some help that bastard was. I pulled up my browser on my cell and looked up minivans. I blanched and closed it out, walking up to my bedroom. My empty bedroom.
My bed smelled thickly of her soft skin. I fell face first into the covers and hugged her pillow to my chest. Exhaling miserably, I rolled onto my back and considered it.
Marrying her.
Kissing her good morning instead of icing and heating her backside.
Shopping for homes instead of butt plugs.
I rather enjoyed my butt plugs. I enjoyed taking her ass in all the rooms in my house. Was it possible to keep the pain and still make her smile?
That’s what it all came down to.
Pain was in my blood. It fueled me. Gave me life when nothing else had. It got into my heart at too young of an age, and it was the only aspect of being human I still understood.
Most husbands didn’t spank their wives before going to work. But I had to. Most husbands didn’t drive their cocks into their wives just to watch her eyes roll into the back of her head. Most husbands didn’t get hard at the memory of tying her wrists with her panties and taking her cunt on a throw rug.
I’d be that husband. The emotionally empty one. She’d end up divorcing me anyway. And run into the arms of a minivan buying douchebag.
I wanted a drink.
A vein full of heroine.
How would I survive without my sweetest drug?
I looked at the floor, as if I could see her through the floor boards.
I wouldn’t survive.