Page 74 of Resist
When he finally meets my gaze, his beautiful blues are swimming with unshed tears. “I don’t care who you are, or what agreement we have between us about our marriage. Butif you can’t kink properly, that’ll be the last time we ever... I can’t.”
Before I realize what’s happening, I’m already moving toward him, arms outstretched. I pull him toward me, bracing him against my body and holding him tight. “No, Sterling. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t about you.” The lump in my throat is so fucking big I can barely squeeze words out around it. “It should have been about you, and I’m so sorry that it wasn’t. I’m so sorry.”
He tries to pull back, and I’m torn. I should respect his boundary, his space, but I can tell from the ache in my chest that he needs this. This isn’t just about a domme and a submissive, it’s about me and Sterling. Even if we never sleep together again, I owed him more than I gave him. I let us both down.
Tears well in my own eyes as realization dawns on me how shitty it was to sneak out the next morning and avoid his calls. I’d been too busy freaking out about the fledgling feelings sprouting inside me to think about Sterling who’d been vulnerable and submitted beautifully to me the night before.
“You were perfect.” I kiss his forehead, loosening my grip on him in case he does really want to step back. I wouldn’t blame him if he did, I don’t want to be around myself right now either. “You did everything I asked you to and more. I let you down. I abandoned you. I’m so sorry. And while I do think we need to establish our boundaries and rules between us, that doesn’t negate the fact that I screwed up, severely, and I’m so sorry.”
He looks at me with sad eyes, sniffs, then nods. “Okay.”
“Can you forgive me? Not right away obviously, I know it’ll take time. And I don’t expect a sorry and a smile to fix or erase what I did. But please know, from the bottom of my heart, I apologize.”
The sinking feeling threatens to overpower me. We’re inuncharted waters, dangerous, choppy seas that threaten to pull this ruse apart like a raft bobbing on wild waves.
We have a big fucking problem.
The marriage might be fake, but what happened between us on our wedding night was very, very real.
CHAPTER 27
Sterling
It’sover two hours later when Corabelle seems placated enough to let me go back to my own office. She orders in soup and salads for lunch, and we sit at her desk and catch up. It was only a few days apart, but being ghosted, ignored, and cast aside like something disposable was illuminating, crushing, and humiliating.
She’s not wrong that we needed to reset our boundaries, but from the clawing at my throat over the last couple days, it couldn’t come a moment too soon.
I’ve missed her half-smiles, her blushing cheeks, and her sharp tongue. And from the way she kept reaching out to touch my arm as she talked through lunch, she’s missed me too.
Missing each other isn’t part of the deal. We need to figure out a way to keep up appearances, while also keeping up our defences. We can’t afford to let pesky four letter feelings get in the way of our goals.
With Corabelle absent these last few days, I was able to throw myself into work. I read three full manuscripts over those four days. One was a three inch thick, fantasy romancenovel that I might have destroyed with my bodily fluids because it got so steamy in places I couldn’t help myself. Turns out, shadow daddies are my kink.
Thankfully, I was in the comfort of my own home.
Former home.
This weekend will bring with it another huge life change.
Corabelle and I decided I’d keep my house and rent it out so when our agreement ends, I can go back to my life as it was before. BC. Before Corabelle.
We have a strategy, and we are back on the same page. It’s not an excuse, but I think she’s been so used to being a party of one, a strong, single, individual, an island out in the ocean all by herself, that it simply didn’t occur to her to consider my feelings.
A pang of sympathy shoots through my body. I was angry, I am hurt, but I’m starting to understand it. I think.
I open my office door with a renewed sense of calm about the upcoming weekend. When I wasn’t working in the office this week, I started to box up all my many earthly possessions and labeled them for the big move.
“Found you.” Mom’s flat voice rings out in my office as the door swings shut behind me. “I love what you’ve done with the place.” She slides a fiddle-leaf fig plant across the table.
That’s sarcasm for sure. There are a few boxes around the floor filled with manuscripts I need to read. Against my better judgment, I’ve started to put together a brief identifying areas where I think the company could be streamlined, that’s the pile of papers at my feet next to the leg of the table.
It feels a little beyond my paygrade, especially after only a week with the company, but strategic planning is a strength of mine, and as a company, they could improve our process for sure.
The design team has also sent me their brainstorm ideasfor cover directions and interior cover files from the books Blackwell Publishing has picked up in the past month or two.
And that’s not even counting the stack of boxes behind the door with in-progress edits holding up the wall.
There isn’t so much as a personal photo anywhere to be seen. Other than her office warming gift, there isn’t a succulent or potted plant in sight yet because I haven’t had time to go shopping. There isn’t even an open window letting the sunshine in. It’s just a clinical box with a desk in it.