I know I could end this. I could give Bane the finger, sit down with my friends, and empty my veins. Would it be hard to uncover those parts of myself to them?
Definitely.
But it would render Bane’s threats moot. I’d be free of him.
And yet, here I am. Not telling anyone. Moving into his house.
Submittingto the man who was in love with my best friend, who took her virginity and used to touch her thesame fucking wayhe touched me last night, putting me over his knee in the bathroom and spanking me while I watched myself in the mirror, face crumpled with raw need as I came on his fingers.
“He spanked me last night. Like a LOT lol. And it was super fucking hot.”
Lark’s teenage-hormone-soaked diary entry has been echoing in my head all day. Because Bane didthe exact same thingto me last night.
Darkness coils inside me.
Shamefully, in some extremely fucked-up way, part of me wonders if that was one of the reasons I came so hard.
I exhale as I sink into one of the chairs by the window, sipping my coffee. After what happened last night in what I’m sure wasBane’s quarters, he led me down the hall to a slightly smaller bedroom and announced this was where I’d be living.
Then he thrust an oversized t-shirt and a huge pair of sweatpants that both smell like him at me, and that was that.
At least we aren't sharing a room.
Also, I’m notlockedinside my new room or anything, thank fuck, so I’ve been able to roam the two-level penthouse totally unhindered this morning. In fact, I don’t think Bane’s been home at all. I almost wondered if I had the place to myself, but then I walked into the kitchen and almost screamed at the man in a dress shirt cooking eggs at the stove.
Alfred, who I guess is also the cook and maybe Bane's housekeeper as well as the butler. I still can’t quite believe that a guy who dresses all in black, with a voice like a dark anti-hero and who lives basically in a gothic cathedral, has a butler namedAlfred.
I politely declined Alfred’s offer of breakfast. But I did take him up on coffee, which I drank slowly while I explored the dark opulence of the penthouse. But now here I am, back in “my room”, wondering what the hell to do with myself. There’s no rehearsal today, so I'm at a loose end.
I jolt, almost spilling my coffee when the door to my room opens. Bane steps in, wearing a suit instead of his usual uniform of black jeans and black t-shirt.
Jesus.
The charcoal-gray suit fits himperfectly, from the hems of his trousers sitting precisely on the dark brown polished dressshoes, which match the belt, to the tailored jacket over a crisp white dress shirt.
He’s clean shaven, and when he breezes into the room, I get a whiff of woodsmoke and leather, so damn masculine that it makes my pulse quicken.
“Enjoying your morning,” he says evenly.
I nod. “Uh…yeah. I was kind of surprised there wasn’t a lock on my door.”
He frowns. “You’re not a prisoner.”
“Does that mean I can move back home?”
He tips his head slightly to the side as the seconds of silence tick by.
“No.” He turns toward movement outside the room. “In here, gentlemen.”
He steps aside, and a couple of men in moving company jumpsuits start coming into my bedroom carrying boxes, a familiar side table, a mirror…
What the fuck.
“Those are mine,” I blurt in alarm, standing up.
Bane looks over at me with analmostamused expression on his cold, beautiful face. “Of course they are.”
Right.
