Now Monty is here and all my trauma is stirring again. He was nice to me. Caring and gentle. Handed me the reins in the bedroom. Gave me the most intense orgasm of my life. Showed me what sex should be like.
All wonderful things. But I’m not ready for wonderful things. I’m not ready for anything. I don’t want to feel anything at all. I am craving peace and calm. The blank nothing of still waters.
“Pink?” A slight frown is marring Monty’s perfect features.
Oh crap. I haven’t answered him. He said hello and I’ve just been staring at him.
“Hi!” I squeak out.
Monty’s brows furrow. “Everything alright?”
Oh gosh, his care and concern is going to be the death of me. It is everything I never realized was absent from my life. My friends are nice to me, but Monty isn’t a platonic friend. I don’t see him that way at all, and apparently that makes all the difference.
Some part of me sees Monty as potentially being far, far more than a friend. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and the implications are terrifying. Devastating. I couldn’t cope with a broken heart. It would break me in ways the harem never could.
Icy cold fear floods my veins. My heart starts to beat to this new rhythm. It gives me strength, of sorts.
I lick my lips. “I’m sorry, Monty, but the terms of our agreement state that we are to have contact only as and when necessary.”
The brightness of Monty’s blue eyes fades. He nods. “Of course. I understand. I apologize for my oversight. It won’t happen again.”
Another nod and now he is turning around. I watch as he strides away. Across the lawn towards his campervan.
I swallow dryly. Why do I feel like I’ve just made the worst mistake of my life?
Chapter seven
Monty
Cans clunk as I shove them into the small food cupboard in my van. I’m making a complete pig’s ear of putting the groceries away, but I can’t bring myself to care.
Pink’s words are ringing in my ears. Which is not at all rational of me. Pink did not say anything unexpected. There is no need for me to feel dejected. I understand the terms of our arrangement. I agreed to them.
Access to a vessel with no strings attached, no other obligations, is a fantastic deal. Many mages would chop their hands off to swap places with me. I get to focus on my studies while regularly having use of a vessel to increase my magic reserves. It is a perfect arrangement.
A heavy sigh escapes me. On paper, the deal seems perfect. But now that I’ve met Pink, I’m all over the place. I never expected him to be quite so lovely. I never dreamed that sex would be so incredible. Emotions were the very last thing I was prepared for.
Even so, I don’t understand why I am feeling so rejected by Pink, politely, but firmly, putting me in my place. Heaven knowsI’ve always been terrible at making friends. Seeking something more was unlikely to go well.
I shut the cupboard door and roll up the empty shopping bags. The neat and precise order of my food supplies has been destroyed. But everything has been put away. Despondently, I shove the empty bags under the sink. There, all done. Nothing left to do except brood in earnest.
I walk over to my bed and flop onto it. The campervan isn’t big enough for an armchair and I don’t feel like perching on my work stool right now. So lying in bed in the middle of the day is going to have to do.
Another heavy sigh escapes me. I’m acting like a baby. Pink has been through hell. He very recently escaped sexual slavery. Of course he needs to keep his emotional distance. He needs time to heal. He needs peace. He doesn’t need unwanted attention. The fact that I’m whining about it is abhorrent. I can do better than this.
I need a distraction. My gaze drifts around my campervan. It feels strangely empty. I’ve never felt lonely in here before.
My attention focuses on the simmering beaker on the worktable. It needs to brew until tomorrow, and until I can analyze the results, I don’t know which direction to take my studies in. So I can’t distract myself with work.
My body squirms uneasily. It is as if the email on my phone is burning a hole in my pocket. The invitation is mocking me. Taunting and teasing. But accepting it certainly would keep my mind off of things. And it would be dutiful of me to attend. An obligation fulfilled and ticked off the to-do list.
Cold clenches at my stomach, but I’m not a coward. Damnit.
I roll off the bed. I’m going to wash and get dressed. And then I am going to visit my family.
My father’s bedchamber smells of death. It is warm and bright in here. Well aired. Dotted with fresh flowers. Yet the scent still lingers.
My father looks impossibly small in his fourposter bed. Small, old and frail. His lungs are rattling. It is clear he is not going to open his eyes. He doesn’t even know I am here. The chance to talk has passed. His last words to me will forever be bitter and cold.
