A dominant, once upon a fucked-up time.
I was spiraling,
disappearing for weeks,
emotionally violent.
Raymond couldn’t have that with the future of the label on the line. He said I needed rules, routine, to be managed. He painted the submission structure as a cure, making me believe Icouldn’t trust myself. He said Cooper was the answer, someone more stable to contain my chaos.
It sounded like mercy.
And it worked. For a while.
Until I woke the fuck up
and took back control.
Then Hunter, who once sent a picture of my own front door—smiley face included.
Hunter, who roofied me and held me hostage for two days.
Only seven months left ‘til he walks free.
“Your last two monogamy experiments? Hot-ass messes,” she reminds me. “That’s why you built Ben like a wall and made all them rules. Why you built yourself a contract. So you ain’t gotta bleed for nobody. So you can get what you need and have a semi-normal fuckin’ life.”
She stares me down, no sugar coating shit.
“You only pissed ‘cause you can’t control him,
“or the situation, and you fuckin’ know it.”
I want to argue,
but the more I fight back,
the more guilty I'll seem.
“But seriously—” I snap,
“who the fuck does that?”
The words come out hotter than I intend.
“Who dips before hearing you out?”
“You,” she says, lips pursed,
lashes blinking slow,
shooting me that Bronxgirl, pleaseface.
“Allie—I'mma be real with you.
“Six-Point-Five got that'mine, mine, mine'energy. He the type to trademark your name to keep guys from hollerin', boo."
She drops back against the counter,
coffee in hand.
