Well, this is going horrifically. The whole day feels awkward as Isabelle and I avoid each other’s eyeline and physical contact. As the coach leaves for home, we take seats together again at the front, tired and ready to return. I sit there while Isabelle taps away on her phone, her hair braided and pulled forward over her shoulder. My eyes trace the gentle slope of her nose, lingering on the way her lips pout in concentration and how the sunshine through the window catches lighter flecks in her deep blue irises.
She’s stunning. What the hell was I thinking, spouting all that crap earlier? What even made me think she’d be interested in me just from one comment? I’m crazy. And now I’ve made myself look like an idiot.
“Iz?” I say, trying to break the awkward silence between us. Her head whips up, and our eyes meet. “I’m
Alexandra Ravensbrook
sorry. I’ve made everything so awkward. Please, just forget I said anything.”
She looks at me for what feels like hours before saying quietly, “James, I won’t lie to you. What you said took me aback. I’m not going to say we can just forget this. I know I can’t, anyway. But I want to be honest with you. I just don’t think now, on a coach with all these students, is the time for this conversation. But please know, I’m not mad, I’m not even upset, and nothing has changed between us… but we’ll talk when we get back.”
My stomach twists. There’s no sign of the laughing Isabelle who cracks a joke and moves on. She wants to talk. I hate those words. What more is there to say?
All night, I thought about her eyes looking down at me. Those full, soft lips. Beautiful breasts I want to kiss and suck. How her skin felt under my hands. I was desperate to run my fingers up her legs, teasing her, trailing kisses along her calves, spreading her thighs wider and burying my face between them. She’d look like a queen on her throne, head thrown back, writhing in pleasure. I lay in bed each night imagining every way I could worship her, picturing her naked, jerking off to the thought of her riding me. Those images flash through my mind again, and I shift in my seat to stop the hard-on threatening to rise once again.
Yes, Miss
The rest of the journey passes in awkward, half-hearted conversation until the students are handed back to their parents. We stand in the school parking lot with our bags, the tension thick between us.
“James,” Isabelle says softly, looking up at me. “Can we go somewhere to talk? Grab a coffee?”
Here it is. The talk. This is where I find out she’s interested in someone else, where she lays down the law and our easy friendship ends.
We sit in a coffee shop near the school, Isabelle choosing the booth in the farthest corner for privacy. At least here she can’t yell at me. Our drinks arrive, and she fidgets with a sugar packet before finally speaking.
“James, I’m just going to say this outright because I can’t dress it up. I know you’re going to be mad, but please understand, I was on the spot and had no idea what to do.”
“Okay,” I say, suspicion sharp in my voice. This isn’t what I expected. What could she have done to make me mad?
Her voice drops lower, almost at a whisper.
“James… I know you go to Purgatory.”
My stomach drops. This is it. This is why she won’t be interested. Who wants to date a pervert?
Alexandra Ravensbrook
“Iz—” I stammer, but I can’t speak. What will she think of me? And how does she know about the club? Isabelle is too sweet for that kind of thing. If she knew what I’m into, she’d never respect me. She’d never be able to look me in the eyes again.
“Wait, James, let me finish.” I look down into my cup, wishing I could sink into the coffee and just disappear. “I know you go there… because I do too.”
My head snaps back up. My brain freezes. My mouth refuses to work.
Isabelle is a member? Fuck.
I swallow, my throat like sandpaper.
“The woman you spoke to last week… Belle? That was me. I’m so sorry. I should’ve said earlier, but I didn’t want to cause any issues, and I didn’t know what to do.” She rattles it out breathlessly, her eyes searching mine, pleading for forgiveness as her hands settle in her lap and she tears strips off the napkin.
Isabelle is Belle.
I'm such an idiot. Of course she is. Looking at her now, picturing her split skirt, her heels, her corset, the way her hair falls over her shoulders… How could I not recognise her? I told her everything. She knows everything. This is why she said what she said in the hotel. She knows I want
Yes, Miss
to submit. She listened while I spilt my darkest desires to Belle. How could she sit there and not say a word?
Isabelle stares at me, guilt heavy in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I just didn’t want to say anything at the time in case you felt awkward.” Her gaze bores into me.
