He jerked in my arms, swiveling around to stare at me with utter shock in his features.
I couldn’t meet his eyes. I closed mine instead, not daring to look at him.
“You can leave,” I said, and it was nearly impossible not to choke on the words. I didn’t want him to leave. So desperately, I didn’t want him to leave. Sure, I didn’t want to go to jail, but more than that… I wanted him to choose to stay with me because he wanted to, not out of a sense of obligation.
“What?”
“You can leave,” I repeated, releasing him from my arms. He didn’t move, still leaning against me, and I could feel the heat of his stare upon me. I wanted him to get up and leave, to stop making this so agonizing. Once he was gone, I could prepare myself for the inevitable.
I pulled away, and he let me. I opened my eyes, looking past him, around him, anywhere but at him.
“I have your clothes,” I said, getting off the bed.
“I—”
“I’ll get them for you,” I interrupted, not wanting to hear what he had to say. I couldn’t bear it.
I went to the closet, pulling down the box. I didn’t know why I’d kept his clothes. It wasn’t like I looked at them or thought about them much. Maybe there had been a part of me that had known he might need them again. Maybe I’d known this would happen all along, somewhere deep inside of me.
Maybe I’d wanted to get caught.
I brought him the box, and he stared, wide-eyed, at it.
“Go on,” I said, pushing it at him. My voice cracked, and I averted my eyes again. “Get dressed. You can go. I…” I swallowed hard, trying not to let the despair into my voice. “Thank you for taking care of me. I didn’t deserve that.”
“Griffin,” he whispered.
I flinched. “Don’t call me that,” I snapped.
“What do you want me to call you?” he asked. “Master?”
I flinched again. “I don’t fucking know. Just don’t call me by my name.”
I didn’t deserve that either.
I didn’t deservehim.
“Put your clothes on, and get out,” I told him roughly. “I’ll call you an Uber.”
“And what are you going to do?” he asked softly. “When I leave?”
“Why the fuck do you care?” I snarled.
“The harness,” he said, and I couldn’t tell what was in his voice. “It…”
It was locked on him. “Come here,” I said. I retrieved the key to the little locks and yanked them open, helping him get the leather harness off. It hurt to see it come off of him, to have to stare at his naked body and know he was going to leave me.
“What if I don’t want to go?” he asked, the words almost too soft to hear.
“You already said you did,” I said, my heart racing. I looked at him then, hardly daring to meet his eyes. I didn’t know what I saw in his gaze even then, no matter how much I wanted to understand it. “You don’t really want to stay here with me.”
“No,” he said quietly. “I guess I don’t.”
I turned away from him, my heart breaking. So badly, I wanted him to choose me, but he was going to leave — and I didn’t blame him. I’d have left too, given the chance. I wouldn’t have chosen to stay with a scared bastard like me either.
I could hear him return to the bed and reach into the box, his clothing rustling as he put it on. I wanted to beghim to stay, to sob, to break down, to dosomethingto keep him there with me…
But I’d done that enough. I’d already taken so much from him, and he had a chance to reclaim it. He’d saved me, and it was only fair that I save him, too.
