With a single finger, he gestures for me to join him, and I wriggle out from under Asher’s arm without hesitation. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s spoken about little else this week other than how excited he was to see me with his friend, I would be hesitant to be around the stranger while he’s sleeping. But deep down, I know Asher wouldn’t put me in danger, and I pad across the room quietly.
I reach for Asher’s shirt hanging over another chair, but my stranger shakes his head slowly, telling me without words thatI’m not permitted to cover myself, no matter how vulnerable I may be feeling right now.
I drop my arm and continue toward him, not pausing until my legs are nestled between his parted thighs.
He lifts me easily, placing me across his lap and pinning me against him with a strong arm.
My stranger hasn’t bothered to put a shirt on, but his pants are pulled up, like he was considering the idea of leaving, and I try not to allow the disappointment of that to show on my face.
Was it just for the night for him?
That’s how it was meant to be, what I agreed to even, but now that I know what it’s like to be held by them both, I’m not sure I want to give it up.
“Were you about to leave?” I whisper the question. I’m terrified of the answer, but it’s better to rip the Band-Aid off now.
He shakes his head, his fingers resting at the bottom of the mask. “No. I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Who are you?” I whisper.
He sighs, and there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. It’s gone so quickly, I would think I imagined it if it weren’t for the tension in his shoulders. He doesn’t get a chance to respond before another warm body presses to my other side.
Asher’s lips brush along my shoulder, but his movements are different than normal. More staggered, less natural, and it makes my stomach roll uncomfortably.
What is it they’re not telling me?
I’ve been lied to my whole life. By my family. By people I thought were my friends. By the person who promised to protect me.
Trust doesn’t come easy to me, and the idea that I’ve let someone into my heart just for him to do as they all have has my need to run skyrocketing.
The last person who gave me this kind of security left without a word, never to be heard from again, and I refuse to let myself be hurt like that again.
When neither of them speaks, I slip off the stranger’s lap and make my way to the clothes strewn across the other side of the bed.
I’m not going to stay here and be lied to.
Not again.
Never again.
“Little doe,” Asher says softly from behind me. He knows I startle easily, especially in times of high tension, and the fact that he’s so mindful of that only makes my chest hurt more.
“Don’t,” I whisper, not trusting my voice not to break under the pressure in my chest.
It’s too much.
I’m too vulnerable.
Submission is a double-edged sword for me. It allows me to hand everything to someone else. My worries. My fears. My responsibilities. And my insecurities. But it also makes me vulnerable, something that goes against my nature after growing up surrounded by narcissists who only cared about themselves.
I tug my dress over my head. The smooth material brushes over the tender skin on my ass and thighs, and I don’t manage to swallow down the hiss.
Usually, I love the pain that remains after a punishment. It reminds me that I don’t always have to be strong, that there are times my mind can rest, that someone cares about me enough to take that burden from me. But not tonight. Not as I watch everything I ever hoped for slip away.
Avoiding their eyes, I move toward the door with my heart in my throat.
“Hannah,” the stranger calls, finally pushing himself up out of his seat. “Don’t go.”
“I can’t do this.” I choke on the words as the tears I’ve been trying to swallow finally fall against my cheeks.
