‘I’m truly sorry. I never would’ve taken you anywhere near her, had I known.’
‘She’s defo not on my Christmas card list even if she does think we’re getting married—that was what she said, wasn’t it?’ I grimace at his wary expression. ‘I think she’s a bit mad myself. But,’ I add quickly, ‘I’m sorry, too.’
‘Why?’
‘The way I reacted, pushing you away and calling you names.’ For carrying on like a pork chop, as my mum would say. ‘Making youspank me,’ I add in a small voice.
Whatever he’s thinking, he seems reluctant to say, instead murmuring quietly, ‘As long as you’re okay.’
‘I am. I feel less... crazy now. Embarrassed, but hey, it’s not the first time, is it?’ My chest expands slowly as I inhale and close my eyes. I did push him to spank me—I wasn’t nervous or self-conscious but filled with a need and a desire for distraction. And this morning, I don’t know how to feel about that, other than a bit sore, obviously.
‘Open your eyes,’ he says softly. ‘Don’t hide, please. I relish your honesty at all times and no less in the bedroom. What do we have if we don’t have truth?
‘Illusion. Not a bad thing.’
‘How can that be good? You want to pretend you didn’t need last night? Come on, you practically shoved your arse onto my hand. I won’t pretend I didn’t take pleasure in your responses.’ Drawing back with a sigh, he whispers, ‘I thought we’d moved on from this. I’m not prepared to hide what I am.’
‘I like what you are,’ I reply hurriedly. But what he is, is kinky, which might make me the same. ‘I just want to pretend parts of last night didn’t happen.’ Sofia’s tricks, yes, but more specifically, acting like a brat and pushing him to spank me. I regret my words almost instantly; he looks wounded, physically in pain. Then his jaw sets, tension visible in the flexing muscles.
‘So you’re still lying to yourself, even though it was clear you were getting off.’
‘Don’t ask me how I feel if you already know,’ I half cry. ‘I know I enjoyed it on some fucked up level, pushed you to it, even.’ I duck my head into the crook of my arm, my body sagging into the bed. ‘That’s the bit I especially want to ignore.’
‘I don’t understand,’ he growls, pushing away my hand. Chaos consumes his eyes, rendering them dark, angry depths.
‘Join the club,’ I reply acidly. ‘I don’t want to talk about it anymore.’ I turn my body from him, ending our conversation. Why must he push? Is this part of his kink? Torture by embarrassment?
So we lie in tandem, a dividing line of hurt and confusion slicing the bed. I don’t have words of explanation. None to offer comfort, either. I took pleasure in receiving pain. I’ve relished the bruises, his marks on my body, and come back for more. I lie rigid with the terrifying realisation of how far down this seductive rabbit hole I’ve gone.
‘I don’t ever want to be vulnerable again.’
Laying his hand on my shoulder, he pulls me into his arms. ‘What’s wrong with being vulnerable? Tell me what’s going on?’
‘I like that you... hurt me. I let you. How can it be I like... that? I came here to avoid pain and humiliation; how can I be happy finding it in your arms?’
The pain past and present isn’t strictly the same, but this man could hurt me in more than one way, when all is said and done. Realising this doesn’t make me feel strong. In fact, it makes me feel the opposite.Is this how the new Kate is supposed to be.
‘You... you’ve done this before?’
‘No.’ I blow out a breath of air. ‘Shane, he—’ I shake my head, unable to find the right words. ‘He hurt me emotionally. Betrayed me. He was the only man I’ve ever... known. Before now.’
‘You’ve only ever slept with one man?’
Trust a man to pick up on this out of that sentence.
Two now, doubled my total.
‘I gave him everything. I thought I’d never recover from the humiliation. And here I am.’ One arm rises and falls to the bed in an expression of futility. ‘Letting you. For fun.’
He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move for a moment, mindlessly stroking my arm. ‘You know this isn’t the same. I would never betray you. These are the choices you’re making—I’m not doing thistoyou, this is a journey we’re on together. And sweetheart, you shouldn’t be humiliated byhisidiocy.’
‘When you’ve had your legs in stirrups in the STI clinic, you can decide whether humiliation is optional. Thankfully, at least that was fine.’
Oh, fuck. Can I demean myself anymore before breakfast?
‘I get checked often enough,’ he says quietly, folding the top of the sheet over his waist. ‘Even though I always... always dress for the occasion.’
‘Wha—Never mind.’ I refrain from following this line of questioning, the explanation dawning late.
