Page 12 of Carter

Her brow narrows, as if something about this very simple premise—the one my world is built on, the one she was supposed to commit to—is confusing her. She shakes her head. “No. Hell, no.”

The room is filled with the familiar scent of our fucking. My cock is still wet, from me. From her.

I say, “Then it’s over.”

Her anger melts. She looks up at me with wide eyes.

I have to get out of here. I can’t be in the same room as her. I need to see my brother. Be with him and his wife to get my head together. Holding my voice steady, I say, “I’ll be at John and Mary’s. You have the night to get your stuff out of here.”

“Where will I go? What will I do? Carter?” She reaches for my hand.

I slip my fingers from her. My heart tears in two as I turn my back on her. I leave the house.

My house. Where I now live alone.

4

Sasha

I’m packing my things. I’m doing as best I can with tears blurring my vision, streaming down my face. I’m throwing my clothes into a duffle bag. I leave the dresser drawers hanging open.

Let him clean it up.

Then I see it.

The thing that he said was waiting for me in the bedroom.

On the top of the dresser sits a wide strap of brown leather. The word Sasha is engraved on it in swirling letters.

I sneer at it, disgusted, backing away from it.

I go to my dressing table, throw all my lotions and potions in another bag. Try to ignore its presence. But I can’t help myself. I sneak a little peek at the strap.

My tummy clenches. My little cunny, so wet from my earlier spanking—then the angry farewell fucking—is now positively soaking.

I need panties.

I want to take a shower. Scrub every bit of him away from me. But I have to get the hell out of here. I clean up best I can with a damp washcloth, leaving that on the floor, too. I slip into my thong and my usual workout gear.

The offending dress lies on the floor.

Taunting me.

What do I do with the stupid thing? I’d said I’d throw it away.

That was before he told me I wasn’t good enough to be a Bachman. That Bronson didn’t want me to be a member of their precious family.

I imagine taking the dress, throwing it in the middle of his backyard, and setting it on fire. As satisfying as that would be, the very idea strikes fear in my heart—you don’t start fires in Bachman Village and get away with it. Despite my fury, I find myself picking it up and throwing it into the small bathroom trash can.

Where I know he will see it.

As I drop it into the basket, my ring catches my eye.

Such a gorgeous jewel.

But he’d bought it from Bronson. And we are over. Two reasons to leave it.

I take it off. I walk over to the dresser. I place the ring down on top of the strap. Right into the first letter a in Sasha.