Chapter 7 #2
“I’ve already paid off your loans—the day I proposed, in fact. So there’s no need for you to stay on.” I glance at the clock over her head. It’s eleven-thirty. I’ve got to get out of here. I need to get onto that plane and as far away from her as possible.
I can feel the sun on my skin. Taste the icy pina colada—
Her eyes lock on mine. “No. No way in hell. I’m not leaving.” Her hands go to the arms of the chair. Her fingers curve around the wood. Her knuckles turn white.
I can’t take it anymore. I’m inches from her face. She flinches as I shout, “Damn it, Sasha. You can’t work here. Don’t you understand?”
She has the audacity to raise her brow at me. “I’m good at my job. I love it here. If you can’t handle me being here, why don’t you leave?”
She is right, which makes this harder. Barbells may be legally mine, but Sasha built half of what people love about it.
Her spin program has a waiting list. She mentors instructors, programs classes, handles schedules, and knows members I still call by the wrong name.
She is not merely my employee, and heartbreak does not give me the right to erase what she built here.
Unbelievable. “Leave Barbells? The business we built with our blood and sweat?” The words stop me because they are true.
I may own the controlling share, but this place carries both our fingerprints.
“No. Neither one of us gets to erase the other from it. But right now, you need to stop pushing me.”
Her eyes flash as she dares me. “Make me.”
I no longer care that she’s my ex.
That she broke my heart.
That legally, she’s an employee of mine.
I’m going to make her cry.
I come around the desk. I grab both her arms and rip her from the chair. She’s so surprised by the force, her hands slip right off the armrests she was holding onto so tightly.
I rest my glutes on the edge of the desk.
I plant my right foot onto the seat of the chair.
I fling her over my right thigh. She’s grabbing at the desk, trying to maintain her balance.
My hand comes down on the center of her spandex-covered curves with a loud thwack!
My palm stings, but not nearly as bad as her ass must. She howls.
“You ready to leave now?”
“No!” She’s holding onto the edge of my desk. She’s stretched up on tiptoe. Her ass is perfectly centered over my upper thigh.
I bring my hand down again, harder, right in the same spot. Her body jumps at the impact. “How about now?”
“No! I told you, I’m not leaving, and you can take that to the bank! Ow!”
I spank her right cheek, her left cheek, her right cheek, her left cheek.
My hand comes up and down in quick succession.
My palm hurts. Her ass must be on fire by now.
Her hand comes back to block the blows. She’s wriggling her hips, trying to get away.
I solve both problems at once. I grab her wrist with my left hand, pinning it to her back. My arm locks her hips in tight.
I spank as I talk. Good, hard smacks that cover every inch of her ass. “This is my gym. We are broken up and you no longer work here. Is that clear?”
She cranes her neck, trying to look at me over her shoulder as she shouts, “I shouldn’t have to give up my career just because you can’t be friends!”
“How can you expect me to go from planning on you being my wife, to be your friend? You ask for too much, Sasha. It’s always about you.” The memories of all the times she fought me, getting her way, come flooding back. Fury fills me.
I want the satisfaction of seeing my efforts turn her skin an angry red.
I tug at the tight elastic of her pants.
I get them pulled down to just below the curve of her ass.
She’s wearing a black thong, as she always is.
I ignore the hardening in my cock. I slap her bare bottom.
She yells my name in anger, and I slap it again.
Her ass is getting pink and it jiggles when I smack it.
I know despite her pain, she’s getting wet. That her little cunny is throbbing underneath that thong. I know her taste, her scent. But it doesn’t unmoor my resolve.
I will make her leave. And not come back.
I focus on that delicate skin where the tops of her thighs meet the curve of her bottom. I spank hard. My red handprint pops up on her skin as she wails. When she sits down tomorrow, she’ll be reminded—best obey.
My fury turns to the center of her round cheeks. They are going from pink to a fiery red. I spank her hard, and she yells my name.
But it’s not in anger.
She’s begging. Wanting me to stop. I won’t until I know she’s gotten the message. It’s over. I raise my hand to spank again—
She yells my name. This time, in defeat. It’s pitiful.
Carter!
My hand freezes in midair, hovering over her. A dull pain rips through my chest, taking away my breath. I feel as if the wind’s been knocked from me. My gut twists. Then she’s saying my name, over and over, like she’s begging for something. Sobs rack her body. She cries out, keening.
Carter. Carter. Carter.
I’ve never seen her like this. I can’t withstand it. Every time she says my name is like a stab from a dull knife going right through my heart.
I put my leg back down on the floor. I grab her shoulders. I pull her up to face me. Her eyes are filled with tears and she won’t meet my gaze. She covers her face with her hands. She’s sobbing. Her whimpering voice whispers,
“Carter, please, take me back.”
I’m broken. I’m barely breathing. My eyes burn. My throat swells.
I press her to my chest. My touch makes her cry harder. She’s gasping for breath and she whispers,
“Take me back.”
Her fingers clutch at the collar of my shirt.
I know she wants me to hold her tighter.
My arms obey, wrapping around her further.
Embracing her so hard I can feel her heartbeat fluttering against my chest. She burrows into me.
Her hands are balled up in front of her face, holding my damp shirt in her fists.
She’s curled against me, hiding in the cocoon my arms and shoulders form around her.
My voice is thick as I whisper, “Hush. Hush. You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby girl.” Tears prick at my eyes, threatening to fall.
My words make her cry even harder. Sasha is undone.
A sense of honor washes over me as I realize what I’m experiencing.
This is the raw center of her despair. My tough girl is gone.
Sasha has hit a place she has never been before.
Absolutely and totally out of control. Run completely out of hardness, the tigress nowhere to be found.
Only I can calm her. Tell her it will all be alright. That she will be my baby girl and I will love her, and we will never be apart for another minute. Another second. As long as I have breath in my body, she will be mine.
But I can’t do that.
Not if she’s unwilling to make changes.
Instead, I hold her, swaying gently. Whispering words to soothe her.
“Remember when we took that picnic to Central Park? And you told me it was going to rain, but I made you go anyway? And we got so soaked. And then we went for drinks at the bar across the street and we were dripping all over the floor. And the bartender tried to yell at us, but we just laughed and ordered another shot?”
She nods, still crying.
“Remember when you told me you’d never ridden a Ferris wheel? And we drove three hours just to get to that county fair? And we ate fried candy bars and rode that damn thing seven times?”
She gulps her breath, trying to calm herself. She rubs at her eyes and nods again.
“Remember when I brought you to the Village for the first time? And you thought you were dreaming? You made me pinch you so you knew it was real? The women all wanted to meet you—they loved you as much as I did.”
She sniffles, nodding.
“Remember when we drove up to the mountains for the weekend? And you saw that woman selling quilts by the side of the road and you made me pull over so you could buy one? And you’ve slept under it every night since?”
Her body shudders. She stammers, “N-no… not—every night since.”
“Okay, okay,” I say, smoothing her hair. I rub her back, finding a less upsetting avenue. “What about the time we went to Greece to see your parents. Remember? You said it was the most romantic trip you’d ever been on. That your parents loved me. We had so much fun together.”
“You proposed the week we got back,” she says through her tears. Her shoulders are shaking.
“On the rooftop. The weather was perfect and—”
“But it was all a lie!” she cries.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
She’s crying and hiccupping, and her nose is running.
“You told me the truth, the night we broke up—Bronson didn’t want us to get married.
He doesn’t think I’m good enough for you.
He told you not to marry me and you just let him.
You should have punched him right in the nose.
How could you let him say that about me! ”