Chapter 8
Sasha
My eyes ache as badly as my ass. I’m sure my face is a fright, but I don’t care because my ring is gorgeous as hell and it’s back on my finger.
He’s taking me back.
My heart is so full I feel like the Grinch when his grows three sizes bigger that day. But I am done turning every mistake into proof that I am terrible. I hurt Carter. I hurt myself. I also learned something I should have learned before we ever got engaged.
Strength is not winning every argument. It is showing up, owning what I did, and making a different choice when the old one would be easier.
Thank the gods I get a second chance. Not everyone is so lucky in love. I take a deep breath and look across the coffee shop at Carter, ordering our cappuccinos.
He sits at the table, and I smile, relaxing into my chair.
Everything is going to be alright.
At least… I think it is… but now he’s pulling a notebook and pen from his bag.
It’s like he’s preparing for a business meeting. I don’t care what he wants to do, as long as we are back together. The weight of my ring makes me feel like me again. I let him do his thing and I watch my diamond glitter under the lights. Marking me as his.
Carter Bachman’s baby.
His gaze grabs my attention. It’s serious, heavy. “I need to make a few things clear.”
“About what?” I ask. I turn my hand under the light, watching the jewel shoot rainbows across the café. A celebration of our reunion.
“Sasha. Put your hand in your lap and look at me.” His stern tone snaps me out of my bubble of happiness. I quickly obey.
He says, “Good girl.”
Which… makes me ridiculously wet. I squirm in my chair, but then my bottom reminds me of my punishment. Making me even wetter. I press my thighs together. Clench my pussy and tell her to get control of herself.
He says, “Each Bachman marriage is different. Some men are stricter than others.” He gives me a look that makes my tummy feel funny and makes me think we are going to end up on the stricter side. A shiver runs through me. Right down to my pulsing cunny.
“Okay, I can handle that,” I say sweetly.
He looks at me. He scribbles in the notebook. “Number one, respecting authority. That seems to be the one you need to work on most. And it includes all authority. Not just me. When you speak of Bronson, you will speak with respect.”
Bronson, ugh. I roll my eyes.
His brow raises. “That includes eye rolls.” He glances behind us. “I’m going to take you into the bathroom in the back of this café and spank you if I see that again.”
I sit up a little straighter. Try to hold my gaze straight forward.
It’s not enough. He’s glancing behind him. His palm is patting his thigh.
I gulp.
I look around the café. It’s pretty busy and I think people would notice if he drags me off to the bathroom. My face flushes, remembering all eyes on me at Gotcha’s. I smile and say, “Yes, sir. What’s rule two?”
“Better. Good girl.” He pats my thigh underneath the table. His hand stays there.
Even the gentle weight of his hand on my leg is making me wet. I cross my legs, tightening the pressure between my thighs.
He moves on. “Rule two. When you choose my leadership, do not undermine it simply because surrendering the final word makes you uncomfortable.”
That lands differently. “I can try that,” I say. “But I need you to understand something too. Submission cannot mean I stop having a voice.”
He says, “Rule three. Submit yourself to discipline when necessary.”
I see one of the other patrons peeking at us curiously.
I guess this isn’t an appropriate time to tell off a stranger—he never likes when I do that.
Instead, I turn toward Carter, blocking their view with my back.
My face is suddenly very hot. I lean forward and whisper, “What all does that entail?”
He says, “Depends. Up to my discretion.”
I have to know. I’ve heard stories from the wives.
Tales of things that make me shiver. That make my ass quiver.
Surely Carter wouldn’t do those things to me…
would he? Flush creeps up from my chest. I stretch closer, my voice barely audible.
“But are we talking… just a spanking? And that leather thing that was on the dresser?”
“Depends. Up to my discretion.” He slaps the book shut. He gives me a wink. “I think that just about covers it.”
He’s not going to tell me—he’s going to leave me to think about it, worry over it. My stomach tightens. I need to keep him here a little longer. At least get information from him. I say, “But wait? Aren’t there more rules? Guidelines? Don’t you have any rules? Does the brotherhood?”
His eyes lock on mine. That little muscle in his jaw twitches.
When he speaks, his tone is that of the new Carter—the dangerous one with the paddle palm.
“My rule is to protect you, care for you, and lay down my life for you if necessary. Haven’t you found since we’ve been together, I’ve done that?
” His brow narrows and he’s searching my face.
I hold his gaze. “What happens if I get so good at being what you want that I stop being me?”
His expression changes immediately. “Then I am doing this wrong.”
I go very still.
“I do not want a quieter Sasha,” he says. “I do not want an easier Sasha. I want you. My responsibility is to know the difference between protecting you and controlling you. Your responsibility is to tell me when I get it wrong instead of climbing out a window.”
A reluctant smile tugs at my mouth. “That seems unfairly reasonable.”
“Get used to it.”
I quickly tell him yes. That he has cared for me in ways I never knew how to ask for. That I love him, and that being loved generously is not the same thing as being incapable of standing on my own.
He says, “Then I’m the one who’s held up their end of the bargain. Aren’t I?”
I nod. I bite the flesh of my bottom lip. My hand finds my hair.
He leans in. He speaks and his voice is thick, rough. “So which of the two of us is the one that needs rules? Punishments? Their naughty bottom spanked till they cry?”
I’m aching for him. My nipples tighten uncomfortably in my bra. I say, “Me.” I’m sweating.
“And what happens to your pretty little cunny when I spank your bottom?”
My face is suddenly burning. I shift in my chair, clenching my legs together. “It gets… wet.”
A wicked smile flashes across his face. “That’s the way of the Bachman brotherhood.”
My mouth opens to speak. No words come out. I put the tip of my thumb in it, biting my nail.
He gives me a look—conversation closed. He says, “Like I said, I think we’ve covered it.” He slips his notebook and pen back into his bag.
I stare at him. I’m biting off my nail. I’m tugging at the end of my ponytail. I wait for him to speak.
I want him to tell me to come home.
But he’s not.
My heart sinks as he says, “Sasha, you’re going to stay at the hotel. One more night. To let everything set in. I want you ready. Once we begin our new life, there’s no turning back.”
The thought of another night without him kills me. And the way he has me so riled up—I want him to alleviate the burning in my core. The tightness in my pussy. Pinch my achy nipples. “But, Carter, I thought—”
He holds his hand up to stop me. “We’re done for today. And Sasha, when you come home tomorrow, we pick up right where we left off.” His right brow raises at me. His mouth a firm line.
The punishment that I had waiting for me when we got back from the club. The one I ran out on.
He gets up from his chair, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He holds his hand out for me. I stand, my knees shaky. He wraps his arm around me. He kisses the top of my head.
He walks me out of the café. Our untouched drinks sit at the table. When we reach the sidewalk, his driver is already waiting. He opens the door for me. Waits for me to get in.
He hasn’t even given me a proper kiss since we’ve gotten back together.
And he’s not going to.
Why?
I search his gaze, but his hand is on the door. Waiting.
I climb in the car. We exchange goodbyes. As the driver waits for the traffic to clear, I watch Carter walk down the sidewalk.
That confident gait. His broad shoulders rolling as he walks. The muscles in his back just visible through his thin shirt. He’s going about his day. It’s as if I don’t exist.
But I’m stuck in his car, headed to the hotel.
Like a good girl.
I want him so badly.
I want to be home.
Why is he sending me to the hotel to think?
Is he afraid I’ll leave again? That I can’t handle being Bachman?
He has another think coming.
I’m going to be the best damn submissive the Village has ever seen.
I’m just going to need a little help.