Page 28 of Bound By Brielle (Crave & Cure Productions)

I find my office chair and fall into it, letting loose a sigh so deep I don’t have the energy to move for a full minute as I recover. I give myself one minute to bathe in my ongoing misery, and when that minute is up, I sit up, wake my computer, and pull up the schedule for tomorrow, ready to focus on work.

As I get my mind right and ready, Lance walks in, casting a quick glance at me as he passes to get to his desk.

He doesn’t normally look. Henormallygoes out of his way to ignore me, and stay true to that choice—even when it really fucking hurts me, and my pain at his callousness vibrates off me in suffocating waves. He’dstillignore me.

Buthe looked at me.

I focus on my screen, and begin sorting through my email.

“We only went out once. It was that time she asked me in front of you. We had coffee.”

My skin erupts in bumps and heat, my cock throbbing at his confession; his willingness to tell me something heknewwould make me feel good.

I’m starved for his affection, and these morsels are making my head spin.

But I stay focused on the screen. Because my fatigue is high and my chest is wracked with quaking, rumbling aches, rippling through me every so often, reminding me I’m broken.

Keep your eyes on the screen, I try to control my mind. “I’m happy for your coffee date,” I deadpan, clicking open an email from Debauchery’s research and development department. I read the first sentence several times but have no understanding of it. All I can think about is what he’s told me, and his presence nearby.

“Fuck you,” he says. I sigh, knowing that was coming. My pup loves to sink his teeth into me, he loves to fight. “Fuck you for making me even explain myself.” He pushes up from his desk, sending papers and folders to the tile floor.

I finally give him my attention, getting to my feet. His chest is heaving, and his eyes are simmering. “I don’t owe you anything,” he growls, stomping past me.

“Stop.”

He does, and I don’t know if it's muscle memory, and my pet remembers his most basic— yet one of the most important— commands. Or he’s not done engaging with me, but he doesn’t know how to let himself stay.

I’m afraid of both options.

He rakes a hand down his face, exhaling so much stress I actually ache for him. He turns to face me.

“Sit.” There’s a healthy backbone to my voice, but my gut twists with sour insecurity.

He shakes his head after a quick glance at his feet for composure. “I don’t take orders from you anymore.” And God dammit, I can’t help myself, I find myself at his side in a heartbeat.

“You told me about the date because you don’t want me to hurt,” I say quietly. I keep it simple, and it feels less aggressive and more truthful than anything else.

He snorts, shaking his head, his anger rolling off him in waves. I’m ready to take it. I’m ready to absorb his anger because one day, he’ll run out. He will run out of his rage and I’ll be there, ready to absorb whatever comes next.

But he doesn’t give me the rage. His voice is brimming with sadness when he says, “Unless you’re ready to give me what I need,” he breathes, his eyes wet, “Let me go.”

“I want to give it to you, Lance, you know I fucking do. You know I would if I could but–”

“Just–shut up!” he shouts, veins prominent in his temples, so angry that he can hardly breathe. But there’s a tiny knock that grabs our focus, and in the door stands Brielle, her eyes wide.

Fuck.

This is none of her business. “How long have you been there?”

She looks down at her high heels, tucking hair behind her ear on one side as she murmurs, “Fuck you for making me even explain myself.”

Fuck.Fuck!I cup my forehead in my hand, my mind spinning. I’ve never wanted my personal shit at work,ever. This goes against everything I believe and preach. It’s… I’m so angry with myself. How did I let it get this far?

He’s right.

I have to let him go, because I can’t give him what he wants. And now I’m tearing down the only world I have left.

I look up at him and we share a look so dense with unavoidable reality, the one he’s been sure of for the last year—and I know;it’s over.

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