Page 113 of Corrupted Heart

He chuckles darkly to himself.

“Your drippy, messy pussy says yes.”

It should turn me on. Okay, it does turn me on. A lot. So much so that part of me wants to beg him to take me right here.

But still, it’s not the same. And not just because we’re not in the church and he’s not wearing a mask.

All the other times we’ve played this game, it’s on equal footing. Yes, I play the role of the submissive, and him the uber Dom. But we’re coming to it with the same needs, wanting the same thing for the same reasons.

This time, he’s doing it to win an argument. To “prove a point”, or at the very least, to silence my dissent.

And that really, really rubs me the wrong way.

Somehow, summoning almost superhuman powers, I grab his wrist and shove his hand away, stepping back until it slips out of my panties.

Kratos looks half pissed and half amused as I adjust my yoga pants. Then I glare at him coldly.

“Is that all this is?” I choke. “Is that all we are? Just…sex?”

He gives me a hard stare. The seconds tick by as my nerves fray raw.

“That’s all I have,” he growls quietly. “Better get used to it.”

I physically recoil, like he’s just slapped me. Then I draw in a breath, collecting myself.

“I’m going for a walk.”

Without another word, I turn, storming downstairs and out the front door.

Fuck you.

Anger, resentment, and humiliation boil inside me as I power walk through my new neighborhood. I almost want to scream, or break something, or maybe go get drunk. Instead, I find one of the many small little gardens that dot the Lower East Side and plant myself on a bench.

Breathe.

I exhale, trying to let go of the anger and anxiety. When I’ve settled down…well, a little…I get up again and go back to wandering the neighborhood to clear my head.

Eventually, I happen upon a super-cute bookstore-slash-cafe. And for the next two hours, that’s where I hole up: nose in a Bastian Pierce book as I drain not one but two coconut milk chai lattes and polish off a big-ass chocolate chip cookie for lunch that Madame K. would definitely not approve of but fuck it.

Finally, I realize it’s time to face the music. Or at least go home and sulk. I pay for my book, slip it into the front pocket of my hoodie, and head back to the brownstone.

I’m just about to open the little black iron gate and head up the walkway to the steps when the big front door opens.

I pause, puzzled when I hear a woman laugh and step outside, closing the door behind her. She turns, and I stiffen.

I’ve seen her before. At the engagement party. She was the “family friend” I walked in on talking very closely with Kratos.

Too closely.

Bitterness swells inside of me. Slowly, my eyes focus on her.

My chest tightens and my stomach drops.

She smirks at me as she finishes doing up the top few buttons on her blouse. Her brow cocks as she brings up a hand, smoothing down clearly messed-up hair.

A cold, stabbing sensation slices into my heart.

“Why hello again,” the woman purrs, smiling with all the warmth of a blizzard.

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