Page 18 of Ryker

“You bid on her because you’ve seen the way others drool over her at this club and you weren’t going to let that shit stain, Blake Rittenhouse, have the bragging rights—and ultimately the power—over Tara when her month as Butterfly is over if he was the highest bidder.”

Triple fuck.

Dmitri is slinging truths, and each one feels like a whip across my chest.

Tara’s drawn the attention of every member in the club. They’ll want to either fuck her, be her, or break her.

“We all know you stayed in that room because you wanted her, Ry.”

“So?” Maybe, on some level, that’s true. But I can’t afford to indulge in what I want. This is a business. My business. “I’ve wanted plenty of members before. She’s hardly the first.”

Dmitri’s brow arches. “When you escorted Tara into the room for her to choose her Dom, we all felt the possessiveness roll off you.”

Doubtful.

“You could have left immediately, like you always do.” Dmitri shrugs nonchalantly. “You could have told me to shut up when I reminded you of the rules.”

But I didn’t.

“You’ve been really tense lately, Ryker. I haven’t wanted to pry, but maybe…” He pauses and sighs. “Maybe this woman will help you blow a little steam off, yeah?”

If I blow any steam off on Tara, I’ll likely break her.

“Look at it this way,” he says. “The next Butterfly Ceremony will be the best one yet, now that everyone thinks you’re on the roster as a Dom.”

It’s the one thing I never wanted to have happen. “God damnit.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll use it to our advantage.”

The hell we will. “I’m not—”

“We’ll take care of it,” he says, cutting me off. Probably because he knows where my head went. “Trust me, okay? I got your back. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got a club to run, and you’ve got a Butterfly to play with.”

Chapter 7

Tara

After signing the NDA and going home to pack my things, I left my cell phone as instructed. There’s something freeing that comes with leaving that ball and chain behind, even though I’ll have to use some other method to conduct my meetings. Look, I can’t just drop off the planet for a month, and it’s frustrating that I didn’t know about that part of the deal beforehand. I could have made arrangements ahead of time, if I’d known.

I should have researched more about what it means to be the Butterfly, damnit. What else don’t I know about this deal?

I’ve only been a member of the Monarch for three months. That ceremony was the first one I’ve seen in action. I knew the winner got to pick her Dom or Domme, or multiple, and is given the time of her life, which was all I needed to hear to want it for myself. Come on, a night of debauchery—let alone an entire month—where I’m fucked in ways better than the missionary position? Yes, please and thank you. No way would I willingly give up on this privilege until I won.

I need this. Fucking hell, do I need this.

My life is one big hustle. The stress of my job, my family’s constant degrading, and the assholes who run in my social circles always picking at me nearly had me at a breaking point last year. The more they pushed, the harder I fought to hold my ground.

I’ve turned into a cold-hearted killer in the conference room, and an ice queen in the bedroom.

I hate it. I hate myself. I hate that I can’t see a way out. I hate why I started and how I can’t stop.

Hell, I’m not even sure why I grind so hard every day anymore. Is it out of love or spite?

I need a break. A time out. An escape.

It’s not all about hot sex and thrills at the Monarch. It’s about submitting to someone safe, knowing I have the power, and freedom, to explode if I need to. Ryker’s club is renowned for being a safe space, and the Dominants here are top tier.

Or so I hope.

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