Page 28 of Ryker

I can’t keep my eyes open. I can’t feel the bed anymore. I’m neither floating nor sinking.

I’m… gone.

Chapter 11

Ryker

God damnit.

I set out to make her exhausted and I think I just fucking broke her.

That’s disappointing. I thought she’d at least make it to lunchtime.

Tara passes out the instant I lift her body into my arms. Mouth open, head flopped back, she’s completely unconscious.

Shit, shit, shit. I should have known better. I lost focus on what mattered most and now look what’s happened.

“Miss Reed.” Tapping her cheek does no good. “Butterfly.” I smack her face a little harder. “Tara!” I shake her.

Her eyes crack open. “Mmph.”

“You need to drink some water.” And eat. And get cleaned up.

After that many orgasms, she’s not just a quivering mess, she’s soaked and boneless. She’d squirted twice while I had my fun with her, and it’s all over the front of my tux and bottom of the bedding. Good thing I’d placed a waterproof blanket under her before we started—not that I think Tara noticed.

Christ, this woman is going to destroy me. First her little brat move of defying my orders to stay in bed, then snapping her teeth at me before getting on her hands and knees.

But the way she looked at me when I tied her legs to the bar shook me the most.

Tara made me feel like I was her escape from Hell.

As if being bound and used by me was the salvation she craves.

It made something inside me turn feral. And now she’s suffering the consequences of both our actions. Rushing to get her something to drink, I work hard to keep my composure and grab her a bottle of water. I have a business to run, and what I just did to her was only to exhaust Tara enough to get her to sleep a while longer so I could leave, but I wasn’t expecting to feel bad about it.

Technically, the Dom never leaves their Butterfly. The forced proximity ends with one of us spent and the other transformed. My men often need breaks after being a Butterfly’s Dom because they sometimes allow their emotions to get involved. It’s hell on the psyche if you get attached because at the end of the month, the Butterfly will leave, and she won’t return.

No matter how many times I tell my men to keep a line in the sand and remind them this is a job, not a relationship, someone fails to remember.

I’m in danger of blurring that line already with this woman.

Don’t get this wrong—I’m not in love with Tara. Not even close. I might have been infatuated with the vision of her on my surveillance feed, but that’s it. After she put me in this fucked up position, I now loathe her more than lust after her.

But when she looked at me with those big, beautiful blue eyes shining at me with unshed tears, and put her feet against the spreader bar so willingly, so eagerly, like this was all she’s waited for, what she needs to escape the voices in her head, I’ll admit a part of me felt protective and possessive of her.

“Drink, Tara.” Using her real name isn’t smart. It’s like naming an animal you know you can’t keep as a pet. It fosters attachment. Butterfly is most acceptable. But there’s also slut, whore, princess, and a bunch of safer options. Still, she’s so out of it, only her real name seems to penetrate her brain fog and sub drop. “Tara, take a few sips for me.”

Her glassy eyes flutter open again when she attempts to drink the bottle of water I’m holding to her lips. After a couple of small pulls, she grows greedy and starts chugging. Snatching the bottle from my hands, the plastic collapses under her grip and she drains the whole thing.

“That’s my good girl.” Relief makes my head spin.

Tara wipes her mouth and lays back on the pillow. “I need sleep,” she says in a raspy voice.

Good. That’s exactly what I want to hear. I didn’t think I’d be able to scare her off with a single course of intense orgasms, but it buys me time to come up with a better plan.

And it gives me a chance to shower and rest.

After tucking Tara in, I close the curtains and head out. The club is empty of members and housekeeping is in full swing. The rich scent of fresh-brewed coffee invades the air. My stomach growls. My head’s pounding.

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