Page 80 of Ryker

I used the flogger as punishment, when it was really a reward. I can’t even tell if that’s okay or not. I’m in over my head and this is not the place to “fake it till you make it” like I can out in the real world. In here, with these tools at my disposal, someone could get hurt.

I fear it’ll be me.

But it might also be Ryker, because how he said my name as he came? The way he looked? The intensity of it all? I almost cracked his fortified armor again. I was so close, it made me ache. But it made me crack open too, because I now know what I want, and I’ll never have it.

I want a Dom to discover who I am with. I want a safe space to fall apart while I’m fucked to pieces and held together by strong arms and rope. I want to be the Butterfly forever so I can stop feeling like a freak and find myself. I want to find my peace. Embrace my kinks and banish my shame. I want to find someone who understands me and knows how to be with me. I want a protector, a provider, and an equal. Someone who will open the door for me and slap my ass as I walk through it. I want someone who will see me enter a room and simultaneously love and loathe the fact that I turn heads. I want someone who will give me independence while putting me in my place.

What I want doesn’t exist. How could it? They’d have to be a walking contradiction.

They’d have to be Ryker.

He teeters between humiliating me one minute and worshiping me the next. I have no idea which is the real him. I’ll go mad trying to figure it out. Maybe that’s why there’s only a one-month rule to being the Butterfly. Any longer and it would cause permanent damage to the woman’s psyche.

“Tara.” He softly knocks on the bathroom door. “Can I come in?”

“Give me a minute.” After splashing cold water on my face and blotting it dry, I fix my hair and blow out a deep breath. Then I swing the door open. “What?”

He looks… devastated. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

I’m sick of his apologies. And seeing him grovel again will lead me right back down the path of bad decisions and hopeful heart bubbles that are better left popped and gone. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

My stomach rumbles. Christ, what time is it anyway?

“Want pizza?”

“Pizza?” I turn to look at him. “Seriously?”

“Unless you don’t like pizza. I’ll order whatever you want.”

“I’m not hungry.” My stomach’s too twisted with emotions for food, no matter how noisy it’s being. “I have work to do in your office.”

“Come on,” he says, pulling out all his charm. Grabbing my hands, he lures me towards the bed. “Get comfy and I’ll feed you anything you want.”

What the hell is this? “I said I have work.” I rip my hands out of his.

“Not today, you don’t.”

“Ryker, I’m given one hour a day to get my shit done. Just like you.”

“And I’m not working today either.”

That’s not helpful. “Well good for you for taking the day off. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No. I can’t.” That’s not true. Whatever’s sitting in my inbox can wait, but I’m too mixed up in my head and want some space between me and Ryker. An hour of banging away on my laptop sounds like a viable plan, even if he makes me sit on his lap to do it.

“Tara.”

“Ryker.”

“Tara!” He’s gone from sweet to frustrated again. I honestly don’t know which I like more. “Damnit, let me take care of you.”

“I take care of myself, Mr. Hudson. I don’t fucking need you.”

“Please.” Lifting my chin with his finger, he tips my head up, so I’ll look at him. I don’t want to. He’ll see my vulnerability and I can’t let that happen. “Please, Butterfly.” His voice cracks this time. It makes me wonder if he wants to take care of me, for me, or for himself. “Let me do this.”

Pizza won’t show his intentions. I want something better. “Kiss me.”

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