Page 5 of Chasing Amber

These are fantasies, though. They aren’t reality. In reality, I would never do any such thing. First of all, it’s obvious Isaac doesn’t think about me that way. If he did, wouldn’t he have acted on his feelings by now?

Plus, I would panic and lose my mind if I really found myself in that sort of intimate situation. No one has ever spanked me. Not my adult Amber nor my Little. I’ve never even let my Little out. I don’t know her that well. She’s all in my head. She’s someone I recently admitted existed to Cassandra, and then Millie, but no one else.

The times I’ve been to Surrender, I’ve never gone to the daycare. I have watched people get spanked in the main room. Lots of people enjoy it. But I’ve never had the courage to ask someone to spank me. Besides, there is no one I would let touch me like that.

Except Isaac.

I shake the thought away. What’s wrong with me? I can’t let Isaac touch me, either. It’s not who I am. It’s too risky. I’m a fortress. My walls are high. No one can get over them. It’s intentional. If I don’t let anyone in, they can’t hurt me when they leave.

I’m a psychiatrist’s nightmare, which is why I see Millie every two weeks and have for years. I know she’s my crutch, someone to dump on, but she’s the only person who knows me—really knows me.

The Amber I present to the world, including my brother and Isaac, is feisty and sassy. I nearly always dress down like I’m heading into my art studio. I like ripped jeans and torn shirts. Everything I own is paint-splattered—even my Converse. My hair is nearly always in a ponytail and looks uncombed.

I’m outwardly bubbly and can be loud. If they gave awards for being sassy and bratty, I would beat any Little at Surrender, hands down.

All of that is a façade. It’s how I present myself. I don’t know my Little well. She’s all in my head. But I don’t think she’s bratty or sassy. She wants to crawl into the back corner of the closet, curl up with a good book, a sippy cup, and her teddy bear, and hide. It’s possible she would suck her thumb if no one were looking.

Now that I’ve admitted I evenhavea Little side, I’ve been reading books. All of the books. I have a better idea of who I think my Little is. But it doesn’t matter. She’s not coming out. She will remain buried.

“What’s the worst thing that could happen if you talked to Isaac about your feelings?” Millie asked.

I shrug and fiddle with my fingers in front of me, staring down at them. The idea is too preposterous and scary to contemplate.

“I think you know the answer,” she prods.

I draw in a deep breath and lift my head. Tears form in the corners of my eyes. I never cry. Not in front of people. Where is all this emotion coming from? My bottom lip trembles, and it takes several seconds for me to find my voice. “He might leave me,” I whisper. That’s my deepest fear. If I rock the boat in any way, Isaac might leave. I’ve been the same person around him from the moment he started protecting me. What if he likes our dynamic? What if he likes the chase? The challenge? If I stopped making him earn every dime, he might grow bored.

She smiles. “Do you really believe Isaac would leave you?”

I shrug again. I shuffle toward the loveseat and sit, which is very rare for me, but I feel drained, and my legs might give out. I rub my hands together. “He’s never given even the slightest indication that he sees me as anything more than a bratty client.”

“I disagree,” Millie says.

I flinch and frown.

“He’s still with you after two years of your shenanigans, and, Amber, he’s with you every minute of the day and night. You’re his entire life.”

“I’ve never thought about it that way,” I admit. Isaac and I have the oddest relationship of any two people on Earth. I wake up every day wondering where he is. I pretend to sneak around my apartment as though hoping he won’t notice me. I do everything I can to avoid him. But deep inside, I would die if I didn’t know he was never more than a few yards away in an adjacent room.

Sometimes, late at night, when I’m scared or can’t sleep, I tiptoe to the kitchen to get a drink of water. There’s water on my nightstand. I only do it to reassure myself that Isaac is still in my apartment. He does not close his bedroom door. He told me the day he moved in that he would not close it at night so he would be able to hear if anyone tried to enter the apartment.

Sometimes, I stand in the doorway and watch him sleep, reassured by the rise and fall of his chest that he’s there and I’m safe. I would never admit to anyone besides Millie that I have fears. I’m always cocky and flippant with Isaac, Spence, and Ben.

I put on a front with all three men, pretending I’m unaffected by my kidnapping, and I’m totally fine. I often groan and even throw tantrums when the three of them refuse to let me do something.

Secretly, I’m grateful for their oversight. I don’t actually want to do anything without protection. I just fake it, like I’m stronger than I feel. Every time I give Isaac the slip, I nearly hyperventilate until he finds me.

Usually what I do is go back to my apartment and wait. It doesn’t feel as safe as when he’s in it with me, but I like it when he shows up exasperated with me for sneaking off again. I likethe calm lecture he gives me about how much my brother pays him to keep me safe and how challenging I make it for him to do so. I like the disappointment in his voice and that damn flexing hand.

Sometimes, I stare at his hand the entire time, wishing he would put it to use and teach me a lesson.

The entire thing is a game—one I’ve been playing for ten years. My life is a precarious balance of just enough misbehavior to keep Isaac hopping and not so much that he gives up on me and leaves.

I can’t change things, and I won’t. I’m greedy. I want Isaac in my life at arm’s length. I won’t let myself fall in love with him, and that’s what would happen if I let him into my heart or my bed.

I can’t do that because when he’s done with me, I won’t be able to survive.

CHAPTER 2

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