Page 38 of Vows in Sin
I’m tired. Tired of avoiding my friends’ calls and texts. Tired of pretending PalmVolt went a different direction.
Tired of telling everyone I’m ‘okay.’
Sitting at my dressing table, I slide my phone into the video holder I use for filming. I hit record. “Hey world. I think there’s something important I should share with you. I’m a total and complete fraud.” I take a deep breath, then I tell my camera everything about how I messed up the biggest campaign of my life. Fell for a man who ‘wasn’t that into me,’ then attempted to stalk him, how I’m now stuck on my couch, unemployed and falling into a dizzying Alice in Wonderland hole of despair.
I don’t share Sissy or Reign with the world. Those two are mine alone.
Finished, I turn my phone off. I’ll never post this video. I’ll probably never even watch it.
I do feel better after my confession. But not good enough.
I have a dark, dirty secret in my back pocket: an echoey storeroom where I can lay myself out like a sinner at the altar and beg for no mercy.
Reign is my priest. The one I go to and confess my sins—the man who rules my world.
The man who caught me sneaking in. Who looked at me like I was a puzzle he wanted to solve—and maybe break. The man who punished me in ways that made the pain go quiet, the memories go dark.
The man who made me forget Dame, forget everything.
Even my name.
I’m going back.
14
Reign
I feel it. I know it. She’ll be back tonight. It’s settled deep in my gut, a private radar only for her. I swear I’ve got a memory bank that holds every piece of her—how she sounds when she whimpers and begs, her smell, her taste, and the salt of her sweat when I put my mouth on her.
I picture her, already knowing what she’ll look like when she finally steps inside. Beautiful. Strong. Yet broken.
She doesn’t even try to hide it or pretend she’s here for any reason other than sin. She’s dressed for it—short skirt, no bra, painted pink lips parted as if she’s ready to suck on something hard.
She’s waiting for me to catch her. She craves the punishment. That’s why she’s here.
This time I’m not giving it to her for free. I’m going to make her ask for it, beg for it, earn it. I’m going to make her work for thechaos she loves. She thinks she’s the one in control, and that’s where she’s wrong.
I’m on her before she’s halfway down the hall. Hand clamping on her arm, hard enough to bruise. She gasps—loves it—and when I push her back against the wall, she moans so loud I grin.
I sense she’s willing to do anything to get what she wants tonight.
But she has no idea how hard I’m going to make it.
I don’t say a word. Not yet. I hold back.
I nod over my shoulder to catch the eye of one of my bouncers. He’s young. Closer to her age. Confident. Cocky. Watching with way too much interest. I wave him over.
Her eyes flash with shock. She didn’t expect this. Didn’t expect me to share.
And I don’t. I won’t.
But she craves shame tonight, and I’m going to give it to her. Her eyes go wide like a startled animal. She starts to speak, but it’s my turn to decide how this will go.
“Wha—” she stammers.
I shove two fingers into her mouth. “No talking.”
Then I lean down and growl into her ear. “You want Daddy’s belt again?” I feel her quiver against me, soft strawberry-scented curls brushing against my cheek as she nods.
