Page 88 of Going Deep

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“Do you want to talk about it?” she ventured.

He nodded slowly. “I think we should.”

“Okay.” She folded her hands around her water bottle and waited.

“I think it’s best we stop seeing each other.”

She blinked in shock. Whatever she’d expected to hear, it wasn’t that. “What?”

“It’s been fun, helping you explore BDSM. And I can’t deny that we have a connection.” He paused, like he was waiting for her to say something, but shock had frozen her voice, and after a moment he went on. “But I can’t see making this work long term, so I think it’s best to end it now.”

She found her voice. “You stopped the scene so you could dump me?”

“There are things I need in a partner that I don’t think you’re capable of giving, so?—”

“Hold on.” She closed her eyes, ordered herself to breathe. The shock was going to wear off soon, and the pain was going to start, and right at this moment her entire goal was to get out of this room before that happened. But first things first.

She opened her eyes. “What are they?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What are the things you need in a partner than I’m not capable of?”

Pity flickered in his eyes, and she could’ve killed him for that alone. “Don’t do this to yourself, Ginger.”

“I want to know,” she insisted.

“All right.” He folded his hands over his knee. “Honesty, for one.”

The sheer gall of it held her mute for a full five seconds. “You’re dumping me because you don’t think I’ve been honest with you?”

“I know you haven’t.”

The job, she thought. Miriam told him she hadn’t taken the job. Told him she’d been offered another, and had accepted. “How do you know?”

“I’m sorry?”

“How do you know I haven’t been honest with you, Michael?” she asked, her anger warming up now that shock had faded. That was fine, she decided. Anger was good. It would keep the pain at bay.

His eyes flickered, and that was definitely guilt. “I can sense it.”

This asshole. It wasn’t just anger bubbling inside her now, but rage, hot and violent. “Oh, really? You can sense it? You’re a mind reader, now?”

“No.” His eyes flickered again, but his gaze never wavered. “But I can tell you’re holding something back.”

“Because you’re a Dom?” she sneered.

“That’s part of it,” he allowed calmly. So serene and untroubled while she seethed.

“And would the other part be that Miriam Glass at the Killingsworth Chicago Family Center called you?”

That shut him up, she saw with satisfaction. “You fucking hypocrite.”

She surged to her feet, scooping her dress, her shoes off the floor. “You can sit there and call me a liar? That’s fucking rich.”

“I’ve never lied to you,” he objected, and for the first time since they sat down there was a hint of emotion in his voice.

She turned, wanting to look him in the eye when she told him off. “You didn’t tell me you own the Center.”