Page 147 of Entangled

I raise a brow. “You know that’s not how this works, Beaumont.”

“Ourtherapy was mandatory,” he says mulishly, and I fight a sigh. He’s impossibly stubborn sometimes.

“You willingly agreed to that condition as part of your service. Eden is free to do as she wishes. Her autonomy is important, Beaumont. Especially now. Surely you understand that.” I give him a severe look, and glance down at my book.

I need to hide this in my private room.

Whereno onewill ever see it again.

I stride toward my walk-in, and Beaumont follows me through my hidden door.

“I do understand that, but she’s only hurting herself here. As her dominant, I?—”

“Did she agree to a total power exchange?” I ask sharply, cutting off that insufferably smug sentence. “Or any dynamic in which you have control over that kind of decision-making?”

“No, but... Oh, shoot.”

My private room is perhaps my favorite in this house. It’s decadent, all dark woods and burnished gold, lit in subtle warm light. The length of one wall is taken up by a set of low cabinets. Above them hang dozens upon dozens of tools. Whips and canes, paddles and blindfolds, all manner of ropes, clamps, wands, and restraints, vampire gloves and masks, and much, much more.

Beaumont stops behind me, and I turn to see him staring, stunned, around the room. He knew about it, of course, but he’s never been invited inside. Only Lucien has seen it.

“Mary, mother of God,” he breathes, amused.

He looks around at the St Andrew’s cross, my adjustable paddling bench, the enormous area cleared for suspension or whipping, depending on my mood. He stares at my sex lounge, the stockade, and my king-sized, four-poster bed with the cage beneath it—noting the dozens of loops and hooks around it for bondage.

His eyes linger longest on the gynecologist’s chair, of course.

“Are you open to sharing this?” he blurts.

The thought of him taking Eden here, tomyplace, and fucking her. Dominating her. Touching those gloriously soft thighs. Perhaps even bringing tears to those heart-wrenching eyes...

It chokes me with something hot and snarled. It chokes me to senselessness.

“No,” I hiss.

I’m shaking, I realize. I force myself to breathe in deeply, shocked again at my reaction. It’s as vicious, as absent of prudence, as my obsession with Lucien.

How I want to hurt her.

“You know that’s a damned shame, don’t you?” Beaumont pouts.

Pouts like he hasn’t had his mouth on her breasts. Pouts like he doesn’t know how easy he has it, when his only kinks involve dirty talk and sharing and roleplay that makes a mockery of his profession.

He doesn’t know this kind of conflict.

“You cannot compel her into therapy,” I say curtly, turning to face him and not caring if I look as cold as I feel. “Suggest, fine. Support her, certainly. But the choice is hers, Beaumont. You’re crossing a line, and she’s not stupid. She’ll seek help when she’s ready.”

Beaumont doesn’t miss my tone, and his easy expression vanishes. “If you hadn’t got her feelings all in a twist over you, then maybe she’d be more willing to get that help. She doesn’t trust you, you know?”

His words scrape over every wound.

“The books, the nights you spent reading with her, you went halfway to seducing her and then dumped her on her ass. I hope you know that if you have any more intentions toward my girl, you’ll have to go through me first?”

“Do you think I’m unaware?” I bite back, furious. It’s too late. Too early. I’m too heartsick. “Do you think I miss the wariness in her eyes every time I speak to her? You think I don’t notice how much more comfortable she is with any one of you than she is with me?”

Beaumont’s mouth clicks shut, his expression turning hesitant.

“Look around, doctor. You know what I am. Must I keep explaining this to everyone? You talk about her vulnerability, her anxiety, hercaptivity?” My lip curls up, and I point to the cage under my bed. “All I can think of is how prettily she would cry as I slept above her.”

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