Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
So I do what I always do when I feel cornered: I lash out.
“This is ridiculous,” I say, my voice sharp. “Tying me up, locking me in this stupid belt. You get off on this? Keeping me here like some prisoner?”
His expression doesn’t change, but I see the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Do you feel like a prisoner?”
“Yes,” I snap, even though it’s not entirely true.
“Interesting.” He leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk. “Because you could’ve said your safe word at any time. You know that, don’t you?”
The air leaves my lungs in a rush, and for a moment, I can’t think of a single thing to say. He’s right. I hate that he’s right.
Doesn’t he know I’ve been fucking thinking about that all damn day? He even reminded me of it in the middle.
But what then?
This all ends and I go back to what?
My apartment? The bed I can’t bear to get out of, morning after morning?
I’m twenty-two, and these are supposed to be the best years of my life. But instead of thriving, I have these dark moments I’ve never admitted to another living soul about having when I don’t want to bother even being alive anymore.
I hide so well. I’ve got such good escape hatches so the darkness never catches me, but still.
“You’re quiet again,” Bane says, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “What are you thinking?”
I shake my head, refusing to meet his eyes. “Nothing.”
“That’s twice you’ve lied to me,” he says, standing and crossing the room in slow, deliberate steps. My heart pounds harder with every step, my chest tightening as he stops beside the bed. “White lies, but still. There will be consequences.”
“Consequences… as in, punishment?” I grin up at him wickedly. I make a lusty, groaning sound, “Oh, punish me, Sir. Please, punish me.”
He doesn’t take the bait. He just stands there, so solemn, and then his hand brushes against my cheek, and I flinch, even though it’s the softest of touches.
“You’re fighting yourself,” he says, his voice low. “Why?”
“I’m not,” I say, but my voice wavers. He tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze, and I see it in his eyes—that steady, unyielding certainty.
He knows I’m lying.
“Talk to me, Moira,” he says, his thumb brushing against my jaw. “What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid,” I whisper, but the words feel hollow. “I’m never afraid.”
My chest aches, my throat tight, and I feel like I’m on the edge again of that something I can’t name.
“Liar,” he says again, but there’s no malice in it. Just calm, steady truth.
The knot in my chest unravels just a little, and I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I blink them away quickly, refusing to let them fall.
“I hate you,” I whisper because it’s easier than saying what I really feel. Fuck, I don’t even know what I really feel.
I don’t want to look. Because he’s right. I am afraid.
“No, you don’t,” he murmurs, his hand still cradling my face. “But you can keep saying it if it helps.”
I let out a shaky laugh, the sound bitter and raw. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“I know. And yet,” his lips curve into the faintest smile, “you’re still here.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. I just lie there, his hand warm against my skin, and for the first time in a long time, I feel even more fully... seen.
Exposed, yes, but not judged. Not rejected. Just... held.
It terrifies me.
But maybe, just maybe, it also makes me feel safe.
The silence between us stretches, heavy and loaded. Bane’s hand is still on my face, his thumb brushing lightly against my cheekbone.
I can feel my pulse thrumming in my neck. Too fast. Too loud. He hasn’t said a word, but his silence speaks volumes.
It makes me feel seen in a way that’s so sharp it borders on painful.
No one ever sees me.
I don’t know what to do with it.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I murmur, turning my head to break his gaze. The movement pulls my cheek from his hand, and I feel the loss of his touch like a phantom ache. My skin prickles in its absence.
“Like what?” he asks, his voice unshaken. He always sounds like he knows exactly what’s going on in my head. Like he’s ten steps ahead of me in a game I don’t even remember agreeing to play.
“Like you’re waiting for me to fall apart,” I snap. I can’t look at him. I stare at the edge of the bed instead.
He exhales softly, and I feel the warmth of his breath against my temple before I even realize he’s leaned in closer.
“I’m not waiting for you to fall apart, Moira. I’m waiting for you to let go.”