“I know. I’ve seen him in action; he’s quite beautiful,” Alex says with a small smile playing across his lips. “Unfortunately, with your attempt at blackmail, again, we have no other choice but to inform the police.”
“You can’t do that; I’ll be ruined.”
“There’s another option,” I say, even though I’m beginning to like the idea of him in court. It would mean my life and Drake’s would be opened up wide. It will probably ruin me, but I’ve realised I can live without my career, I’m wealthy enough, I can’t have Drake’s life exposed. He’s the only one who did nothing wrong. “This is an NDA. Sign it and everything stays in this room. One word, a squeak from you and I’ll go to the police. You’re a dangerous man; your homophobia makes you unstable. My other condition is you leave the industry, you stay away, very far away from everyone. You’ve made enough money, go retire somewhere hot.” The chances of being able to enforce that last part are slim, but the threat is there.
I can see he wants to argue, to take control, to do or say something hateful. But he doesn’t; he knows we’ve got him over a barrel. Alex approaches him, a fountain pen in his hand. “You can’t do anything else.”
It’s all done. Grant leaves, and Alex follows soon behind him.
I’m exhausted, physically and emotionally drained. I have a glass of red wine on the island in front of me. It’s Drake’s favourite.
I’m messing with my phone, turning it over in my hand.
Fuck it!
Me: I’m sorry. I miss you. I love you. I wish you were here.
Rafe: I’m sorry. I miss you. I love you. I wish you were here.
I stare at my phone, unblinking.
Another one pops up on my screen.
Rafe: Grant has gone. NDA signed.
I expel a whoosh of air; I wasn’t even aware I’d been holding my breath.
The past few weeks have been a blur. I’ve spent time with my brothers, my dads, and I still feel empty and alone.
When Warwick filled me in on all the details surrounding the photograph, and knowing Grant was behind it, should’ve shocked me. It didn’t, of course. I have never trusted Rafe with him. He’s either a closeted gay or a seriously horrible homophobe. I doubt it even matters. Not to me, anyway.
What do I do about these texts? Because I love him. I miss him, and I wish I was there with him. But he watched Grant show me out of the house and never said a word. As much as I said I’m only a phone call away, I’m not ready to forgive him.
Not yet.
It’s taken me a long time to forgive Rafe; we now talk through texts, have met up few times up, just not particularly regularly. He’s busy on tour again, and I’ve got my life and work here now. My family are the ones that have kept me sane, and work has kept me occupied. I took a few freelance jobs when I left Rafe, mainly ones that took me overseas. I couldn’t watch or hear anything to do with him; I still don’t, but at least now it’s not painful.
I’m slowly getting back into the scene. I’ve been going back to Bound with my brothers, especially when Saint collared Noah. That was a night I couldn’t miss. I’m at Bound tonight with Rees—we’ve spent a few evenings together—he’s a good Dom. The scenes we’ve had have been slow and steady. I’m happy that we didn’t go full-on from the start, but tonight is different because I’ve agreed to a private room and a scene he’s been thinking about. He’s run through what he wants, and while it’s intense, it should give us both a high worth waiting for.
The club is busy tonight, but I know none of my brothers will be here. They’ve seen me submit enough times to know I like it hard, but also crave the warmth of the aftercare, wanting that as much as the scene. So, with my excitement building, I walk up to him and kneel before him, my head down. He stands,motioning for me to also stand. We walk, his hand firm on the back of my neck.
“I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time, a very long time,” he says as the door clicks shut with ominous click.
I look up and a wave of uneasiness sweeps through me. Something about him changed; he seems too wired, like he’s on something, and his smile is off. This has now gone from exciting to daunting, but we haven’t got far and still have to agree to the scene and confirm our safe words before anything starts.
“Strip,” he says as he strides away to look at the array of floggers, canes, and whips, not even bothering to look at me.
“Hey, Rees, hold on,” I tell him, making no move to undress. “We have some things to discuss first.”
“Like what? We’ve been in scenes before; this isn’t our first time. I told you I know exactly what we’re doing tonight. So, strip, boy,” he sneers and picks up a cane.
“No, I want to reaffirm our limits, our safe words, as well as discuss the plan you seem to have decided on.”
“Fine, I know yours, and while I agreed with them, I lied; I don’t believe in limits or safe words. And I’m going to tie you up, cane you, then when you’re suitably submissive, I’m going to fuck you until you scream.”
I wave my hands in an ‘oh no you don’t kind of way.’ “I’m not happy about this. My safe words are the colour system, and where’s my enjoyment in this going to come from?”
“I’ll make sure you love it.” His persona has changed; I’m confused. He steps up to me, his hands in my hair. It’s a soft grip, not bringing any pain. “Excuse me? I thought you wanted my dominance from the start.” He brushes his lips over mine. It’s gentle but persuasive, and I allow myself to sink into it, letting my mind switch on to the sub side of me. When he pulls back, his eyes are warm. “Now, are you going to let me get my hands on that delectable body of yours?”