Chapter 10

CHAPTER

TEN

HARPER

Gingerly, I take a seat at the kitchen island and wince as I shift my weight in an attempt to get comfortable.

My ass cheeks are fucking sore.

“He really did a number on your last night, huh?” Nikki chuckles.

“The handprint I showed you when we got home,” I huff, “it’s still there. Along with a few bruises from the paddle.”

Nikki bends over the counter, plants her forearms on it, and asks, “But you liked it, didn’t you?”

I don’t answer because I don’t know how to.

No one should like that.

“I mean, you can say you didn’t.” She reaches over and steals my cup of coffee. She takes a generous sip before continuing, “But with how much you came last night, we both know that’s a lie.”

“Nikki!” I squeal.

“What?” She shrugs. “You were moaning into my pussy every time he made you come. It was kind of hard not to notice when you hit double digits.”

“Nikki!” I exclaim again, my tone a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment.

“It’s just sex, Harp,” she mumbles as she grabs her own cup of coffee. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. It can just be fun.”

I keep telling myself that, but my brain doesn’t seem to get the memo.

Feelings.

There are always fucking feelings. Guilt. Shame. Affection. Heartbreak. While I’ve had my fair share of sex, there are always feelings.

My phone buzzes with another text message from across the speckled countertop . Swiping it open, I’m met with a picture of his hand. Quickly followed with another text.

In case you miss me.

“He’s a cocky bastard,” I huff. “I’ll definitely give him that.”

“Who’s a cocky bastard?” Nikki’s eyes light up as she tries to swipe the phone from my hand.

“Edmund.”

“He fucking text you?” She holds her hand out for the phone again, and I reluctantly give it to her. She reads through the short exchange of messages before continuing. “Holy shit, Harp. What are you going to say?”

“I don’t know…” My voice trails off as I stare into the cooling coffee before me.

“Don’t wait too long to get back to him.” She passes me back my phone. “Men like him don’t exactly wait around. We can talk about this later, but I’m off to see Gerald and blow another month of rent out of him.”

“Jesus, Nik,” I exhale, but my words don’t faze her as she walks out of the front door.

After dumping the last of my coffee down the kitchen sink and placing my cup in the dishwasher, I pick my laptop up and head to the couch. I hope the soft cushions will be more forgiving than the firm barstool, quickly finding it only slightly less painful as I sit.

“Why would I want to see him again?” I huff to myself as I scrunch my face in discomfort while trying to find a comfortable position. Giving up, I wind up sprawled across the couch on my stomach with my chin propped on my hand.

Opening the laptop, my fingers hover against the keys while I debate what I want to look up first.

Men who like to inflict pain during sex.

On website after website, I find the same thing.

Edmund is a sadist.

Sadists get off on inflicting physical or emotional pain on another person. Based on the current state of my ass, I’m going to assume Edmund’s interests are physical.

But that isn’t the revelation that leads me down a BDSM rabbit hole for hours.

BDSM.

Bondage. Discipline. Sadism. Masochism.

Masochists.

Masochists derive pleasure and sexual gratification from the act of receiving pain.

Am I a fucking masochist?

While I am definitely not loving the current state of my ass, I cannot deny how much I loved every second of it last night.

The sting.

The thud.

The burn.

The blissful fucking burn.

How it hurt…so good.

The way it heightened every one of my senses, making the pleasure he provided that much better.

After taking a minute to think, I pick up my phone and quickly type out a text, hitting send before chickening out.

“Fuck,” I whisper under my breath.