8. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Adrian's already getting dressed. His movements are so fucking fluid it's like he's floating through the room as he buttons up the crisp black shirt that hugs his frame. He looks too composed, too calm, like what just happened between us was nothing more than routine, a minor indulgence.

Meanwhile, I'm still sprawled across the chaise, barely able to catch my breath, my body thrumming with the aftershocks of what we just did.

"Fuck."

When he walks over to the corner of the room, I glance at the nearest mirror, half expecting to see the same cocky, self-assured man I've always been. But the person staring back is a stranger—vulnerable and naked in more ways than just the obvious. I don't know who the fuck I'm looking at. Certainly not the Jasper Kane I know.

No . . . this is someone else entirely.

Someone who's disheveled, spent, marked.

I ball my hands into fists, knuckles white, trying to shake the knot of conflicting emotions tightening in my chest. And I can't stop thinking about how I fucking liked it all. My attention drifts to the right, toward the twisted outline of something that doesn't quite match the room. But when I blink again, it's gone, vanishing into the haze of candlelight and warped reflections.

"What the fuck . . . " I lean closer to the mirror, squinting. But no, it's just me again, surrounded by the shattered fragments of myself.

"What is it?" Adrian adjusts his cuffs as he walks toward me, a towel slung over his shoulder.

"There was something . . ."

"It's just the house," he says nonchalantly, as if that explains everything. Like the house has become some kind of living, breathing entity. "An old manor like this plays tricks on you."

I glare at him, pursing my lips. "Oh, really?"

"This place is a few hundred years old. Same with most of the furniture."

"Is that the reason there's no cell reception either?"

He huffs, and I don't miss the slight eye roll. "Did you not pay attention to the terrain when you drove up here? There aren't a lot of cell towers, and we are in the mountains."

My mind is too fried to push further or deal with anything that isn't the immediate, bone-deep exhaustion weighing down every limb. I can still feel the dull ache of Adrian inside me, a reminder of how every inch of me had been claimed. And not by force, but by something I didn't even know I craved until it was given.

He hands me the towel, his gaze lingering on my naked body as if assessing the aftermath of his handiwork. "You did well. Better than I expected."

I snatch the towel to wipe off the sweat and cum dripping down my thighs. "What did you expect?"

"More refusal. More resistance."

My head snaps up, our eyes locking. "Don't make it seem like I just rolled over and let you have your way with me."

"I didn't imply that, Jasper. I merely meant you allowed yourself to let someone else take control, to find the pleasure in that." His fingers trail down the side of my face as if he owns my body, his voice a leash pulling tighter around my neck.

I fight the urge to pull away from his touch, wanting to show him it meant nothing more than a simple fuck. Except I lean into it, craving more.

"Everything that happened was natural. Expected. Nothing to be ashamed of." His words are gentle, soothing, but they wrap around my brain like a noose, tightening every time I question my own desires.

"I . . . " The words catch in my throat. I don't know what the fuck I want to say. "Did you—did you push me into this?"

Adrian's eyebrows arch slightly as he gives me that infuriatingly calm smile. "Push you? Jasper, I checked in before I entered you. Made sure you consented."

My eyes close, head drooping. "Sorry, I didn't mean that you did something against my will. I just meant—"

"This was always your choice. You could have said no, could have asked me to stop. But you didn't. The desire was always yours, buried deep. You just needed the right . . . encouragement to embrace it."

I can't deny the rush, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. I came untouched. Without a single hand on me.

And I felt alive. More alive than I've ever felt before.

Fuck, my dick's even getting hard again.

But why does it seem like I've lost something, like a piece of me has been ripped away?

"Get some rest. Sometimes the mind needs time to catch up to what the body desires. And bottoming for the first time when you're used to being in control can be taxing emotionally."

Except it's about more than bottoming.

He leans down and places a kiss on my forehead, then makes his way to the door, his movements slow, deliberate. But before he exits, he turns to me, eyes sweeping over my body with an air of calculated satisfaction. "This is only the beginning, Jasper."

I say nothing as he slips from the room, leaving me alone with my own fucked-up reflection and the endless, distorted copies of myself.

And I know he's right.

Because more than anything—I want to understand why submitting felt so good.

So freeing.