Chapter 23

Ryker

Tara's scream freezes my heart. It's agonizing. Furious. Soul-shattering. Relatable. Something possessive claws out of me because of it.

I press the stop button on the remote and drop it to the floor. The machine slows down while Tara continues screaming. Fuck this. Ripping the damn thing away from her and letting it crash onto the floor, I lift Tara off the bench.

Her eyes widen with shock, but at least she stops screaming.

My heart pounds in my chest. I think I'm going to have a fucking stroke.

"What are you doing?" She rasps when I set her on a chaise and pull the quick-release rope in the back, making it unravel. "Ryker!"

I can't respond. My hands tremble as I pull the rope away from her torso, letting it fall in her lap.

Her legs are shaking. Her skin's clammy.

I've fucked up. I'm downward spiraling and I can't let her know it.

"Ryker, why did you do that?"

She sounds gutted.

Why did I do that?She'll have to be more specific. Why did I agree to let her be the Butterfly? Why did I put myself in this fucked up situation? Why did I bring her to this room? Why did I try to make her so frustrated she'd leave? Why did I let a machine do what I can do better? Why did I stop it? Why did I untie her? Why did I think I could get through this unscathed?

Which why is she asking about?

"As your Dom…" Fuck, my chest hurts. "It's my responsibility to make sure you don't cross your own lines. If I see or think you're in trouble, it's my duty to stop the scene and see to your well-being."

Tara wraps her arms around herself, casting her gaze to the floor. I hate it. She's all over the place—happy one moment, demanding another, passionate and frustrated all at the same time.

She's exactly like me.

Okay, I'm reading into this too much if I'm drawing similarities between us again. Tara's nothing like me. To pretend she is only insults the woman who came here to explore her sexuality.

"Hey." Placing my finger under her chin, I try lifting her head up, but she jerks away from my touch. "Butterfly," I snap and she flinches. "Tara." My softer tone finally gets her to look at me.

I hate what I see her in her eyes. I know that look well because I see it even when I close mine to sleep at night. Shame.

Her voice cracks when she says, "I didn't call Red, and I didn't tap your leg either, Sir."

"I know." Pulling her into an embrace, I feel like I'm floating out of my body. There's no way I care for this woman, but my actions say otherwise even though my brain and heart both have massive walls up. "But your screams were…" heartbreaking, terrifying, "Concerning."

"I just need to fall apart," she whispers. Tara's shoulders droop, and she backs away from me again. "I like the rope. I like being fucked hard. I like being used."

I believe her about the rope, and the intensity of being fucked. But the last part? She's lying. Either to me or both of us. I'm good at reading my subs and though Tara might enjoy Shibari, she doesn't like to be used as a hole. Just the way she said it has my hackles raising. Being used can be fun, but I can't imagine she actually enjoys being used as a fucktoy.

She's not you, asshole. Stop trying to find similarities that do not exist. If she likes it, then good for her. Don't let her be ashamed of it.

But I can't. If I do, something far more dangerous is going to creep out of me, and I refuse to let that demon out to play.

I should have never brought her here. Never used this machine on her. I only did it in the first place because I thought it intrigued her. God knows she seems so curious about everything in this club, and I didn't realize until this very moment how much I've watched her while she explores the rooms and scenes I've created for my guests.

If I'm really honest with myself though, I think I did it for my own selfish reasons. "I'm so sorry."

Her gaze lifts to meet mine. "Why?"

A Dom/sub relationship won't work unless there's trust. Tara clearly trusts me, but I don't trust her. Not enough to confess my reasons. They shouldn't matter, anyway. This isn't about my hangups, it's about celebrating, worshipping, and exploring her.

"Why are you sorry, Ryker?"

My fists clench along with my jaw. She should call me Sir, but I can't seem to find the strength to correct her. I like the way my name sounds from her mouth. My gaze roams her beautiful features. I should explain why I'm sorry, but I won't. I can't. But I can be honest about something else. Confess something just as damning. "You fascinate me."

There. I've just handed over the one thing I shouldn't: My power.

She knows I've watched her. She knows I'm possessive of her. But now she knows I'm fucking obsessed with her. That's what fascination is for a man like me.

The way her eyes widen, the sound of her breath escaping, the sight of her cheeks pinking, has me uneasy. She's flattered when she shouldn't be.

She's going to exploit me again with this. Use this new weakness of mine to get something she wants. And I'll have no one to blame but myself.

Her expression softens, and she smiles while cupping my face, trapping me. Then she lifts on her toes to kiss me.

Fuck that.

Knocking her hands away, I step back three paces and scoff. "Don't get the wrong idea, Tara. I'm not a hero or your boyfriend. I'm just a dick you'll ride until your time is up."

I've got to get the fuck out of here so I can get my head back in the game and remember my purpose here. Because what almost just happened can't happen at all. Turning to head out of the room, I make it all the way to the door before something hits the back of my head.