Chapter 26

Tara

Ryker wants me to do my worst? That's a hunk of bait I'm tempted to take. Look, I'm not a Domme. At least, I don't think I am. But I don't really consider myself a sub either. Maybe I'm a combo? Lord knows I can be aggressive when it's called for, and obedient when I want to be. They say there are two wolves inside everyone—one of mine wants complete control, the other desperately wants to lose it.

Right now, I want control.

Ryker does nothing without purpose. There was a reason he treated me like that at the club. I just wish he'd told me why first instead of just acting like that.

But damn does this man look good on his hands and knees. He might be smiling, but I know it's a mask. There's a war going on in him and he probably thinks no one else sees it. But I do. I saw it in his eyes when we met the realtor at that apartment building. I saw it at the ceremony when he placed his bid for me to be the Butterfly. I felt it when he fucked me at my place. And I heard it in his apology outside my door.

"Everyone has their demons." Closing the space between us, I tip his chin with the end of my flogger, forcing him to look up at me. "And I want to be introduced to yours."

His eyes darken as he slowly unbuttons his shirt and pulls it off. God, his body is perfect. Defined muscle lends the perfect canvas for his tattoos and the way he sits makes his abs flex. It's hard to tell how old he is, but I'd say late twenties, early thirties.

"What's this date for?" I run the handle of the flogger along his chest where there's a tattoo and a jagged scar.

"That's none of your business, Butterfly."

He's right, but that won't stop me from pushing him. "What's the scar from?"

Ryker doesn't answer that either. I sink to my knees in front of him for a better look. It's a thick, raised line and must have been a painful injury. Without another word, I lean over and press my lips to it.

A breath shudders out of him. "Don't." He drops his head, shaking it. "Don't ask me personal questions."

"How are we supposed to trust each other if we don't know personal things about one another?"

"You don't need to know my past to enjoy my present." His mask is firmly back in place. "And trust is something earned, not given."

My gaze lingers a little longer on the scar before moving down to his abs again. Ryker sits back on his haunches, his hands pressed against his thighs. So much tension. So much ink. So much pain. This man is a mystery—one I'm not sure if I should leave unsolved or not. There's appeal to both.

"I trust you." My voice holds steady even though I'm trembling. "I wouldn't have let you back in here if I didn't."

"You shouldn't," he argues. "I've proven over and over that I'm not a good man."

"Who said I wanted a good man, Mr. Hudson?" Tipping my head, we're suddenly very close again. "Maybe I want great man instead."

He barks a laugh like that's the dumbest thing he's heard all day. "You're more fucked in the head than I am if you think I rank any higher than the dog you've turned me into."

"I didn't turn you into a dog. And you are a great man."

"Not hardly."

"You protect." Grabbing the flogger from the floor, I stand up. "You care for people." Circling him, I run the tassels along the backs of his shoulders. "You work hard to keep everyone in here safe, happy, and healthy."

I can't see his face, but his body stiffens at my words, which means I've struck a chord.

Good.

Swinging the flogger down on his back, it falls flat, the impact sloppy. To recover, I keep talking. "You're a great man, Ryker." I swing again, this time making the tassels land solid on his skin with a thud. "Say it." Swing. Thwack! "Say it, Ryker." Swing. Thwack!

His back mottles with redness in no time.

"You're a great man." Swing. Thwack! My hits come harder. Faster. Stronger. Before long, my voice raises to a shout. "Say it!" Swing. Thwack!

Ryker shakes, and he pitches forward. His fists and knees dig into the carpet. I'm not sure if I'm hurting him or not, but he isn't calling Red, so I'll keep going. Swing. Thwack! Swing. Thwack!

The dynamic between us is morphing. I like it.

"Crawl over to the bed and bend over." Head down, he does as I command. Part of me feels bad for him. A bigger part is so fucking turned on, I'm swollen between my thighs. "Good boy," I coo, stepping up behind him.

Biting down on the handle of the flogger, I hold it between my teeth so I can use both hands to run up and down his back. His skin is hot and damp. Red lines are everywhere, chaotic and temporary. Reaching around his waist, I unbutton his fly and yank his pants down. "Step out of them."

He obeys.

And he's gone commando.

My heart skips a beat at his perfect, round, firm ass. His thick thighs. The way his waist tapers.

Gripping the flogger again, I land a perfect strike on his ass that makes him grunt. His hands ball into fists. "Again."

"Say it." I run my hand over his ass cheeks, soothing the burn. "Fucking say it, Ryker. Say I'm a great man."

He shakes his head, defiant as ever.

"Think about when Vault grabbed me in the hallway just to drag me away from your fight with Dmitri." I run my fingers along his abs. His muscles tighten. "Think about what you felt when you saw that man wrap his hands around my throat at my apartment." He tenses even more. "You want to protect me." Swing. Thwack! "Say it, Ryker. I want to hear you say it."

"No."

Swing. Thwack! This last strike makes his knees buckle.

"Think about how it makes you feel when I suffer."

"Tara."

Swing. Thwack!

"I want you to acknowledge what I already see in you." Swing. Thwack!

"I'm not…" Ryker shakes his head. "I'm not what you think."

"Yes, you are." Swing. Thwack! "Say it."

He spins around before I can land another strike and catches my arm. "I'm not a good man." He knocks the flogger out of my hand and drives me backwards. "I'm sure as fuck not a great one." He presses his body flush against mine, driving me further away from the bed.

I've got him back in that wild state of mind I love so much. "Then what are you, Ryker?"

"I'm a whore, Tara." My back slams against the wall, and he brackets his hands on either side of my head. Dipping down, his eyes deadlock with mine and I feel his breath on my mouth when he growls. "I'm nothing more than a fuckingwhore."

I shake my head, unable to speak.

"Yes, Miss Reed. I was an escort before I became the owner of this club. I fuck people and take their money. Take their secrets. Take their favors, too."

"That doesn't change the fact that you're still a great man."

He scoffs. "You're delusional if you really think that."

"Then I must be a whore too," I say quietly, with my heart slamming against my chest. "Because you paid two-point-two million for me."

"You have it all wrong." Ryker gets a wicked, angry smile. "I paid that amount to save you from being a whore like me."

I'm confused. "What?"

"You didn't do enough research before making our deal, Tara. The Butterfly will owe the highest bidder after her time is up in this suite. For the clientele I cater to, that's okay, because it's their husband or sugar daddy that's paying for the privilege of them getting our special treatment for a month. But you? You're the outlier. You joined this club solo. You have no one claiming you. No one to protect you from the monsters that fuck within my walls. And the man who nearly won, Blake Rittenhouse? He would eat you alive, little girl."

My knees nearly give out and he catches me by my waist. "Ryker."

His eyes squeeze shut. "Stop it," he whispers. "Stop saying my fucking name like that all the time."

I don't want to call him Mr. Hudson or Sir. I want to call him by his real name because this feels like a real goddamn problem. "Why can't I call you, Ry—"

He claps his hand over my mouth. "Every time you say it, you make it sound like a good thing. Like I'm some kind of hero coming to your rescue. Like I'm a fantasy come to life for you."

You are.

"I'm a whore, Tara. Nothing else. And when our month is up, you'll never be in my bed again."

Knocking his hand off my mouth, I want to cry. "Why not?"

He doesn't say anything, so I push. Not just the subject, but also him. Shoving my hands against his chest, my fury unleashes. "Am I not good enough for you? Not rich enough? Pretty enough? Smart enough?" I drive him backwards until his ass hits an armoire. "Fuck you, Ryker."

"That's what we're here for, isn't it? For you to get fucked until you can't walk, can't think, can't move? It's what you pay your membership dues for, Miss Reed. To be railed by a whore like me."

My temper gets the better of me and I slap him. Well, almost slap him. He blocks my strike, then pins my arms to my sides. "You wanted to play with fire? You said you wanted to see how fucking hot I'll burn, and I warned you, Butterfly. What did I fucking tell you?" He clamps my hands behind my back. "Say it. What did I fucking tell you when you got me on my knees?"

"To… to do my worst."

"And why was that, Miss Reed?"

"B-because you would also do your worst to me."

Oh shit.

Ryker's entire demeanor changes. Any cracks I made in his armor have somehow welded closed again. Lifting his chin, he glares down at me with a victorious grin. "Get on your knees and open wide, Butterfly. It's time to put your fucking mouth to work."