Page 8 of Carter

Then… Carter.

Sneaking out was wrong. Lying to Carter was wrong. Wearing the dress wasn’t. Wanting to dance wasn’t. I can finally separate the pieces instead of throwing all of them into one furious pile and calling it independence.

I would have hated it if Carter vanished after telling me he was home safe. That is the part I owe him an apology for.

And maybe, if I’m being completely honest, there is another truth under all my fighting: part of me wanted him to come after me.

Not because I want to be owned like an object.

Because I want to know I can stop fighting long enough to be held.

Guilt washes over me. I tug on Carter’s hand.

He looks down at me. His gaze locks on mine.

My voice is soft, tiny. “I’m really sorry, Carter.”

Surprise flashes in his eyes. I’m not usually so docile. He simply replies, “Good.”

My heart sinks. He’s still mad.

And I’m still being punished.

My teeth bite into my bottom lip. My free hand tugs at the end of my long ponytail.

My tummy flip-flops, wondering what awaits me at home.

3

Carter

My palm stings. My cock is straining uncomfortably hard against my trousers.

She’s tugging at the end of her hair. She’s biting her lip. She doesn’t want me to see the tears that are brimming in her eyes.

She’s sorry. She’s my sweet Sasha.

I want to gather her up into my arms. Tell her it’s going to be alright. Eat her wet cunny and make her scream my name.

But I can’t.

I won’t.

I don’t know that everything is going to be alright. That will be up to her.

Her hand is trembling in mine as I take her up the front steps. As I press my thumb against the security keypad, I see a new wreath hanging on our door—I’d missed it earlier. It’s made of cranberries and mums. She’s hung it for fall. A sharp pain tears through my chest.

I can’t imagine living here without Sasha.

But I will.

I’ve made a commitment to the Bachman name, and I’ll uphold it.

Once a Bachman, always a Bachman.

I’d told myself she would eventually understand our way because she loved me. That was cowardice dressed up as patience. I let Sasha believe our relationship would stay exactly as it had always been while privately expecting her to step into a structure I had never fully explained. I cannot ask her to trust rules I was afraid to discuss.

Hell—the real truth was that I thought I could keep the difficult parts of this life separate from the woman I loved and we would be fine.