DO YOU FEEL LOVE?

Two weeks. 14 days. That’s how long it’s been since the last time I saw Noah, or heard from him in any capacity. 

He brought me home that night, walked me to my room, gently pushed me down into the mattress, and covered me in the sheets. I don’t remember it all, but I know I begged him to stay. I know I reached out, wrapped my hand around his massive wrist, and pleaded with tears in my eyes and a hole growing wider in my heart with every passing second. 

“Just sleep,” he said, voice soft yet raw with the aftereffects of the night. “We can talk about it after you wake up.” 

Except he wasn’t here. I tore the entire apartment apart the moment I realized he was gone. Maybe I’m just like him—so enthralled with the way he makes me feel that I’ve become obsessed and destructive. I always knew I had it in me. 

Sometimes, he feels like a ghost. I swear I can hear his voice, ringing in my ears or bouncing against the walls of my bedroom. There’s a lingering sensation against my skin as if he’s right next to me, running his calloused fingers against goosebumps and fresh bruises. There are moments where my body aches as if he has just finished using me, just finished reminding me of who and what I am. When that happens, no amount of boiling hot showers and freshly washed sheets can remove him from my mind. 

Other times, I’m convinced I never met him at all. He’s not just a distant memory. No, he’s just a facade, a dream, a horrible joke that has gone on for too long. I let myself believe in something that was never really there. I put all my faith in a bad prayer. 

He has seeped into every single part of me as if he has found a way to rewrite my chemistry, change the stardust and particulates underneath the cracks in my skin. I will never again be who I was before him. I’m someone who knows what it feels like to be his, and that’s all I will ever be. 

Every single night when Grace comes home from work, I look up from the spot on the couch that is indented and formed around my body from days spent in the same exact spot, and she simply shakes her head at me. There’s no need for words.

Noah hasn’t been to work since they reopened. No one will speak of him. Grace swears she has asked, and I believe her. She says they are all acting as if nothing has happened. No one answers her questions, no one checks up on me. My entire world has been turned upside down, and yet, no one else seems to care. Everyone else moves on, and I’m stuck in the orbit of someone who no longer exists.

I haven’t tried to go back to Bad Decisions. I don’t even know if my membership will work anymore. Grace seems to think they wouldn’t dream of removing my access. I know that Noah regrets every second spent, especially after he gave up so much. He showed his hand too early and is now paying the price. Who wouldn’t resent the person who caused such a terrible thing? I can’t exactly blame him. 

I stare down at his contact in my phone. It feels like a trap. I haven’t used it once since he added it here. I haven't had a need to. Things have been good until now. And even if I tried, he wouldn’t answer. There’s no need when his actions speak volumes. 

Here’s the thing, though. No matter how hard he’s trying to push me away, it won’t work. I won’t let him go this easily, not after everything we’ve experienced together. 

As I lock my phone and toss it onto the pile of pillows at the other end of the couch, the door opens. I don’t bother to lift my head, and neither does Sabbath, who is curled up against my side. I’ve been petting him idly, listening to him purr. It’s been somewhat soothing. 

“Hey, Gracie.”

She doesn’t immediately respond. My brows furrow at the sound of her kicking off her shoes and the way they echo against the hardwood floors. Her keys clatter as they hit the counter of the kitchen island. There’s light patter as she walks like she’s trying not to startle me. I use the arm of the couch to push myself up and look over my shoulder. Strawberry blonde hair covers Grace’s face as if she just pulled out her work ponytail. She blows strands away as she looks at me. 

“Babe,” she murmurs, walking toward the couch. 

The second I see the look on her face, I immediately feel it. That pit in my stomach is opening wide to swallow me whole. I know what she’s going to say. And I move, jumping off the couch and looking around me for the first semblance of an outfit. Sabbath skitters at my movement, springing off the couch and finding a place to hide. 

I watch him before going back to my search. I’ve got to find something to wear, and I’ve got to get down to the club as soon as possible. I’ve been practically living out here, and I don’t know when the last time I did laundry was, so most of what I like to wear is strewn over the kitchen table chairs, or in a pile on the rug underneath the coffee table. 

“Hey,” Grace says, putting a hand on my shoulder and forcing me to still my movements. I reluctantly meet her gaze. 

“I have to go,” I say breathlessly. “I have to see him.”

“No,” she starts, slowly moving to sit us both down on the couch. Once I'm seated, she plops her hands in her lap and nervously fidgets with the ring on her right middle finger. I haven't seen it before now. I stare at it as she blows out a breath and look up when she speaks again. “You need to think this through. Guard your heart.” 

I blink. “What are you talking about? No one has seen him in two weeks, and suddenly he’s just back at work? I need to talk to him, figure out what the fuck is going on.” 

“There’s a reason you haven’t heard from him. I know for a fact that all of those assholes have seen him, and I am certain he told them all to lie so that I couldn’t help you keep tabs on him. He doesn’t want you to know anything. I only saw him by accident.”

“Accident?”

She nods solemnly. “I went up to the office looking for—” she cuts herself off and swallows hard before continuing. “Someone else. I didn’t knock or anything, and he was sitting at the desk with all sorts of paperwork everywhere. The second he saw me, he tried to cover it all up. He begged me to leave, to pretend like I didn’t see him. He knew I was going to come home and tell you. There’s no way he didn’t immediately bail.”

“I don’t care. If I leave now, maybe I can still catch him.” 

With that, I swing my legs off the side of the couch and move to stand up once again. Grace stops me, reaching for my hand to keep me in place. I whip my head to look at her, emotions clawing their way up my throat in place of words.

“I need you to listen to me. Please,” she says. 

I stare at her, eyes trailing down the contortion of her brows, the hard lines etched with concern, the purse of her lips. It’s enough to make me blow out a shaky breath, shoulders slumping as my back hits the couch cushion again. 

“Okay,” I whisper, conceding. 

She squeezes my hand, and I know whatever she’s about to say is going to sting. 

“I know you’re hurting. I know you want some answers to figure out what the fuck is going on. But Noah has made his choices. He left you that night and hasn’t made an effort to come back. Is that what you want for yourself? Someone who just gives up on you when things get hard?”

No, of course not. But that’s not what he’s doing. He’s protecting himself and everything he's created. I am just caught in the aftermath. I press my lips together and shake my head. There’s no use arguing with her. 

“I love you so much,” Grace whispers, her voice cracking. “I hate watching this happen to you. I was the one who pushed you to join the club, to get into a relationship with someone. I just wanted you to let go, to be happy. I wanted you to finally put yourself first. You gave up everything to follow me out here and start fresh. You built your photography business from the ground up, and you took over my lease when I was drowning in debt. You’ve done all of these things for me and the club was supposed to be my way of giving something to you. I never thought…”

She swallows hard, desperately blinking away tears that sting her eyes. Grace isn’t a crier. The last time I saw her like this was the night Jack forced himself on me. And it had been many years before then. I squeeze her hand, and she shudders, pushing it all back to keep talking.

“I don’t want to watch you throw it all away for someone who can’t even be there for you. He chose himself.”

“He chose the club, his livelihood. You can’t be mad at him for that,” I plead. I’m not surprised that I’m defending him, but Grace certainly is. She balks, pushing herself against the arm of the couch. 

“You’re right, but I can be mad at him for how long he has kept this up.”

“What?”

Grace sighs, dropping my hand to run her own through her hair. “The night you were sick, he told me he’d do anything for you. He said he’d burn Bad Decisions down. And for a fucking second there, I actually believed him.”

My breath catches in my throat. “He said that?”

She nods. “He did. He’s…intense, isn’t he?”

I blow out a sad laugh as I nod. “He is. But Grace, that’s why I love him.”

A weight should instantly be lifted off my shoulders the moment those words finally leave my lips. But instead, I just feel heavier, like I’m sealing my fate. 

Grace doesn’t even flinch. “I know you do. But maybe it’s time you let him go.”

“I can’t. I need to see him, to figure out how to fix this. He’ll never admit it, but he needs my help, needs me.” 

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’m not,” I laugh coldly. “I’m not sure at all. But I owe it to myself, and to our relationship, to try.”

“But do you actually owe it to Noah? You've given so much, and what has he done? It feels like he just takes and takes and takes from you.”

“How can you not see it?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. 

Grace opens her mouth and shakes her head, completely at a loss for words. It’s almost comical that this is what finally makes her think the way I do. I reposition myself closer to her on the couch and continue. 

“How can you not see that I take more than he does? He comes into our room every weekend and does exactly what he knows I want. He puts all of himself into the hours we spend. I mean, can you imagine the pressure of someone giving you complete control? Knowing there’s a chance you can fuck it all up or hurt them? It’s not just about sex. It’s about trust. And there is no one else in this world I trust as much as him.” 

Not even you. I don’t say it, but we both feel it hanging heavy in the air between us. 

“How can you continue to trust him when he left you? You were drunk off your ass only an hour after being assaulted, and he just tucked you into bed and disappeared. And you can still talk about him like he’s some God.” 

I’ve never been one to worship any God or to give myself to a single ideal. I’ve always thought for myself and tried my best to make decisions based on what I think is right. Growing up, Grace and I would talk about relationships and boys. We’d always declare that we wouldn’t ever let one come between us. Things were simple back then. That was before adulthood and real responsibilities and way before Bad Decisions and Noah. 

There’s nothing wrong with still trusting someone after they’ve hurt you. It’s about their intentions, about what they do to fix it in the aftermath. 

Hurt flashes over my face. “How can you say that to me?” 

Grace’s eyes widen, and she reaches for me. I flinch away, standing up and crossing my arms for my chest to shield myself. 

“You aren’t listening to me, Grace. Noah is no God. He’s a man, and he makes mistakes. We all do. I know there is more to this. I know Noah did what he did for a reason. It took months for him to tell me the smallest things about himself. Do you honestly think he’d let me in about something this big? He’s pushing me away because he doesn’t want me to get hurt. But loving someone fucking stings, especially with someone like Noah. I don’t care. I want it all. With him. And I am going to that stupid bar, and I am figuring this out. There’s nothing you can say that’s going to make me change my mind.” 

“Fuck,” she groans, running a hand over her face. “I’m sorry.”

I offer her a small smile. “I know you are. But I’m not. I have to do this.”

“I know you do,” she says as she drops her hands and looks at me with soft eyes. For just a moment, it feels like we’re kids again. “Just call me if you need me, okay? And take my car.” 

This time, my smile is real as it pulls at my lips and spreads over my cheeks. I lean forward, grabbing at Grace’s face to give her a quick kiss on the forehead. Then, I scramble, desperately looking for clothes again. All the piles on the living room floor are mostly pajama shorts and oversized T-shirts, nothing I’d want to wear to Bad Decisions, no matter the circumstance. I clamber into my room and freeze in place the second I reach my closet. The perfect outfit pops into my mind only seconds before I see it. The only dress Noah ever directly commented on and told me to wear again. It's red, just like all the rest of them. The spaghetti straps tie into bows on my shoulders, and the asymmetrical hem exposes my right leg. While I don’t feel the confidence I should as I put this on, I know it’s the right choice. When everything is on the line, it’s best to fake it until I make it. 

After I throw myself together, I head out before I get the chance to second-guess my decision. The drive feels like a blur. The route is so familiar, and the closer I get, the more dread sets in. I park in a lot that’s a short walk away, just to keep Grace’s car from being recognized, and start walking. 

Everything has changed. The building is exactly the same, but nothing else is. Davis doesn’t open the door for me. Instead, he steps in front of the handle, his expression shifting into one of turmoil. 

“You know I can’t let you in,” he says softly. 

“Do I know that?” I challenge. 

He chews the inside of his cheek. I know he’s weighing his options. Part of me has always been aware of everyone’s loyalty to Noah, but it’s moments like this that remind me just how deep it goes. 

“I have strict instructions to turn you away.” 

I steel my expression, desperate to keep a single one of these men from knowing just how hurt I really am. “What’s he gonna do? Fire you? Please,” I scoff as I roll my eyes. 

Davis shuffles on his feet, eyes darting to the busy street around us. People shuffle past me as I stand in the middle of the sidewalk, but I plant my feet and stand tall, pointing my chin. I’m not budging until that door opens. 

When he finally looks back at me, Davis’ eyebrows furrow, and he sighs, rummaging around in his pocket. 

I look between his face and his busy hand. “What are you doing?” 

“Oh look,” he says as he pulls the keys out, then promptly turns his hand over and opens it, letting them drop to the ground with a metallic clatter. “I dropped something.”

I giggle at the sight of the discarded keys on the ground and reach my foot out to kick them even further from the door. “And I accidentally pushed them away. Silly me.”

“What a shame,” Davis sighs dramatically, stepping away from the door and bending over. I look back at the door that is now completely unguarded and waste no time hurrying past him. 

The handle feels heavy in my hand, grounding me in reality. I haven’t taken any action so far. I’ve waited this long. Why? I don’t know. Out of fear, maybe. I’ve been paralyzed by the weight of everything that has happened to me. So many moments where I have had no control, and now that I finally have it, I don’t know what to do with it. But I’m going to try to take matters into my own hands. 

I yank the door open and walk as it closes behind me, a gust of air hitting my bare back as it seals. The interior feels cold, even in the warm, dim light, but I ignore it as I make my way to the front desk. 

Nicholas moves slowly as if I’m an animal he’s trying not to scare. I watch as he steps out from behind the front desk and moves to guard the only way in or out of the front lounge. If he thinks he’s going to stop me from going inside, he’s a fucking idiot. It’s going to take a lot more to keep me from Noah. I walk up to him, barely giving him any sort of space. 

“Where is he?” I ask.

Nicholas’s expression is schooled, arms crossed over his chest, and chin pointed up. He looks down his nose at me like I’m some incessant bug that won’t leave, no matter how many times he swats at it. 

“He’s not here,” he answers simply.

“Bullshit,” I bark. “Grace saw him less than an hour ago. You mean to tell me he’s already gone?” 

“You think he’d stay long enough for you to catch him?”

Catch him. Like this is some game of cat and mouse, like I don’t matter enough for him to stick around. I swallow down my emotions and square my shoulders.

“Why are you all treating me like some villain? Like this is my fault? I think it’s honestly baffling that a group of grown men would blame the victim they so desperately tried to protect.”

“That’s not what this is,” Nicholas says softly. “We’re—Noah is trying to protect you.” 

“Protecting me? From what?” I don’t wait for him to answer before I shake my head and continue. “I don’t need protection. I need comfort. I need the trust we spent months building up together. I need him. Here.”

“There are things you don’t know—”

“I don’t know them because no one will talk to me! He hasn’t called or visited. No one will answer any of Grace’s questions. We were both certain that my membership had been revoked. Davis wouldn’t even let me in the fucking building!”

Nicholas’ lips press into a thin line. I can tell that he wants to keep making excuses and stand up for a man who is acting like a coward. But I won’t have it. I deserve better, and he knows it. But all of this pain has me fraying at the edges, no matter how hard I’ve worked to hold myself together. 

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I whisper, my voice cracking under the pressure. 

“You didn’t,” he repeats in agreement. 

I haven’t had a real conversation with Nicholas before. He always nods at me, lets me into the lounge, and then leaves me to my own devices. He doesn’t make small talk or hover. He’s not like Folio, who only cracks jokes or harmlessly flirts. And he’s certainly nothing like Jolly with his sultry tone and layered seriousness. 

He catches me off guard, breaking me out of my thoughts with a clear of his throat. I look back up at him and nearly topple over at the sight of him stepping away from the gate as he opens it. 

“Nicholas—” 

“Don’t mention it,” he cuts me off quickly. “Just talk some sense into him for me, okay?”

“I’ll try,” I murmur softly, offering him a quick smile and walking into the lounge. 

It’s the same as it always is. People line the bars, sitting on stools or leaning against the counter, drinking and talking amongst themselves. Others sit on lavish couches and plush chairs. A few couples kiss leisurely, taking their time savoring each other as their hands wander down bodies and underneath clothing. There’s even someone on all fours with their head down in obedience as someone else, presumably their master, rests their legs up on them. Heat slides down my veins, threatening to pool between my legs, but I desperately ignore it. Before, I’d savor the feeling and let it fuel my night. Now, after everything, I have to let it go and not give in. 

I look up at the main bar, spotting Folio instantly. He’s shaking a drink mixer and chatting casually, laughing along to a conversation he is surprisingly not leading. He smiles at something, eyes wandering up to scan the room as he listens. I don’t have enough time to hide, but I do pick up my pace. His face changes to an expression I can’t quite read, a mix of shock and annoyance and maybe even pity. He watches me go, too busy working to be able to stop me, and I give him a wave as I pass.

I never realized that I walk the exact same path every time I make my way to the roped-off section of the club. It has become muscle memory to pass the couches and the people and make my way to the main focal point of the room. You can't miss the throne, front and center, with its massive black frame and deep red plush cushion. Something about it always draws me to it, like I am just hoping that Noah appears with his eyes on me and his hands gripping the armrests. 

While Noah isn’t in it this time, someone else is. I stopped dead in my tracks, eyes widening. There’s someone sitting on Noah's throne. They’re wearing all black with a familiar balaclava pulled over their head to cover their face. Every single part of me knows it’s not Noah. I don’t even have to see their face to confirm it. It’s obvious in their posture, the way they sit hunched over with their hands up to their face and their elbows on their legs. They want to come off menacingly, like they are watching the room with authority, but they’re just an imposter, a fraud. I force myself to stay still, locking my muscles in place. As much as I want to march up to them and demand they let go of the ridiculous act, I know they serve a purpose. A decoy, someone to keep up the facade. 

It’s a smart idea, probably part of whatever Noah is concocting. I blow out a deep, uneven breath, knowing that this will all make sense to me soon enough, and continue walking. 

Jolly’s already looking at me when I finally meet his eye. He looks… exhausted. Dark bags make his brown irises feel somewhat empty. Stubble lines his chin, and combined with his somewhat tangled hair, it’s obvious that it’s been a rough few days. And it’s all my fault, no matter how hard I’ve tried to stay out of trouble. He doesn’t move to stand in front of the rope. He stays completely still, hands clasped in front of him. 

“Are you going to stop me like everyone else?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. 

“No,” Jolly says simply, shaking his head. “There’s no need.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because, little lamb, your dom deserves to be humbled. And you’re the only one who stands a chance.” 

“Jolly,” I snort a startled laugh, lips curling upward. The tiniest bit of anxiety dissipates with the seriousness he uses to convey such a silly sentence. 

“I mean it. He’s the most miserable person I know. Except for when it comes to you. Then I actually see him smile and give in. He never lets himself have the good things he deserves. I think you can knock some sense into him. Or even fuck it into him. Whatever works.” 

“Alright!” I shriek, throwing my hands up in surrender. “Alright. I’m going. Wish me luck.”

Jolly smiles at me, unclasping his hands to reach behind him and unhook the divider. Anxiety seeps into my bones as I step into the hallway. Nonetheless, I pause and swivel on my heels, leaning over to give Jolly a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you,” I murmur. Just two words, but their meaning is endless, and Jolly knows it. 

I don’t give him a chance to answer as I turn back around and walk further into the hall. Rooms line either side of me, and while they are familiar, everything else feels uncharted. I don’t know if my keycard will even unlock these doors anymore. And I certainly don’t know about the room at the end of the hall. I can feel it staring at me before I even dare to look at it.

The first time I passed it, I felt drawn to it, had my eyes on it. It felt untouchable, like I was never going to see what was on the other side. Little did I know that a stupid fucking room was going to be the place where I feel the safest, the most at home.

But my home isn’t really a place or a room. It’s a person. 

I pick my head up and finally look at it, immediately noticing that something is missing—the sign was proudly displayed above the door. The King in tarnished silver. I can make out perfectly where it once was, and its absence makes my heart ache. I don’t know why Noah took it down, but I know everything else will change in its wake. 

I hesitate as I walk up to the door, hand trembling before I even lift it to the fingerprint scanner. Part of me knows it will still unlock for me, but there’s doubt seeping into my bones. A relieved sigh escapes my lips as the door beeps in approval. 

All that’s left is to open it and see what’s on the other side. 

The handle clicks as it gives way, turning easily. I push the door open, using the creaking of the hinges to ignore the loud thump of my heart in my ears. I step inside, closing the door quickly so I don’t go back on my decision. 

And there he is, sitting in the leather chair that’s diagonal to the couch. It faces off toward the bed so I can see his side profile, the way his perfect nose points upward, and his lips jut out in a pout. His brows are furrowed, jaw clenched tightly. He’s looking down at something I can’t quite see, fingers tracing over it idly. 

Since he’s not needed as The King right now, with the fake one sitting on his throne, he’s dressed casually. Fitted pants, a tank top, and sneakers. All black. His hair is tucked under a baseball hat, hair curling by his ears as it sticks out in the back. I’ve seen him wear something similar before, but this time, he feels like someone new. 

“I didn't think it would be so easy to find you,” I admit, pressing my back against the door. 

Noah doesn’t move a muscle. 

“I saw no point in running. Everyone had orders to keep you away.”

My heart sinks, disappearing somewhere behind my rib cage and far past the point of return. I haven't heard this tone in his voice in months, not since the beginning. He was closed off back then, always desperately trying to keep me from knowing the real him. Over time, this rough exterior cracked and softened, but with every mistake made, we’re almost right back where we started. 

“They tried. It didn't work,” I explain matter-of-factly. 

“Unsurprising.” 

Tension permeates the air, making my throat feel tight. It shouldn’t be like this, not anymore. We’ve already gone through the awkwardness of nerves and early interactions. We are so far removed from it now. But I know what he’s doing, trying to keep me at arm’s length. 

“Look at me,” I demand, voice cracking.

“Not right now.”

I scoff, and frustration bubbles in my chest. “Why not? Are you ashamed that you picked me? Am I a mistake?”

His knuckles turn white as he grips the object in his hand. “I am not ashamed of you.”

I don’t believe him as much as I would have two weeks ago. 

“Then what is it?” I ask as I push off from the door and step closer to the chair. “Why can’t you look at me? Or be honest with me? Haven’t I done enough to deserve it?” 

“You should leave,” he grits out, leaving my questions unanswered.

“We both know I’m not doing that. It’s been two weeks, Noah. Why haven't you said anything?”

His lips press together in a thin line as if he has no intentions of continuing this conversation any further. I watch him for a moment, taking in the way he leisurely leans against the cushions of the chair, shoes firmly planted on the area rug. 

I love him. All of him, even the things he won’t tell me, the parts of him he won’t let me see. 

But I’ve had enough of this. 

I step toward him, closing the gap between us and grabbing the arm of the chair. It’s an enormous piece, something I’ve seen every time I’ve been in this room. I never expected it to move with ease, swiveling to face me. 

My breath catches in my throat when Noah’s eyes are on mine. His brows are furrowed, hard lines etched over every inch of his face. His dark brown eyes are narrowed, jaw clenched tight. Misery surrounds him, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. 

Curiosity gets the best of me, and my eyes drop down to his hands. All the air is sucked out of my lungs at the sight. My collar, his fingers tangled with the fabric. I look back up to meet his eyes. 

“I told you to leave,” he says, voice gruff and words barely breaking through. He calmly leans to the side and places the collar on the coffee table. 

“And I already told you I’m not doing that.”

He slowly shakes his head as he straightens back up, a sinister smirk curling over his lips. “You’re going to regret it, staying here, being with me.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Everyone does sooner or later,” he says with a shrug. “Eventually, you will too.” 

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Why can’t you just give it up? This is a sad act, shitty self-sabotage. Let me help you.”

“Help me?” He repeats in a choked, surprised laugh. “I’ll only hurt you.”

“Let me make that choice for myself. I want you to hurt me. I’ve asked you to do it over and over again. And I’ll keep doing it! Just tell me what’s going on, Noah.”

“No,” he answers, shaking his head harshly. 

“How is this fair?” I throw my hands up in frustration. “You tucked me into bed and told me we’d talk about it in the morning, and then you fucked off! No texts, no calls, no visits. Were you hoping I'd take that as some sort of hint?”

“That's exactly what I expected,” he nods. “Turns out you're more stubborn than I thought. Or maybe just stupid, I don't know.”

My mouth falls open in pure shock. “Now you're just being mean.”

“All I've ever been is realistic.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, tilting my head in challenge. “Is denying your feelings and pushing everyone away because you're afraid of commitment a part of being realistic?” 

He stiffens in his chair, muscles locking and back straightening. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No? I don’t?” I repeat. He narrows his eyes as if he’s challenging me, but I know he desperately wants me to shut up. I can’t, not when there is so much on the line. “Is this denial also a part of being realistic?”

“Pet,” he warns. “Quit while you're ahead.”

“You know what? No,” I laugh coldly. “Why should I? Are you going to punish me?” 

“No,” he answers honestly. 

“Then I'll continue,” I respond with a sarcastic lick. 

He leans back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other, and motions me forward. 

There's so much I can say, but if I don't get right to the point, we're just going to keep going around in circles. There's no real resolution to this. He'll never just admit his feelings unless I pull it out of him. 

I take a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

“I know that you love me, but you’re too scared to admit it.”

He shakes his head, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. I don’t let him cut me off or work to find some bullshit excuse. 

“I know that you fell for me a long time ago. I don’t know exactly when, but I have my suspicions. Maybe it was as early as our first session or the day I crawled in the front lounge, in front of all the guests. It doesn’t matter. The longer we spent together, the more I saw it in your eyes, the way you relaxed throughout sessions. I know you care about me. And I know it scares you. Guess what, Noah? It scares me too. It’s fucking terrifying. Because I love you too. More than anyone else. Maybe even more than I should. And I have chosen to stick by you even after you didn’t stay. I won’t pretend to understand everything about you. But if you just let me in—”

“Stop,” he demands, voice echoing in a loud boom that practically rattles the walls. 

“Let me help you. Let me be there for you. I can help save the club. I can show you that it's okay to let yourself love someone.” 

He stands up abruptly, towering over me and crowding the little space between us. I crane my neck ever so slightly to meet his eye as he peers down his nose. 

I've never been afraid of him, and I'm certainly not going to be now, especially with how he's slowly falling apart. 

“That’s enough,” he snarls. 

“Noah,” I whisper, hesitantly reaching a hand out toward him. He doesn’t move, just keeps his eyes on me. I gently take his hand in mine and lead it to my mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the top of it before resting it onto my cheek and leaning into the touch. 

He instantly morphs into someone I’ve never seen before. All of his walls come crashing down, and I know how desperately he’s trying to build them all back up. 

“Baby,” he whispers.

“You love me,” I murmur.

He shakes his head, smiling sadly. “I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I can’t.” 

“Why can't you, Noah? You’re punishing yourself for no reason. No one else is making you do this.”

He drops his hand from my face, and the absence of his warmth makes my entire body so cold. 

“My entire life has made me like this! All these people taking and taking, and giving me nothing back! And the one time I finally have something of my own, they try to take that too!” 

“No one is going to take the club. The guys wouldn’t let that happen.”

“I’m not talking about the club.”

I swear I stop breathing. He says the words with a sharp seriousness, as if I already know the answer. And I do. It’s been festering under my skin. 

“You. It’s you. The most important thing in my entire fucking life. I'm proud of this club, of the space I've been able to create. But nothing, and I mean fucking nothing, matters more than you.”

I shake my head slowly as I desperately gasp for air that refuses to fill my lungs. “When did you—”

“Early on. Maybe even before you were truly mine. I don’t know, it doesn’t matter.”

So many thoughts race through my head. While he hasn’t said those three little words exactly, this has the same effect. I feel weightless, infinite. But there’s something else inside me too. Something I never thought I’d want in any way. 

Control.

“You love me?” I ask, a coldness seeping over my words.

Noah blinks, eyes tracing over every inch of my face. “I do.”

There’s a hesitation in his voice, but it’s not because he’s unsure of his feelings. It’s because of me. He realizes why I’m asking, but by then it's too late. 

I nod down toward the wood floors, a sinister smile pulling at my lips. “Then get on your knees.”