Instantly, my messy thoughts straighten.
What the fuck does it matter what happened with my ex-fiancée?
Whether or not I'm capable of love?
Why waste time on anything else?
I let the thought consume my morning. Then I arrange everything for tonight.
I wait until I can't stand it anymore.
Then I give her a chance to change her mind.
Ty: My flat. Six o'clock. Nothing but the harness under your clothes. Or I'll have to punish you.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Indigo
It's still there. On my cell.
Ty's offer.
I could call it a lot of things:
A dare.
A promise.
A warning.
But we both know the truth.
I want him to punish me.
He wants to punish me.
Because he takes a sadistic pleasure in it. Or because he wants me under his control. Or because he promised to give me what I need.
I don't know.
I don't care.
My entire body is buzzing. Since he first teased me, I've been buzzing.
Through wedding venues, pasta dinners, too many episodes of 90 Day Fiancée.
Except for the hour I was at the gynecologist and the few hours of cramps after, I've been buzzing with desire.
A being of pure desire.
Today's trek through wedding venues—one grand, one quaint—didn't help.
We have possible dates. In July. August. September.
That's our deadline.
Three months.
Three months until I'm a Mrs.
It's crazy. Crazier still, I'm getting used to the idea.
Looking forward to it.
I don't want to lie to my sister or Ty's family, but this isn't a lie.
We are committed.
And the thought of standing at the altar in some bold backless dress, kissing him like the ship is going down?
There's a part of me that wants it.
The real thing.
A real proposal, a real engagement, a real wedding.
Him really falling in love with me.
I can't have that.
But my sister walking me down the aisle, smiling with pride, standing up to embarrass me with a toast about Ty's sexual prowess—
I can have that.
The night of dancing in his arms.
The week in Fiji or Paris or Maui or Naples.
A room in his big, beautiful apartment.
Space in his big, beautiful life.
And all that time to deal with my pain and find my passion.
I've seen what happens to the idle rich working at Rick's.
Either I face this or I hide behind a drug problem or a bottle a day or a blade on my wrist.
Some means of self-destruction. One will find me.
I know better. I've been close before. Keeping Sienna safe was the only thing that kept me sane.
Now that she's an adult, with her own big, beautiful future—
I swallow hard. This is a problem for later. Tomorrow. Next week. Next year.
Or maybe it's exactly what I need right now.
Ty has a pretext for punishing me, but there's some reason I want it. Something beyond an intense desire to submit.
Is this why I'm craving pain and punishment?
I've been a bad girl, running from my pain, my gift, my passion.
I'm sorry.
I don't deserve mercy.
It's true.
It's ridiculous, but it is true.
I read his message again.
Ty: My flat. Six o'clock. Nothing but the harness under your clothes. Or I'll have to punish you.
My fingers slide over my cell screen. It's too slick. I'm too nervous.
I'm really doing this.
Intentionally disobeying him.
Asking him to punish me.
I'm out of my fucking mind.
I'm risking everything for sex.
I'm marrying him for sex.
Sure, there were other factors, but let's face it, I said yes because I want to fuck him.
And now I'm here, outside his fancy apartment building, ten minutes to six, waiting.
The Financial District is bustling. It's rush hour. Of course it is.
Men and women in suits run to catch their trains, chat on the street, grab dinner from a street vendor.
In an hour, this place will be a ghost town.
Even now, it's slowing. But it's still alert and alive and vibrant. Everything I love about the city.
Even the day traders and bankers who do nothing to earn their fortunes. The assholes who decided to raise the rate on our mortgage.
But then I'm not here to complain about the ills of capitalism.
I'm about to marry a billionaire. I'm about to join the one percent.
And I—
My cell buzzes. Slips from my hands. I bend just in time to catch it.
A text from Sienna. Teasing me about staying out late.
She knows not to wait up.
Does she know what I'm doing here?
What the fuck would she say if I told her?
Something supportive, probably. Supportive and horny.
She'd look at me differently. If only in a damn, Indie, I didn't know you had it in you way.
And she'd look at Ty differently too.
Like he's some depraved pervert. Which is a compliment, coming from her.
But maybe like he's a monster too. I don't know.
I'm over-thinking things. It doesn't matter what Sienna thinks of my desires. It's none of her fucking business.
And this—
My cell buzzes again.
Ty.
Ty: You're late.
I am. It's six on the dot.
Extra disobedience. Unplanned.
I can apologize, admit I'm nervous, ask for mercy.
He might give it to me.
But I don't want mercy.
I don't want a single scrap of mercy.
I swallow hard. Slide my cell into my jeans. Ask myself what the fuck I'm doing one more time. For good measure.
You're thinking with your cunt, Indigo.
Sienna isn't the only one acting like a guy.
This is what men do. They think with their dicks.
I am.
And I don't care.
I slip into the building. Nod to the security guard. He recognizes me. Waves me through.
I slip into the shiny silver elevator. Slide my key into the lock.
Ty lives in the penthouse. You need a key to access the elevator. Even though it opens in a separate room.
That's security.
Safety from everything outside the apartment.
Not from him. Or how badly I want him. Or how much power I'm willing to give him.
Deep breath.
Slow exhale.
The shiny silver doors close. I stare at my reflection, trying to project confidence.
I'm wearing a thong under my jeans.
A bra under my top.
No harness.
And I'm late.
I'm not following any of his instructions.
I'm not giving him a choice.
My fingers curl around the metal safety bar. What if I'm wrong? If this isn't what he wants?
This is the one place we make sense. If I'm not reading him right, if I'm pushing too far, asking for too much, asking for things he doesn't want—
If I can't handle the things he does want—
The elevator dings.
My heart thuds against my chest. It's not role playing. It's not the scene.
I am scared.
Of his reaction.
Of losing him.