The guy looks from Pavel to Kimberly.
“Sorry,” he says, not really sounding it.
Kimberly hip checks his table, sloshing the guy’s drink into his lap. “Oops. Me too.” She sashays over to where I stand beside Pavel. “Thanks,” she says to Pavel then elbow nudges me. “We should bring him to all the events.”
“Yeah, I think this is my last one,” I tell her. “I’m not feeling it.”
Kimberly blows out a breath. “Yeah, this one sucks. I’m sorry I guilted you into coming.” She points a finger at Pavel. “Don’t you go punishing her for this or whatever it is you do.”
Beside me, Pavel goes very still.
My face flushes. “Kimberly.”
She shrugs. “Whatever. Consenting adults and all that.” She rolls her eyes and leaves us.
“I’m sorry,” I moan.
Pavel’s throat works. I see that torment I saw in his eyes the night on the balcony.
“Oh God. Don’t listen to her. She doesn’t get it, okay? We know what we have is perfect.” I press my body up against his. “It’s amazing.”
He’s characteristically hard to read.
“I got wet when you were defending her,” I murmur in his ear.
Pavel’s arm loops around my back. A muscle moves in his jaw. “This has been hard for you—our relationship.”
“It hasn’t,” I answer immediately. “It’s not.”
“There are consequences for lying, blossom.”
He’s right. It is hard—but not in the way he thinks. What’s hard is the rollercoaster of closeness and cleaving. Peeling myself off the floor every Monday after he goes back home.
A home where he lives with people who know him infinitely better than I do.
What’s hard is knowing it’s all temporary—even what little we have. He’s moving to Russia and leaving me behind.
And for some reason, that ending—which seemed far enough away when he told me, now feels like it’s hurtling closer and closer. Because the more I fall in love, the more terrified I become about our inevitable end.
16
Pavel
Monday I set up an appointment with a realtor in L.A. to look at apartment buildings and spend all day researching rent prices and crunching numbers. Kayla fills my mind the entire time, but it’s not the usual mental snapshots of Kayla. All the moments over the weekend where she burned my retinas with her incredible beauty.
Today, I’m thinking more about the totality of Kayla. Her friends, her career, her life. Until I saw her working that promotion and heard her roommate’s judgment of our relationship, I hadn’t known what I didn’t know. I hadn’t bothered to insert myself into Kayla’s life, I’d just borrowed her from hers.
And now, I think I’m going to move to Los Angeles, and it’s all going to work out fine? No, last night showed me I have some work to do. Work in areas I know jack shit about. But I’ll figure it the fuck out. That’s what I do.
My phone rings, and I look at the screen. I’m surprised to see it’s Kayla. We don’t call each other much—especially not during the day. It’s usually for bedtime phone sex and a virtual tuck-in.
A bump of concern raises in my mind as I answer. “Hello beautiful.”
Kayla sniffs. My fingers clench into a fist, and the hand holding the phone nearly crushes it.
“What happened?” If it’s Ensign, I will kill the fucker by nightfall.
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s just...sub drop, I think.”
Fuck. We hadn’t even played that hard yesterday. After sleeping in, I’d tied her up, spanked her a little. Made her come a dozen times, and then I had to head to the airport to come back here. She hadn’t cried. I hadn’t pushed her pain limits or endurance.
“Oh malysh. I wish I was there to hold you.” Desperation to make those tears stop has me up and pacing around my bedroom. “Has this happened before?”
Another sniff. “Yes. Mondays are hard for me. Not usually this bad, though. That’s why I called. I just needed to hear your voice.”
My chest burns like my lungs are being ripped out. I had no idea she was going through this.
“Where are you?”
“In my room. I never got out of bed today. I need to get it together, though, because I’m supposed to go to the studio tonight to meet some of the cast.”
“Have you eaten, blossom?”
Another sniff. “No.”
“Okay. Your brain chemistry needs balancing. Get out of bed, little flower.”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice is still teary, but I hear her moving.
“Go and turn on the shower nice and hot.” I wait until I hear the water running. “Now I want you to take a shower, get dressed and make yourself some lunch. Or breakfast. Whatever you feel like. Call me when you’re done.”
“Okay.”
“Good girl.”
“Thank you, Master.”
I hang up and throw my phone at the wall. It bounces off and lands on the floor with another few bounces. I ignore it and pace around the room, stabbing my fingers through my hair.
Dammit.
I am bad for Kayla.
No wonder her roommates think there’s something wrong with our relationship. If our time together leaves her crying and depressed afterward, it can’t be right. I am no better than my father. Yes, our play may be consensual, but I’m a monster, just the same. I like to hurt the woman I love. What the fuck is wrong with me?
I pick up my phone and grab my coat. Without talking to Ravil, without telling anyone I’m leaving, I walk out.
My little slave needs me, and that’s all that matters.
Kayla
I make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for myself and pour a glass of milk. Total comfort food. I sit at the table and force myself to take a bite of the sandwich then swallow the sticky bite down with a gulp of milk.
“Are you sick?” Ashley asks, coming into the kitchen.
“No.” I instantly start crying again.
“Oh shit,” she says, abandoning her foray into the refrigerator to fly over to the table and sit beside me. “What’s wrong? Did you and Pavel break up?”
I shake my head. “No. I just miss him.”
She studies me. “This long-distance thing is tearing you apart, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I think it’s just sub-drop, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, during an intense BDSM scene, all these endorphins and feel-good chemicals dump, and you get the high from it. But sometimes it causes a big drop afterward. It takes a while for your body to reboot and balance things. Pavel’s usually there to hold me and feed me a little chocolate or a meal and cuddle me until I feel better. But sometimes it hits after he’s gone, and I’m just… depressed.”
“Oh, baby. This isn’t good, Kayla. Don’t you have your first meeting at the studio tonight?”
“I know,” I moan. “That’s why I’m trying to get it together.”
“You will,” she promises, even though I see sympathy and concern bleeding through her expression. “I’m sure you will. But… you can’t let this relationship affect your career. It’s already taken over your life—I mean we never even see you here any more. When you are here, you’re holed up in your room having phone sex with him. And this whole concept of giving over all your control to him—I just don’t get it.”