That Master Saxon asshole deliberately made Gabi cry.
Murphy scowled at her computer monitor, then pushed away from her desk. It’d been a rough three days of writing since her visit to the Shadowlands.
How could she put her heroine in a BDSM club when the thought was cringe-inducing? Bad enough what Murphy had experienced years ago, but to see sweet Gabi getting spanked until she was sobbing?
Marcus, her so-called Dom, had let the bully do just that.
I won’t waste my time going back there again. Only…now she had to find a different setting for her book. Which meant throwing away most of her plot and starting over.
Hell.
Writing sucks.
She walked away from her “office”—the corner of her living room—and glanced out the window. It was already dark outside. When had that happened?
Her brain was way too tired to be thinking of new plots. Dammitall.
In dire need of a hug, she called Ross. “Hey, can I come over? Writing isn’t going well.”
There was a long pause before he spoke. “Uh, yeah. Sure. And, babe, can you pick up some food on the way? Maybe to make that chicken enchilada casserole you do so well?”
A tiny bit of anger sparked inside her. Did the man never shop for his own groceries? “Sure, I can do that.”
After all, she needed to eat too.
A few minutes later, at the grocery store, she got a text from Dugan. “I’m starving. Are you cooking tonight?”
What was it with men wanting her to cook for them? She answered, “Sorry, no. I’m not home.”
“Later, then?”
She sighed. Brothers. Dugan was twenty-two, three years younger than her, and a bottomless pit. Farran, four years younger, was what her book’s main character would call feckless. Maybe someday he’d learn adulting. She texted: “No, I’m going to Ross’s for the night.”
“Ok.”
There. Done.
As she picked out the groceries, her thoughts went back to the BDSM club…as had been frequently happening since last Friday.
Why could she still feel the bully’s big hand under her chin? And how he’d looked at her so intently. How she’d felt…seen. Taken care of, even.
And more.
He’d been thoroughly in control of everything around him—and of her. It’d been amazing to not be in charge of anything.
When he talked about pets wanting to be stroked and cuddled, she’d felt that need right down to her toes. And a cuddle was what she needed right now. But not from him. Thank heavens she had a guy of her own.
Later that evening, Murphy lay curled up on Ross’s couch…by herself. She’d made them both a good supper and then…she’d done the dishes.
Grrr. She was trying not to resent that he’d watched a football game while she cleaned the kitchen. Sheesh, it wasn’t even her kitchen.
After she joined him in the living room, he’d gotten a phone call, said it was work, and disappeared into his bedroom.
What kind of a call takes an hour?
On the television, whatever show she was not watching ended, and a sitcom came on. She glanced at the bedroom door, scowled at the sitcom’s fake canned laughter, and turned the sound down.
Dammit. Just…dammit. Sitting up, she wrapped her arms around her knees. She’d come over for company. For cuddles.
There’d been no cuddles. No kisses. Not even any conversation. In fact, she was lonelier here with Ross than she’d been by herself at her place.
Because he didn’t really want her here, did he? When was the last time he’d appeared happy to see her?
When they’d first started dating, he’d meet her at the door and sweep her into big hugs. And sometimes, straight into the bedroom. They’d watched television all snuggled together.
The couch felt too lonely, so she rose, realized her bladder was full, and headed for the guest bathroom.
Inside, she wrinkled her nose at the faint stink of urine. The man should hire cleaners if he was going to be this lazy. She unzipped her jeans and…
There was no toilet paper on the roll.
Seriously? There was none in the closet or under the sink either.
Dammit, and now she really needed to pee.
His master bath had toilet paper. Fine.
At his bedroom, she heard his voice—obviously, he was still on the phone. Well, she’d just tiptoe through to his bathroom and not disturb his conversation.
As she entered, his back was to her.
He laughed, low and deep, as he did when he was feeling sexy. “Fuck, you’re a cutie.”
She stiffened. That was what he called her when they were in bed together. He sure wasn’t talking to his boss. No, he was flirting with someone on the phone…while she’d sat out in the living room. Alone.
As desolation settled in the center of her chest, she made a sound.
Ross turned. His mouth dropped open.
She spoke past the lump in her throat. “Who are you talking with?”
As red suffused his face, he swiped the phone to end the call. “Like I said—someone from work.”
Now he sounded like her father, sidestepping honesty. How many times had Pa gaslighted her? “Someone like Skylar, perhaps?”
The answer was plain in his flinch.
She breathed past the hurt, probably like those masochists did in that BDSM club. Only their pain supposedly turned into pleasure.
Her pain didn’t; it dug deeper, making her whole chest tight. As she sucked in another breath, she caught the pungent scent of semen. A single damp sock lay on the bed.
He’d been jacking off while he talked to Skylar. While Murphy waited for him. “Were you ever going to tell me you’re seeing someone else?”
“No, no, it isn’t like that. I haven’t…”
He hadn’t been fucking someone else and her at the same time? Did she believe that? Thank god she’d had all those STD tests the Shadowlands demanded. “We’re done.”