Three Hard Lessons (Blindfold Club 2)

That was as far as I got before Dominic tore the phone out of my hand and put it to his ear. “Evie, wait a minute—”

Dominic’s eyes went wider when he realized whom I was talking to. The reality was that Evie had never bought or sold a car, and she knew shit about mine. If I asked her to do this, she’d go straight to Logan for help, so this saved time. Plus, Logan was more administrative than Evie anyway.

I stood silent as Dominic appeared to get an earful from Logan.

“She’s upset because I screwed up,” he said into the phone, “but she doesn’t need to—” He focused on me. “You don’t need to sell your car. If you really want to leave me that bad,” he pulled out his wallet and plunked it down on the table, “go ahead.”

I stared at the black square of leather while I heard Dominic mutter a goodbye and hang up. My phone was set with a thud beside his wallet. My bones hurt. My eyes felt like they had acid in them.

“I don’t want to go,” I said, “but I can’t stay here.” In less than a month I was going to have to leave Japan anyway.

“Payton, I can’t leave.”

I shrugged, but inside I felt like I was cracking. Breaking into a thousand jagged pieces. “You made that choice.”

“Don’t do this, please.” His voice was so desperate, it was terrifying. “I love you. I’m sorry. I love you so much . . . How can you just walk away from that?”

My eyes filled with more acid, a

nd it spilled over my eyelashes. Tears. He’d made me fucking cry—the first time since that deathly silent spring break my sophomore year. I swiped at my cheeks and reached for his wallet, but suddenly Dominic’s arms were around me. His lips slammed into mine. No. I turned my head away, breaking the kiss.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “We belong together, and . . . I can prove it.”

Because I was pressed up against him, I could feel how fast his heart was banging in his chest. I put my hands on his shoulders to ease him away.

“Come for me,” he said, his voice hushed and unsure. “Right now.”

“What? No,” I gasped. What the fuck was this? That was the absolute last thing I wanted. But my body had a hard time fighting two months of training, and I was filled with horror when the first wave of pleasure began.

“No!” I gasped again, this time for myself but it was too late. It was happening whether I wanted it or not. I shut my eyes, determined not to look at him, willing my traitorous body to stop. Futile. The heat spread like fire through gasoline and I shuddered. Since I had limited control, I did the only thing I had left. I dug my fingernails into his shoulders, biting them into his flesh.

I heard him make a noise of discomfort while I came. My body bucked in his hold, and thankfully the damn thing went away as quick as it had arrived, but it left me reeling. My eyes flew open and I gave him the darkest, angriest look I had. The one that said, “Drop dead, motherfucker.”

“How could you?” I shoved him away and once the orgasm had completely left my body, it was replaced with fury. He’d used that command on me like a weapon, flexing his control. When I first arrived here, Dominic had said he was going to own me, and I’d never felt more owned than I did right now.

He’d made me a slave.

“This is over.” I snatched up my phone in a shaky hand. “I’m going to the airport. Text me with the flight details, and then delete my number from your phone.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry! Wait, please—”

Not a chance. I grabbed my suitcase and stormed out the door, slamming it shut. He had enough sense not to chase after me, which was good because I would have stopped him any way possible.

I sat at the bar in Tokyo airport’s first class lounge, staring at the three cubes of ice in my rum and Coke. I’d had two already, and my thoughts were fuzzy and distracted. He’d bought me a first-class ticket home. Was it supposed to be a gesture? Part of an apology? It didn’t make a statement if that was his plan. We were both aware how much money he’d come into recently.

That fucking check, with all its zeros and the months of lies that went with it.

“Excuse me, miss, do you speak English?”

I turned in my seat to face the male voice. Older, maybe mid-forties. Friendly eyes and a crooked nose, packaged in a suit. British, maybe?

“Yeah,” I said. “I don’t know how to speak anything else.”

“Ah.” His lips pulled back, revealing a matching crooked smile. “American.” He made a face. “I meant, you sound American. I didn’t mean to imply that Americans—”

I waved a hand. “I got it.” Then I blinked with annoyance when he sat beside me without an invitation. I wanted to be alone.

“Are you on the flight to Heathrow?” He had a pleasant expression on his face, but it wasn’t working for me.