what happened. I can’t control what Logan believes. I can only control my actions and responses.
And I’m done being a doormat. For my father. For Logan. For anyone.
He left long instructions for my day. No more butt plugs, thank gods. My ass still feels stretched and sore—in the most delicious way.
I take his list of commands and head to the bathroom. Submitting sexually to Logan is different than being a doormat. I’m participating with him and there’s a willing exchange of control. It’s thrilling and life-giving.
When I look in the mirror, a beautiful, vibrant woman looks back, her eyes wide and soft and filled with satisfaction. No longer a mousy wallflower who thinks she should stay quiet in the background.
I arch my back and examine myself. My nipple piercings look good. The area is still a bit red, but no sign of infection. I perform the aftercare per Logan’s instructions and soak my breasts in a sea salt solution. Logan also left a can of saline wash with orders to mist my nipples several times a day. If I don’t, he says he’ll punish me and oversee the aftercare himself.
The threats make me smile. If he has his way, the piercings will heal perfectly, and I’ll always remember last night, his claim. He’s making sure he’s always a part of me.
Even if I take out the piercings, he’ll always be a part of me. Permanently. But then, he would have been without the piercings, anyway.
As I return to the bedroom, my phone chirps from the drawer I tossed it in. I’ve been ignoring it—sending Rachel the bare minimum of texts to keep her from calling the cops. Should I take a picture of my nipples and send it to her? I grin at the thought.
The phone screen tells me she’s called three times already this morning. I quickly sober. She’s probably not in the mood to hear about my sex life.
Time to face reality. I click the call button and wander to a seat by the fire. I’m naked but for a towel around my waist. Logan’s trained me to feel comfortable in the buff. Yet another thing for Rachel and I to giggle about during our next girl’s night.
Rachel picks up on the second ring. “Oh thank gods,” she gasps. “I have good news, and I have bad news.”
I rub my forehead. “Go ahead.”
“The good news is...Adam hasn’t bothered you these past few days.”
She’s right. He’s been quiet. Not a call, not even a text.
“What’s the bad news?”
“Well...the reason he’s not bothering you is he’s busy planning your engagement party.”
I almost drop the phone. “What?!” I start to pace. “Shit, Rachel, that is bad news.”
“Um, that’s not the bad news. I kinda might have promised him you’d be there. You know, at your own engagement party.”
I groan and collapse into a chair. A hoard of workmen have moved into my head, and they must be doing demolition, because my head is pounding.
“I know,” Rachel whispers. “I couldn’t stop him. I could only buy time. He’s left you alone because he thinks you’re resting up and getting ready for the ball.”
“A ball? You mean the engagement party?”
“He kinda invited everyone in Olympus. At least, everyone who matters.”
Meaning: the rich and famous and powerful. The jackhammering in my skull increases.
“The board?”
“Yep.”
“The donors?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah,” Rachel agrees. “I couldn’t stop him. When I wouldn’t give him your location, he was going to track your cellphone and show up to surprise you.”
I clutch the phone. I am having a heart attack. There’s no other way to describe this tightness in my chest.
“Daphne?”
Breathe, just breathe.
“Okay, Rachel. Thank you. When is the ball?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Of course it is.” I can’t react with shock—I have no more to give. “Can you get a dress and stylist ready?”
“You’re going?”
“Of course I am.” What better time to break off my engagement? Not ideal, but it has to be done.
It’s time to finally stand up to Adam.
Ten minutes later I knock on the library door. I’m dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, a brand new sports bra cradling my breasts. Feels weird to be wearing clothes.
Logan’s reading a paper, ignoring my approach. I almost go to my knees, but decide against it. We need to have this conversation as equals.
“Logan, I need to talk to you about something.”
He lowers the paper and blinks at my clothed form. His ice-blue gaze pierces me. His mask is white today. “I think you mean, ‘Master.’”
But I don’t lower my head. “Yes, you’re Master, but you’re also