Page 70 of Pierced

Two. He’s not a submissive. In any way. So it was bound to come out, and that’s the moment it emerged.

Three. My power isn’t what it used to be.

And the thing is, it’s all three of these possibilities. I was in his dungeon, he’s not a submissive, and I am not the woman I used to be.

And there’s nothing wrong with any of those things.

I close the wardrobe to make my reflection go away just as my phone dings a text. I glance down at the screen.

Anastasia is here! That’s the message from Samantha at the gate.

“Great,” I mutter. “Figures he’d be punctual.” I was hoping for a little time to figure out all my… feelings… which I’m also trying to deny I have, but that’s a luxury for another time.

I was going to wait for him down here in the dungeon, but I’ve changed my mind. I go upstairs, get to the living room just as the lights on his McLaren switch off, and then open the door.

Pierce is absently adjusting his coat collar with leather-gloved fingertips, looking around at the house as he travels up the long, curved walkway, looking like he hasn’t got a care in the world.

Eden was right. #Fail.

I have failed. And to be fair, it was doomed from the start. I made a mistake with Pierce. Well, not true. Many mistakes.

That’s when he notices me standing in the doorway. He’s about fifteen feet away when he stops and says, “Myrtle?” with equal parts confusion and… what is that? Worry? “What are you doing? Go inside, it’s freezing out here tonight.”

I sigh. Massive. #Fail.

“I wanted to stop you,” I say.

“Stop me from what?” he says, smiling. Walking forward again.

“From coming inside,” I say. “The deal’s off, Pierce. We’re done.”

“What? No, no, no. I passed your test. I get a reward.” He does that cute eyebrow lift thing I’ve come to love over the years. It’s a playful expression, one that says he’s in a good mood. And why shouldn’t he be? He won. Again.

“I’m afraid I owe you an apology, you see—”

“Can we go inside?” he says, looking down at my legs. Bare, except for the silk stockings. “It’s like twenty-two degrees out here.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “We’re not going—”

But he grabs my hand as he pushes past, taking me with him. “Whatever’s going on, we’re not doing this outside. Come on.”

I follow him, stopping in the large foyer, just underneath the massive chandelier, and he closes the door, once again reminding me that I’m not the one with the power in this relationship, he is.

And the thing is—the most important thing is—he’s not doing it to make a point. He’s not trying to be a dick, or throw his authority in my face, or ask me to submit to him. Not at all.

He’s acting this way because this is just who he is. This is just him, being him.

“OK, now… what’s going on?” he asks. “What’s the problem?”

It’s a thing I loved about him. The very first thing I noticed when I came in for the interview as his assistant at Le Man. He was the fresh-faced rich boy. Eager to show his father what he was made of. And I was…

“Myrtle?”

I was coming out of something. Something I thought I left behind a long time ago but now find myself fully immersed in once again. I wanted something normal. Something that would ground me to the real world and take me out of the fantasy life I’d been living in since I left my mother’s school and went to college.

I wanted to reinvent myself, but not the way I did when I entered the lifestyle. Because the girl I was at the Quaker school was something I was happy to discard. The woman I became in the lifestyle was something… else.

“Myrtle? What’s going on?”