Page 74 of Ruined Vows

I’ve barely been able to concentrate on the student essays I’m supposed to be grading. My thoughts are so consumed with him. Is he icing me out because I made him mad earlier? Or is he just respecting my wishes because I told him I needed to work?

Relationships with men are so frustrating! Not that this is a relationship or anything. Gah! Why am I not a lesbian?

I’m just about to toss the essays to the side and demand to know what’s going on in Isaak’s head when he tugs out his earbuds and says, “Oh, I forgot to ask. Is it okay if we drop by the club tonight? I need to talk to one of the guys about something.”

“Of course.” I blink, surprised at his easy tone. “Is it something urgent?”

“Nah,” is all he says before putting his earbud back in.

And that’s all I get.

I want to march over there, yank the damn things out of his ears, and put them in a lockbox until he tells me what he’s been thinking about all day. But then I remind myself, for the millionth time, that I don’t have any right to do that. We’ve just been fucking to let off steam. Yes, it’s been very,veryhot, but once the boiling tea kettle’s finally cooled down, well… that’s the whole point. Steam released.

We’re both more rested and relaxed now, and we can be ourselves again. I can go back to being an uptight, OCD professor who worries too much about too many things all the time constantly, and he can be… I glance in his direction again and sigh. He can be Mr. Cool Guy with no worries in the world, never attached too deeply to anyone or anything.

We were never going to work.

Uh, duh, because you have a fiancé, remember?But even if I didn’t, there’s no world in which Isaak and I work. No matter how many times he growlsminein that rough, needy voice of his as he claims my body one piece at a time.

* * *

“We’ll just dropin for like half an hour then head home,” Isaak tells me as I’m driving us to the club.

“What if I want to stay longer?” I ask. If I’m honest, I’m still pissed he hasn’t been more talkative all day. It’s like he turned into an entirely different person all of a sudden. The teasing, light-hearted guy has disappeared, and Mr. Broody has taken his place.

“Then you should’ve worn more layers.”

I frown in his direction. “What’s that mean?” Is he seriously trying to police what I wear now? Because that’s a big red flag in my book.

“Never mind. We won’t be here long enough for you to find out.”

I turn to him after I park and unclick my seatbelt. “Look, buddy, I don’t know what bit your butthole and crawled up your ass, but when I come toCarnal, I like to stick around and watch. Why waste a visit? These are your friends, right? I haven’t talked to Moira all week, and?—”

“If Moira’s here, she’ll be on the hunt for dick.”

“God, do you always have to be so crude?”

“Crude is who I am. Sorry if that offends your delicate sensibilities, Red.”

Usually, I’d expect a smirking grin with a statement like that, but he’s still just glaring out the front windshield.

“You really are an asshole, you know that? Fine. You can take an Uber home. But I’m staying.”

I shove my door open and activate the lock behind me. I stomp forward, not slowing when Isaak calls out for me to wait. Soon enough, I hear his big, clodhopping footsteps coming after me.

I ignore him even when he easily catches up to me and begins walking alongside me. “You shouldn’t run away from me like that, Red. I’m supposed to be your security but I can’t watch our surroundings if I’m busy chasing after you.”

“Don’t call me Red,” I reply, a little automatically.

“Of course, your Princessness. “

It’d be wrong to turn around and smack my bodyguard in the face, yeah?

Finally, we reach the back door of the club, and Isaak presses his keycard against the little panel for members and club employees. Okay, that actually is cool. I’ve never entered this way.

There’s not much more to see once we’re inside a dark, narrow little hallway with lamp sconces affixed to the walls about every five feet. It’s far cozier than having industrial overhead lighting, and as we pass by, I see open doors into cozy little rooms, each with a wide, comfortable-looking chaise, a wall-mounted TV, several other over-stuffed chairs, and an array of BDSM gear hanging from the wall.

We don’t even make it into the central play area before running into Quinn. She’s barely recognizable striding down the hall without all her black gear and latex. Instead, she’s got on a black scarf, hat, coat, and gloves.

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