Page 145 of Redeemed

“I don’t have very many options, do I?”

I grimace. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I guess I figure there aren’t many people I could ask to do this. Not many I trust, at least.”

Again, I get that feeling of not measuring up—of not being trustworthy enough for her. Except this time, Iwantto measure up. I want Haven to have the blind trust she had in me when we were younger, and I want to live up to the man she thought I was.

“So… we’ll use a safeword?”

This time, I can’t stop myself, and my fingers thread through her soft hair. “I don’t think I could do it any other way.”

Have I fantasized about doing it with no safeword in sight? Of course, and I probably always will. And while I can’t deny that we’ve blurred the lines of consent with little to no remorse, I don’t want to make Haven feel the way Colton did. That’s too much, even for me.

“Okay. What should our safeword be?” she asks.

“That’s up to you. It’s gotta be something you wouldn’t say normally. We can use plain language—things like ‘no’ or ‘stop,’ but if you want to be able to scream and cry and beg us to stop without us actually stopping, it’s best to use something else.”

“Hmm.” Haven touches her fingertips to the glass next to her. “Window?”

I can’t help my laugh. “Yeah, sure, that works.”

“Okay, then. I’ll say window if I want you to stop.”

“All right.”

“And… you will stop?”

I hate that she feels the need to ask again. I hate that she’s been forced into this situation at all, and even more, I hate that she feels the need to do this to get past her sexual trauma.

Leaning in, I kiss the tip of her nose. “I promise we’ll stop.”

“Okay.” Nervously, Haven twists some of her hair around a finger. “I—I want to try it.”

“All right. We’ll talk things over with Lucas and Colton tomorrow.”

An odd feeling settles over me. It’s equal parts excitement and dread. I’ve wanted to do something like this to Haven for years. Ever since I met her, really. But there’s a part of me that’s terrified of that fact, which I’ve gotta admit, I wasn’t expecting.

I just don’t want to add to her pain. Not anymore.

She’s been through enough.

Colton

TheGrandHotelsitson the south end of Main Street. It’s a newer building, and it stands out in Birchwood as not only the tallest structure, but also the most regal. My father had it built when I was barely old enough to remember, and he wanted it to be the most luxurious resort in the state.

I’m pretty sure he succeeded.

I park my BMW and take in the building as I stroll up to it. The meticulously kept gardens, while they’re not in bloom anymore, are free of dead leaves and anything that could ruin the aesthetic of the property. The fountains are still going, although my guess is this is the last week before they’re emptied. We’ll hit temperatures below freezing soon enough.

In the main lobby, I nod to the receptionist and make my way to the northernmost part of the hotel. There’s an extra-large conference room that’s often used for Glass Rook purposes, and that’s where we’re meeting today.

I walk into the room wearing my usual attire for these types of things—dress pants, a white button up, and black leather shoes. My father is dressed similarly, as are most of the men in here. The women are in a variety of dresses and blouses, but the only one that stands out to me is Charlotte’s.

The woman’s style always outshines everyone else’s in the room. It doesn’t matter that she’s in her mid-sixties. I haven’t seen a day when she wasn’t the most elegant, the most put-together, the most confident.

Charlotte typically leans toward neutrals, and today isn’t the exception. She’s wearing a cream sweater and pants that are… a dark tan? I’m sure there’s a more appropriate label that she could tell me. Burnt caramel, maybe? Or maybe the color would have a coffee-themed name.

Beats me.

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