Page 343 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 1

He shook his head. “Sex is sex. You'll find another spanko now that you know what to ask for. You don't need me for that.”

Fury rushed in her ears. “I see,” she said cuttingly. “So sex is just sex. And that's all I was to you?” Her raised voice sounded shrill to her. She struggled to get off his lap.

He pulled her easily back. “That's not what I meant and you know it. I love you, Kate Strand. I meant it when I said it. And that's why I can't do this to you.” She could feel his agitation growing and it only fueled her own.

“Do what? You can't do what? You can't make me happy by staying with me? You can't just let us enjoy what we have? You think you have the right to make decisions about my future without consulting me?” She was yelling now.

Dom just looked at her sadly, his jaw muscle twitching.

“Let me up,” she said in a deadly quiet tone. “Now.”

He complied.

She finished getting dressed and gathered up her things, making a big show of leaving the key to the Mini Cooper on the bureau.

Dom stood up as well. “No. That car is yours,” he said immediately. “You keep it.”

“I don't need your guilt presents,” she said bitterly.

“Keep. The Fucking. Car.” he said, picking up the key and pushing it into her hand.

“You can't make me!” she screamed, throwing the key across the room.

Dom turned away from her and she heard a half-snarl, a distinctly animal-like sound. He picked up the key and when he turned back she saw his fangs were partially elongated. She should be afraid, but she was too torn up to even care if she was in danger. In fact, she'd be perfectly happy if he just tore her to shreds, because that was what he'd just done to her heart.

He took her wrist and pressed the key into her hand, wrapping her fingers around it.

“Keep the fucking car,” he said again, fiercely. And then a bloody tear rolled down his cheek. “Please,” he added, vulnerability bleeding into his voice. He picked her up by the waist and sat her on the bureau. She tried to push him away, but of course, it was like moving stone.

“Fine!” she said, grinding her teeth.

“Thank you.”

He let her up and she slid off the bureau, swung the door open and walked out, slamming it behind her as hard as she could.

Chapter Twelve

He had to remove the statue of Kate. He used a dolly and carted it off to a corner of his studio, then covered it with a tarp so he didn't have to look at it. Somehow it still had a huge presence, even as a shapeless lump covered with a piece of canvas. He still felt her presence through the covering, as he did everywhere in his house.

The pain was so intense it was unbearable. Not only could he feel every last vibration of her pain, but his own blended with hers, creating a symphony of grief that was so overwhelming he could hardly function. He spent all his time at the club, revamping the accounting system, installing a new inventory method, reorganizing the staff schedule and changing up the entertainment.

He couldn't sleep during the days, and he couldn't sculpt, which left him doing desk and computer work until his eyes turned bloodshot with strain.

He pulled the tarp back off her and stared. She was so beautiful. Someday, when it didn't hurt so badly, he'd be grateful he had this statue to remember her. Then he'd be able to sit and contemplate the short but explosive romance they'd shared. But now was way too raw.

“It's a poor substitute, isn't it?” Fox said.

Go to hell, Fox. He sighed and turned around. “Whatever it is you have to say, I don't want to hear it.”

Fox had his arms folded across his chest and he just nodded, as if he'd expected such a response. “I can keep it in my wing, if you wa—”

“No.” He was being stupid. He didn't want to look at her and be reminded. But he didn't want Fox to have her, either. Even if having her just meant looking at her image in marble.

“When is the last time you felt this way about someone?” Fox asked with a casual tone that he wasn't buying.

Never. “I don't know. Look, it's because I feel something for her that I had to end it. Not that I owe you any explanation.”

“In your 536 years, how often has something like this come up?”

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