@VaughnAsher #CommandMe and I’ll comply. #AskMe and I’ll give in. #LetMeChoose and I’ll #BeYours Which do you want more?

When I look over at her, she’s twisting her hair, her eyes are wide and expectant, and her breathing is faster than it was. She’s nervous. “Is there any doubt in your mind which one I want more?”

She points to the computer in my lap. “Tell them, not me.”

“You need reassurances?” She nods but lets the question hang there. “You want a public declaration, just like I wanted a public submission?”

She nods again. “I don’t want to be your secret.”

“You’re not a secret. We’re tweeting as ourselves. Everyone can see it.”

“I don’t want to be your servant, either.”

“It’s a joke, sweets. Since when do you take it so seriously, anyway? You never took it seriously on the island. And you have to admit, I’ve been so much better since we came back to our real lives. I’ll stop with the jokes if you want, but that’s all it was. Am I calling you girl? Are you calling me Master? No. We’re in a different phase now, can’t you tell?”

“I…” She exhales and closes the laptop. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure what I’m doing. I need to go home. I’m really confused, to be honest. I mean, so much is going on outside this sanctuary. I’m worried about the fallout. I’m worried about my job. I’m worried about… you. And me. And I have to admit, you’re so much closer to the dream guy I envisioned now, it scares me.”

“Why?” I laugh, but I don’t mean it as a joke. I just don’t understand where she’s coming from.

“God, are you really that oblivious? Do I really need to spell out having your parents murdered, your life ripped apart, and the feelings that leaves behind?”

I close my laptop too, then put it aside. I stand up and scoot over to her lounge, moving her over and wrapping her up in my arms all in the same gesture. I place her on top of me, her head leaning on my chest. “I didn’t mean it that way, Grace. At all. I was just playing with you.”

“I know, but I have a hard time understanding when the game stops.”

“The game is over. I won. You’re mine.”

“That’s caveman talk, Asher.”

“Yeah. But it’s true. And it’s simple. I don’t think it requires explaining. But if you need it explained, Grace, I’m in love. I love you. It’s not even difficult for me to say, it’s easy. And if you need me to go online right now and say it in a tweet, fuck yeah. I’ll do it.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. Not really. You say I’m yours, but I don’t feel like yours.”

“Aww.” I squeeze her a little tighter because my heart hurts a little with her admission. “I’m gonna have to make you feel like mine, then?”

“Yeah,” she says in a pouty voice.

“Mmmmm, that I can totally do. Should we go out tonight? It’s not a good idea. The paparazzi will be on you for a while and I’ll probably end up in a fight if they get too close. But I’m happy to take you out.”

She thinks about this for a while and I let her take her time, just stroking her hair and relaxing. Enjoying what we have.

“It really doesn’t scare you?”

“What, sweets?”

“Losing.”

I huff out some air though my nose. “What should I be afraid of losing?”

“Me,” she says with an incredulous tone.

Chapter Thirteen

#AlwaysWantedToBeCharmed

CAN HIS life really have been so charmed? That he has no fear of losing anything? God, what would that be like? “I don’t think I understand you, Asher.”

“Asher?” he asks, sitting up a little straighter so he can look at me. But I turn my head so he can’t. “Why the hell are you calling me Asher now? What did I do?”

“I just can’t relate. And even though I shouldn’t hold it against you, I do. I’m fucking pissed that my life is so fucked up and yours is so perfect.”

“Perfect?” He laughs. I can feel it through his chest. “You know, my whole life people have thought that about me. I’ve heard it so many times I stopped listening. But coming from you, shit. That kinda hurts.”

I scrunch up my face in confusion, but I stay still. I know it’s wrong to assume his life is perfect, but from my perspective, it is. There’s just no comparison.

“You want to know my demons, Grace? Do you need to know my secrets to be able to accept that I’m capable of understanding what you feel? What do you need?”

Do I? Do I need for him to be damaged for me to accept this… whatever this is? And if I do, what does that say about me? That I can only relate to the lost and the tragic?

“Because if that’s what you need, then fine. I have never really articulated it in words before. I’ve never had to,” he says in a whisper as he gives me a squeeze. “No one ever wanted me to justify my personal trauma to prove that I can understand them. But I will.”

“Wait.” I stop him with a hand on his chest. I push myself up so I can look him in the eye. “If this is really fucked up of me, then no.”

“Grace, why does it matter if it’s fucked up? Why do you care what I think of your request?”

“Because I don’t want you to think I’m…” I let out a long sigh. “That he… ruined me. That I’m damaged and dirty and unlovable.”