Page 10 of Carter

Her face changes, and I force myself not to retreat from the truth. “And before you answer, I owe you something. I should have had this conversation with you before I proposed. I kept waiting for you to become the woman I expected instead of telling you what I expected. That was not fair to you.”

She blinks at me. “You should have told me.”

“Yes. I should have.”

Her brow furrows. She doesn’t understand. “But you’ve spanked me. We made it through that. I can… do that again.” She squirms in her chair. A flash of the sight of her exposed cunny, the memory of the scent of her arousal hits me. My cock hardens.

Down, boy.

Shoving aside my desire, I press on. “It’s not the spanking. It’s trust. We can argue. God knows we always will. I don’t want a wife without opinions. But when a decision touches the danger of this family, I need to know you will hear me instead of treating every no as a challenge to defeat. If you choose me as the head of our household, I owe you something in return: I listen before I decide. I never use your submission to make you smaller. I never confuse my pride with your safety. And if I ask for your trust, I earn it.”

Her eyes sharpen. “And when I think you’re wrong?”

“Then you tell me. Loudly, knowing you. Submission is not silence, Sasha. But after I have heard you, there will be times when the final call is mine—and accepting that has to be your choice. Not something I frighten or spank you into.”

She’s quiet. One hand picks at a sequin on the hem of her dress. One hand twirls and tugs at her hair. She won’t look at me.

It’s time to tell her the truth. The whole truth. I say, “Who do you think I asked for permission to marry you?”

Her eyes meet mine. Her brow knits. “My father? You called him… I remember because you were unsure the country code for Greece⁠—”

“A formality. I went to Bachman’s Jewelers for the ring. Before I bought it. I asked Bronson’s permission. He has the final say of who can enter the family. And he had reservations. But I promised him that you were meant to be a Bachman. I told him how much I love you. Trust you.”

“He didn’t want you to marry me?” Anger wells in her voice.

The hurt hits first. Then comes the armor I know so well—chin high, eyes sharp, every vulnerable thing locked behind anger.

I steady my voice, keeping it level. “No. He didn’t. He said you wouldn’t be able to commit to the lifestyle. But I told him he was wrong. And that I can’t live without you.” Was I the one who was wrong about you?

Her brow narrows. Her eyes flash. When she speaks, her words are quiet. Cold. Calculated.

“Well, it looks like you’ll have to find a way to live without me, after all.”

My world comes crashing down.

Her words are a punch and it lands in my chest, knocking the wind from me. I can barely breathe. I feel the blood draining from my face.

I’ve seen this coming.

It’s been like a small tugging in my gut for some time. A nagging doubt. My instincts telling me how it really is between us. I just didn’t want to listen. I let my love for her cloud the reality of the situation.

Maybe Bronson was right about one thing: I cannot decide for Sasha that this life is hers. She has to choose it with her eyes open, or I have to let her go.

I stand, staring down at her. I say, “It’s over.”

She’s sitting there on the couch. Furious. Her dress has ridden up around her hips. The way she’s sitting, I can see a peek of that perfect cunt that I know is dripping wet. Leaving a spot on my couch. Right underneath the ass I’ve just reddened.

She crosses her arms over her chest. Her breasts rise, bare beneath her dress.

She pouts. This simple gesture is my undoing.

I have to have her, one last time.

The idea of never touching her again tears through me. I want one last kiss so badly I can taste it, but wanting her does not give me the right to take anything.

If she wants me too, she will have to choose it.

I step close but keep my hands at my sides. “Tell me to leave you alone, Sasha, and I will.”