What's home, if not the first place you flee from? What's love, if not that blazing, unexplainable feeling born from the ashes of hate?
Reputable for her appeal, servility, and obsession with cartoons, Alaina is a workaholic immigrant doctor who's s...
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Surf Mesa ft. Madison Beer - Carried Away.
🌼
I TRASHED THE UNIFORM. The red gown too—right after I showered. They were both soaked in too many damp memories. He'd already ruined the red one anyway. Tore it. Ripped it off me and...I don't want to think about that right now.
I never realized how used to Mr. Ash's house I'd become these past few months. Maybe that's why I feel so displaced, standing in another person's kitchen, trying to make coffee. I don't even like coffee. But I need to stay awake. Falling asleep on duty isn't an option. We may be back in Markham, and my behind may still ache like hell courtesy of my boss, but I know better than to expect mercy from him.
This compound isn't like Mr. Ash's. It doesn't have three towering buildings; it's just one. A big, red-brick mansion that feels warm and lived-in, but it doesn't hold a candle to his place in Toronto.
We left the city earlier today.
I don't know when or how I fell asleep after he left last night, but I know I showered first...and I slept on my stomach. I couldn't lie on my back. It still stings. Even now.
Honestly, I'm grateful I knocked out early, because Jerry woke me around 3:30 a.m. to help him pack up and secure the house.
After I apologized for not saving him a dance, we worked side by side, locking every door, checking every corner. I made sure to double-lock mine too. Mr. Ash's sharp, cutting warning from last night had me smacking myself mentally. I should've locked up. But Joan's excitement dragged me to the party and I forgot.
I was excited to get back to Markham. It's been home for so long. I couldn't wait to see my mum, reconnect with friends. And riding in the back of Mr. Ash's cursed Audi, Joan beside me, was honestly fun. I found out she loves Ed Sheeran, Camila Cabello...and the animated movie Up, like me.
I also don't know what happened at the party after Mr. Ash and I left. And to be honest, I don't care. I've been too busy thanking every lucky star he didn't follow through on that humiliating announcement he threatened me with. The idea of being torn apart by strangers' judgment in a room full of gossiping mouths...God.
Still, from what I heard this morning in the car, the party ended well.
I try not to think about what happened in the Maid's Quarters. I try...but of course, I fail. Every step I take is laced with a wince that drags the memory back to the surface. His voice. His hand. His belt. His heat...All of it.
Joan was right. Mr. Ash does want me. His hard-on, pressing against my thigh. His ragged breathing, drowning in my ear. The filth he whispered between clenched teeth. He was wrecked by me—and I...God, I don't even understand myself.
I shake my head, try to purge the memory for the hundredth time this morning.
It doesn't work.
How on Earth did we went from screaming at each other to...me moaning like that? And worse—liking it. I liked it. Even though it burned, even though I wanted him to stop. Even though his words sliced and his actions bruised—I was soaked, and aching, and it felt...Jesus. It felt good.
