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I contemplated the idea of the BDSM club all morning, but eventually, I just gave in and decided to go for it.

I quickly learned there was so much that went into all of this.

First, I had to go through and sign a confidentiality agreement, check a box regarding safe word usage, and I also had to acknowledge consensual play vs harassment or coercion.

Then there was this pre-approval phase.

I had to wait for hours, which made me overly anxious, waiting to hear any sort of update.

Since it was Sunday, I didn't really have class to distract me, but Zion and Sarai invited me over for dinner.

Of course, I had to reschedule with this going on.

Luckily, I heard back by the afternoon about my approval, giving me time to read over the dress code they sent.

No street clothes. Elegant fetish wear is encouraged. Leather, latex, lingerie, or nothing at all. No jeans, sneakers, or logos.

It sounded simple.

But fuck was it hard to narrow down an outfit.

This was my first time at one of these, and I know outfits set the tone for everything.

The only leather pieces I had in my closet were a skirt and jeans.

I didn't have anything latex.

Of course, I had plenty of lingerie, but I felt really hesitant about that for some reason.

I read over Maricel's research list, determining I could opt for something mesh.

Like a see-through moment.

I also have pasties already, so I could wear those underneath.

After hours of tearing my closet apart and texting with Maricel for advice, I finally settled on a black long-sleeve mesh shirt and a tiny leather skirt.

I think that blends the two themes together?

There was also an option to where masks, but I don't really have a mask, and it's kind of short notice.

I don't really mind if my face is seen honestly.

Plus, I ended up doing a cute makeup look, so wearing a mask was the last thing I wanted to do.

My makeup came out really good, and it was a more natural look.

I did do winged black eyeliner and blended it so the wing faded a little, just to add to my dark look.

I also had to cover the bruised M on my chest with a lot of concealer and color corrector, but it worked.

I straightened my wavy hair for once, doing a side part, with one side tucked behind my ear to emphasize my diamond earrings.

I also accessorized with a black leather choker, hoping that would add to my look.

Once I sprayed myself with perfume, I grabbed my bag and phone, checking for any new notifications.

Or specifically, anything from Monroe.

Her hundreds of missed calls were still on my lockscreen from last night.

Apparently, while I was on Do Not Disturb, she had called me repeatedly.

There was only a thirty-minute gap period until she tried over and over again until I had finally answered last night.

I wondered what she was up to or how the retreat was going.

Where her mind is at.

Maybe I'm a little surprised she didn't text after our phone call last night.

And maybe a little... hurt.

I guess because I annoyingly opened up to her, and she left me with nothing.

Aside from sending me food today.

This just shows that I need to stick with moving on, even if it's the last thing I want to do.

I want to think I'm different, but she'll toss me to the side once this obsessiveness fades.

I need to start meaning what I say to her.

A deep sigh fell from my lips, locking my phone as I tugged on my favorite black fur coat.

I hadn't worn it since...

The Archive, when I met Monroe.

I never would've guessed it would lead me here.

It's pathetic, really.

I used to be so independent—I didn't need anyone.

Now it's time to get that back.

Tonight needs to be about restoring that, restoring myself.

The old Liberty is the mindset I desperately need to channel, but somehow my nerves are a mess.

I think if this were any other regular club, it would be totally different, but fuck is this out of my comfort zone.

I could barely think properly as I rode in the Uber, staring ahead as I tried to pretend like my thoughts weren't fucking with me.

But I'm contemplating not even going anymore.

I even texted Maricel, telling her how insane this all is—how I shouldn't go to this.

She proceeded to hype me up in all caps, assuring me that this would be the best night of my life.

I hoped she was right.

Maybe it could be the best night.

I glanced around as we pulled up to the brick building.

There wasn't a sign or anything, just this plain black door with a red light fixture glowing above it.

You wouldn't even know what it was unless you already knew.

The building itself didn't even stand out.

It's another old brick building tucked between a vegan café and a tech startup in downtown Seattle.

It was totally normal and... forgettable.

It made it even weirder.

There wasn't even a line.

No music bassing through the walls.

There was only one door and a tiny buzzer that looked like a doorbell.

I questioned if I was in the right place because the last thing I wanted to do was ring that buzzer, and it turned out to be something completely different.

I hesitantly got out of the Uber, hearing the driver tell me to have a good night, but I was too focused on staring at the building.

I clutched my jacket tightly against my body, briefly glancing around the streets.

The streets were pretty empty considering it's Sunday, but the sidewalks lingered with a few people.

They were either coming out or going into the different restaurants lining the streets.

And here I am going to a fucking BDSM club.

I let out a deep sigh, eyeing the buzzer by the door.

This was my moment to back out if I wanted to.

And I did want to.

But I also felt this excitement... a curiosity that I couldn't fight.

I pressed the buzzer before I could process it, nerves tingling down my spine and making my legs feel loose.

"Name?"

The voice was distorted through the speaker, but it sounded feminine.

"Liberty," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

There was a pause on the other end, the static fading away.

It made my nerves grow, hoping I didn't already fuck this up.

Or what if this really is the wrong place?

"You're cleared. Bag check is inside," the static-filled voice flowed through from the buzzer speaker.

Then the door clicked.

My heart nearly jumped out of my fucking chest, reaching for the cold metal door handle.

The door was really hard to pull open—it even slammed behind me due to how heavy it was.

It was dark inside, but not a nightclub dark.

This kind of dark felt intentional, my eyes had to get adjusted, even if I was standing out on the dark street prior.

Everything had this soft, red glow to it, from the floors to the chandeliers.

The hallway had velvet walls, and as soon as I noticed the mural at the end, I felt my shoulders relax.

The red velvet wall had a large cheetah on it with dark red tropical branches drawn around it.

It was a sign to me.

Cheetahs are my spirit animal.

Maybe this is the right place.

I drew in a deep breath, walking down the hallway as the low music grew more prominent.

There was also the faintest sound of someone moaning.

Or people moaning?

There were so many sounds.

I turned down the open part of the hallway, and almost immediately, I noticed a woman in all black standing by the velvety red curtains.

She looked like she worked there, wearing a tight latex corset and stockings.

She held a clipboard tight against her chest, standing behind the tall stand with no smile.

"Phones go in the carrier," she instructed, pointing to the black carrier hanging against the wall.

Numerous leather bags were in each numbered slot with locks on the zippers.

She handed me one of the leather bags, allowing me to slip my phone inside before she zipped it closed and twisted the lock.

Then she handed me the key to keep in my bag, which she also checked with a small flashlight.

After that, I slipped my furry coat off, awkwardly handing it to her.

I felt really exposed all of a sudden, even if my intimate parts were covered.

It made me nauseous, honestly.

"Wristband color?" was the next thing she asked me.

I blinked, trying to remember what I read in the email.

I think green meant open to play, yellow meant negotiable, and red signals I'm only watching.

I don't know.

"Red is fine," I said, deciding to go with my instinct.

She nodded, grabbing one of the wristbands behind the stand, handing me the red one specifically.

"Rules are posted throughout. Monitors are always watching," she said as I took the wristband from her grasp, eyeing her sharp black nails.

"Okay, thanks," I murmured, peeling the sticky layer back on the wristband to secure it on.

The woman didn't say anything else.

She only motioned for me to walk past the velvet curtains.

Once I had the red band secured on, I hesitantly walked past her, drawing in a deep breath as I slipped through the soft curtains.

It was beautiful...

But in the weirdest way.

It was dark, but it felt warm.

Luxurious even.

Every person I saw looked like they belonged, like they'd done this a thousand times.

They either wore latex, leather, or went bare.

Some even had on strategic outfits with chains hanging on their exposed bodies.

Or intricate lingerie.

Everyone moved like they had nothing to prove.

And then there was me.

I felt like a freshman at fucking orientation.

I walked slowly toward the lounge area, spotting a bar, some couches, and low tables with half-full glasses on them.

People were spread out through the lounge, talking in hushed voices.

I glanced over, noticing a naked woman being led by a leather collar past me.

It caught me entirely off guard, but she looked completely at ease, pulled along behind the man.

I had to physically prevent myself from reacting to the species of a man, knowing that definitely isn't my cup of tea.

I glanced over to the sign by the bar, reading over the rules stated very clearly.

There was a drink limit, stating you also aren't allowed to bring drinks into the "play areas," as they call it.

There's also no drinking allowed for any participants.

I decided to verge away from the bar, unsure if my ID would be black listed here.

That would be the quickest way to end this night.

I walked over to another set of velvet red curtains, passing by different half-dressed or naked people.

My nervousness swirled deeper as soon as I passed by the curtains, taking in the sight before me.

I should've looked away.

It felt like I should've turned back and retreated to the lounge.

But I didn't.

I stood there like I was caught in a dream, staring at something I wasn't even sure I was allowed to see.

On a black leather table near the far wall, a woman laid with her wrists strapped above her head, legs spread open by a metal bar between her ankles, and her slicked core on full display.

Her thighs trembled, her brown nipples hardened under the low lights.

People were crowded around the center display, openly watching the scene unfold.

The woman moaned freely, her mouth parted, and her eyes heavy.

Her skin looked damp with sweat, hips flexing against the restraints in helpless rhythm.

The woman standing over her was dressed in a sheer black robe, which was left open in the front.

It revealed her bare breasts, soft stomach, and dark red strap-on that curved from a harness hugging her hips.

She didn't even glance at anyone else.

Her focus was completely on the woman beneath her.

And God, was she in control.

She held a wand vibrator against the woman's clit, her movements slow and steady.

Every time the woman gasped, her thighs trying to clench around the toy, the other woman would slow down her pace against her clit in rebuttal.

She even leaned in at one point, saying something into her ear.

I couldn't hear the words, but the effect was instant.

The woman sobbed out something, maybe a thank you... or a plea?

Then the wand was gone, just like that.

The woman cried out, loud this time, straining against the table.

And the other woman smiled.

It was cruel, really.

I watched as she slowly ran her fingers down the woman's stomach before slipping two fingers between her folds.

But I could tell her motions were teasing, nothing more.

Yet the woman's whole body trembled like she was about to come just from that.

"Please," she whimpered, her voice broken as the crowd around her soaked in her desperation.

The woman only leaned down to suck one of her nipples between her lips, her hand never stopping the teasing movements.

I unconsciously pressed my thighs together, watching as she withdrew her fingers, lining herself up with the woman's glistening entrance.

And when she finally slid the dildo in, slow and deep, the restrained girl nearly screamed.

It was raw and so fucking intimate.

Erotic in a way that felt invasive, but I swear I couldn't stop watching.

There was something in her helplessness that made my thighs press even firmer together.

I had to force myself to look away, finally.

My heart was racing, and I was unsure if I was turned on, ashamed, or jealous.

Probably all three.

But mostly jealous because I knew only one person could give that to me.

I couldn't even imagine the idea of someone else touching me like that.

Fuck.

Now I feel really edged, and the worst part is—I did it to myself.

"Miss."

I flinched slightly from the soft tap on my shoulder, turning to the woman immediately.

She was the one standing at the front with the wristbands.

"There's a signature missing on file for one of our agreements," she explained, motioning me to follow her.

"Oh okay," I mumbled with furrowed brows, walking behind her.

But she didn't lead me out to the lounge area toward the front.

No.

Instead, we walked toward one of the numerous hallways lined with doors that echoed with moans and grunts behind them.

I even heard the lash of whips and echo of chains, but I tried my best to focus ahead.

It just felt hard when there were people entirely naked, making out throughout the wide hallways.

Some were even being fucked against the wall, their hands restrained above them from the chains hanging from the ceilings.

It was entirely distracting.

I could barely keep up with the worker, following her further and further down the hallway until we stopped by a door at the end.

I assumed it was an office, but as soon as she opened the door, I was quickly mistaken.

I didn't step inside, but I could easily notice the velvet couch and full-body mirror.

There was also a black trunk filled with god knows what, and chains hanging from the ceiling with cuffs on the end.

Then she stepped into view.

My entire face burned the moment we locked eyes, suddenly feeling very caught off guard.

What the fuck.

She's supposed to still be at that retreat.

I hated the annoying warmth blooming around me from her presence alone.

I haven't seen her since yesterday, yet somehow it feels like it's been fucking years.

I need to be strong.

I need to mean what I say, and let this go.

"If you don't go inside, we'll have to have you escorted out," the worker informed me, making me clench my jaw as I silently stared at Monroe.

She unsurprisingly looked as put-together as usual, wearing a black blouse and matching dress pants.

Her sharp black stilettos glistened under the dim lighting—her silky dark hair pulled into a low bun with her bangs framing her glowy face.

There was this look behind her eyes, especially as her eyes trailed my body, taking in my exposing outfit.

She specifically zoned in on my chest, which was covered in concealer, hiding the marking she left on me.

"Escort me out," I mumbled, crossing my arms over my chest defensively.

Monroe didn't react to my words.

She just stared at me, her darkened blue eyes not once glancing away from my existence.

"We can walk together," Monroe had the nerve to say.

I narrowed my eyes at her, realizing that's exactly what she wants.

She wants me to be escorted out.

I clenched my jaw tighter, reluctantly stepping forward, crossing the threshold of the room.

"Three minutes," I said, adjusting my posture to be higher as I walked into the room where she stood.

Monroe didn't respond, she only motioned her head at the woman.

Who had the audacity to flash Monroe a smile, yet she couldn't even bother to smile at me.

Wow, fuck her.

I rolled my eyes as I watched her pull the door closed, leaving me and Monroe alone in silence.

"I'm not leaving," I immediately said, knowing that's why she's here.

Monroe didn't say anything.

She just silently stared at me, making this weird pit settle in my stomach.

I unconsciously glanced down, realizing her sleeves were precisely rolled up.

She had clearly messed with them prior to this, and I knew what that meant for her.

I witnessed it in that lecture hall—when she began fidgeting with her sleeves, mumbling things to herself.

She's on the verge of another breakdown.

Good.

I'm tired of being the only one affected here.

I lazily raised my brows, "Okay, so if that's it—"

"You're getting escorted out regardless, Liberty," Monroe said, her voice lowered with me.

Her words made the tips of my ears burn.

"Right because you have to control everything I fucking do," I mumbled, glancing away from her with irritation, "I'll cause a scene—I'll scream the entire way out."

"Good," she said, rolling her tense shoulders back, "I've missed the sound of your screams dearly."

I rolled my eyes, hating that her words made the warmth around me grow.

My arousal from watching that scene unfold isn't helping either.

"I wasn't even doing anything—I'm wearing a red fucking wristband," I pointed out, lifting my arm up to point it out.

Monroe didn't bother glancing away from my eyes to look at the wristband, "Doesn't matter," she determined, clasping her hands tightly together in front of her body.

"Seriously fuck you," I said, taking a large step back from her, "I'll hook up with someone just to prove a point Monroe," I threatened, even if it was the last thing I ever wanted to do.

But it would set the record straight.

It would give me some type of control in this.

She can't keep shutting down everything I decide to do.

It's insane.

"You're willing to test someone's life over this, Liberty?" Monroe had the nerve to ask, making my face grow hotter.

I wanted to throw a fit.

Maybe even kick something.

"Dr. Kincaid seems like a good fucking test," I decided to say, knowing she was the only leverage that came to my mind. "You have zero control over her."

I expected Monroe to immediately react for once.

Maybe get angry or yell at me.

But she said nothing.

She just stared at me with the most annoying neutral expression for seconds on end.

Then I saw it.

Her hand twitched.

And then her other one curled into a fist.

She turned away from me before I could glance back up at her face, much less process her odd reaction.

I furrowed my brows when she began mumbling something incoherently to herself.

It was almost like a chant she spoke to herself, and it made me feel a little uneasy, considering I couldn't make the words out.

I took a few hesitant steps closer to her, trying my best to make out her words.

"I fix."

I grew more confused by the two lowered words that fell from her lips, unsure of what to say to them.

Then the words came in clearer—

"I don't break, I fix."

They were lowered under her breath, frantic, as she kept her hands tightened into fists, refusing to face me.

I felt a heaviness in my chest, wondering what to do, how to calm her back down.

I take back what I said.

I was just mad, but I didn't want to make her feel like this.

I never want anyone, especially Monroe, to come close to what I've reached these past two weeks.

"Monroe," I softly whispered, gently reaching for her arm.

My fingers barely brushed her covered skin, and she immediately flinched away, taking a step further from me.

"Why are you doing this to me, Liberty?"

Her words were soft, genuine, as if I were physically torturing her right now.

"I'm not doing anything—hey," I softly murmured, carefully reaching for her arm again.

Monroe still didn't let me touch her.

She pulled away, motioning with her hand as if to tell me to go away.

But I could never leave her like this.

"Ro," I tried again, not attempting to touch her again.

But Monroe still didn't respond.

She just took a few steps back, sitting down on the couch with trembling hands.

It made me feel really bad.

Especially when she rested her elbows on her knees, stressfully resting her face in her hands.

It felt like I had genuinely pushed her over the edge.

I quickly walked toward her and lowered down to my knees, hesitantly sliding myself between her legs.

This time, she didn't flinch away.

She just silently sat there, her face shielded by her hands.

I didn't dare say anything else.

I just stared up at her soft hands, waiting for them to finally fall away from her face.

I could hear the deep breaths she took, how she carefully exhaled them.

Seconds blurred into minutes, silently sitting there with her until she was finally back in reality again with me.

I only sat kneeling between her legs, not attempting to touch her further since I didn't want to overwhelm her.

But I knew she could feel my body between her thighs, feel the presence of me here with her.

I drew in the deepest breath when she lowered her hands away from her face, allowing me to finally meet her stare.

She looked neutral, but there was a look behind her eyes.

Her blue eyes even looked heavier as she silently stared down at me, not saying one word.

I didn't speak either, allowing her to control the first move.

But I would be lying if I said my anxiousness didn't grow even more as I stared at her, anticipating if she would ever speak.

I was honestly really happy I could just look at her, stare into her eyes again.

"You scare me, Liberty."

Her words caught me off guard immediately—I almost considered if I had heard her wrong.

Her voice was really lowered and stiff, but the words were crystal clear.

"What, why?" I unconsciously whispered, my brows furrowing as I stared up at her.

It was confusing because I'm scared of her at times.

And now I'm finding out... she's scared of me?

Did I do something wrong?

"I can't detach from you," Monroe said, her blue eyes sinking so deeply into mine, "I have no control when it comes to you, Liberty."

I quickly shook my head, "No-no, you have the control," I assured her, gently grabbing her smooth hands to hold in mine, "You have so much control—you know I would've given it all to you."

Monroe visibly swallowed, staring so deeply into my eyes.

"It's not you. It's me," she clarified, for once glancing away from my eyes, "I can't control myself around you."

I didn't know what to say.

How to help her.

I didn't want her to feel out of control.

"And I like it," Monroe sighed so deeply, stressfully shaking her head as she avoided my stare, "I'm not sure why I like it, or how to stop, Liberty."

Her words were heavy with vulnerability for the first time.

So much so that it made annoying tears burn in my eyes, feeling her emotions to such a deeper degree.

"I know you want me to detach. You told me to leave you—"

"No, I don't," I quickly cut her short, letting go of her hands to gently cup her face instead, "I never wanted that, Ro. I've only wanted you."

Monroe let out a deep sigh, glancing down at the floor with the most heart-wrenching expression.

She's ashamed.

"I'm not sure how to give you that. I can't be this perfect person for you, Liberty," she whispered so softly, unable to meet my stare.

"I don't want you to be perfect, Monroe," I tried to assure her, gently caressing my thumb across her soft cheek.

"I have to be perfect."

Her words were serious, like it was that or nothing.

It made my brows furrow, unsure where her mind was.

What she meant by having to be perfect.

"Tell me more," I decided to say, wondering what she meant.

I didn't want to say the wrong thing.

Monroe let out a deep sigh, shaking her head to herself.

Then she finally glanced up from the floor to meet my stare, her eyes heavy with darkness.

She looked hesitant, noticeably contemplating her next words as she stared at me.

I wasn't sure if she would fully let me in.

If she would open up to me after going back and forth for so long.

"I played piano when I was a child," she suddenly spoke, immediately making my heart shoot up in my chest.

But I tried to remain calm.

Like this new information didn't mean the world to me.

"Ma mère," Monroe effortlessly slipped into a French accent, which caught me off guard slightly. "My mother," she quickly translated for me, her eyes trailing my face. "She was a famous pianist before she got arthritis in her hands."

I nodded, listening intently to her story, wanting to know so much more about her.

I didn't even know she spoke French.

Or that her family was French to begin with, but I guess her last name makes sense now.

"The moment I turned four, she deemed I was fit to begin piano lessons," Monroe continued with the story as I gently caressed her face, holding her blue eyes that burned so deeply into mine, "I spent hours sitting at the bench, trying to amount to her expectations."

Her words made something sink inside of me, knowing what it felt like to have to live up to expectations.

I never reached my mother's expectations once my dad died, but it was always easier as a child when he was still around.

I couldn't imagine that kind of pressure at the age of four.

I already hate her mom.

"I was seven when I stumbled across a piece that I couldn't perform properly," she explained, blinking a few times as if she were genuinely reliving it again, "This was a drastic deal, and I was kept at that bench for hours until I could play the piece properly."

I drew in a deep breath as I processed her words, hating that she had to go through something like this.

"The grounds staff weren't allowed to look at me," Monroe continued, and it took me a moment to piece together that the grounds staff were probably butlers or maids.

"I wasn't allowed to be fed or given attention until I performed it correctly," she specified.

I had to physically fight the urge to frown.

I didn't want to show too much emotion and scare her off from finishing the story.

Or opening up to me again in general.

"Once it hit evening, my mother's patience was gone," she said, tilting her head as she stared down into my eyes, "But she didn't say anything to me. She dropped the piano lid on my fingers instead."

My lips parted, drawing in an even deeper breath as I unconsciously leaned in closer to her.

"There was no crying as it's looked down on in our family.

I simply sat there, my fingers burning as I waited for her to walk away," Monroe explained as I continued caressing her cheek, staring up into her blue eyes, "She told me, you're either perfect, or you don't do it all," she quoted as if she could hear her mother's words in her head to this day, "As years passed, I would constantly be withdrawn from things if I didn't live up to the Leclair image. "

I remained silent, her words hitting me a little deeper.

Now I realize it's not even her need for control.

It's also her perfectionism—this mindset that you have to be perfect or it's taken away.

She organizes things for control, sure, but also to ensure it's perfect.

That nothing's out of place.

"You don't have to live up to anything with me," I suddenly whispered, hesitating over my words with a fear that I might say the wrong thing here, "I like it when you aren't perfect—when you let your guard down."

Monroe shook her head, "That's the thing, Liberty," she said, staring so deeply into my eyes, "I don't know how to aim for anything short of perfect. I can't physically be anything less."

"Being imperfect doesn't automatically mean anything less," I quickly corrected her, hating that she viewed it as that. "You don't think I'm less when I mess up, right?"

"That's entirely different," Monroe determined, making me shake my head.

"It's not," I whispered, lifting up from my legs folded underneath me and closing the space between our faces, "I'll never think less of you. I get you, Monroe."

She blinked a few times, her jaw tensing ever so slightly.

The silence was heavy around us, staring so deeply into each other's eyes.

"Monroe," I softly whispered through the tense silence, "I get every version of you, baby," I assured her, caressing my nose so softly against hers.

Monroe slowly relaxed against me, resting her forehead against mine.

Then I felt her hands slide past my waist, holding me closer between her legs.

"You get me," she said, making everything crumble away inside of me.

All I could do was wrap my arms around her neck and hug her as tightly as I possibly could.

"Please let me keep getting you, Monroe," I whispered, tears burning in my closed eyes.

I tightened my arms around her when she remained silent, hugging me back with just as much force as she buried her face in my neck.

Her arms felt so perfect around my waist, and her breath was soft against my skin.

It felt like everything I've ever wanted in the last couple of weeks.

I don't want to let her go.

"I'll let you keep getting me, Liberty," she said, pressing a subtle kiss to my skin.

I let out the deepest breath, feeling so unbelievably relieved by her words.

It was all I wanted to hear.

More tears weighed down my eyes, sniffling as I tried my best to stumble up to my feet without letting her go.

Monroe's grip tightened on my waist for stability, allowing me to stand from the floor so I could straddle her lap instead.

I buried my face in her chest, "Don't let me go," I forced out weakly, warm tears slipping from my eyes and dampening her blouse.

"Never," Monroe whispered so softly in my ear as I practically clung to her body, "You're my sweet girl."

I nodded a few times in a row, sniffling as I hugged her tighter.

I couldn't get any words out.

My throat felt closed up, but I swear I felt so good.

It felt relieving to be buried in her arms like this.

Neither of us rushed to lean away either.

We just sat there, holding each other for minutes on end, living in this moment.

Everything felt okay again, especially as Monroe caressed her fingertips up my back, drawing soft circles against my skin covered in mesh.

I've never felt more at ease in my fucking life.

"You're not leaving this room without something covering you," Monroe just had to say, breaking the calm silence between us.

I smiled slightly, "Yeah, I figured," I murmured, pressing my cheek against her covered chest, "Maybe there's a blanket."

"I already grabbed your coat and phone from the front," she clarified, which wasn't surprising in the least.

It made my smile grow, actually, "Of course you did," I joked, letting out a soft sigh, "Thank you very much."

Monroe hummed, pressing a soft kiss to the side of my neck, "Of course, darling," she whispered, "Let's leave. I severely dislike you even being in this building."

I hummed softly, "My possessive Ro Ro," I joked, pulling back from her chest to meet her stare.

Monroe's lips twitched up into the smile I missed so much, "God, I've missed Ro Ro," she murmured, making my face burn up.

"And what about me?" I jokingly asked, leaning closer to her.

"Oh, I've missed you dearly," she said, closing the small amount of space between our faces, "I have no one to eat those Dino nuggets in my freezer."

I softly chuckled as she pressed her lips to mine, "We have a huge problem on our hands then," I murmured against her lips.

"Yes, I'm thinking we eat dinner as soon as we leave here," Monroe subtly suggested, and I knew it had to do with my current eating habits.

But I didn't mind it.

It just felt so good to be back in her world again.

"That sounds perfect to me," I whispered against her lips, kissing them again and again, "Then we can talk?"

Monroe smiled as I kept kissing her lips repeatedly, "How about we talk over dinner, darling?" she suggested, earning a few nods from me.

"Yes, please," I happily said, pulling back from her lips to briefly peck her cheek.

"Pretty manners," she praised, leaning down to press the softest kiss to my neck.

My face grew warm from her words alone, running my hand across the top of her head as she pressed another kiss to my collarbone.

I let out a content sigh as she pulled away, openly eyeing her beautiful face.

Everything felt complete again.

I nearly buzzed with warmth from head to toe just from staring at her alone.

I hated even getting off of her lap so we could leave, but I also felt excited for those Dino Nuggets.

It was something else I hadn't eaten in so long.

Monroe helped me with my jacket first, ensuring it was buttoned closed.

She quite literally buttoned it to the top, which I found hilarious.

Instead of walking to the front of the building, Monroe led me toward the back entrance, keeping her arm secured around my waist.

I felt weirdly excited to see her Bentley parked behind the building.

Much less sliding into the familiar passenger side.

The leather seat didn't need any adjustments, and Monroe buckled my seatbelt for me before gently closing my door.

I swear I had the most idiotic smile on my face, but for once, I didn't bother caring how stupid I probably looked.

I'm just happy.

Also, a little nervous about our talk, but I decided to push that to the back of my mind and just enjoy this moment.

This felt like a win.

I got Monroe back in the way I wanted.

I didn't give in for once.

I stood my ground, and it worked.

Maybe I never needed to channel the old version of myself.

This version seems much more fucking capable of getting her way.