I don't look at Nas as we walk past, choosing to stare at the ground in front of me instead. When I reach my car, Juliana opens the door for me like a protective girlfriend and helps me inside. She tells me she's going to follow me to happy hour, and I nod as she says something about Nas, but it doesn't register. While she talks, I watch him slowly shuffle back to the driver’s side of his car and practically fall in. He starts the engine and drives away, somehow even making the luxury Mercedes look sad.

Juliana finishes talking and walks away, leaving me in my car all alone. I think about the look on Nas’s face as he stood there letting me berate him, wondering how hard that must've been for someone like him. He’s highly successful and doesn't answer to almost anyone. He’s as dominant as they come, yet he shrank in front of us all. Maybe after all of this is over, he has a chance to come back down to Earth and be a good person, but I won’t be there if it happens. Nas isn’t the victim in any of this. I am, just like the other four women are, and this is just how it has to be. This is what he deserves. So, I swallow my pain and drive away, hoping to leave every memory of Nasir Booker behind.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

It has been two weeks since I had a proper orgasm. Two fucking weeks. Don't get me wrong, I’ve made myself come, but that’s not what I mean when I say a proper orgasm. I’m talking about the kind of orgasm that can only be obtained when it’s given to you by someone who truly knows what they’re doing. Making myself come using a rose vibrator is nowhere near the same as being tied to a spanking bench with a wand secured squarely on my clit, while Nas fucks me from behind. It’s not the same as his dick tapping my g-spot over and over until I erupt like Mount St. Helens, pulling at my restraints like an animal against its leash. That is a proper orgasm, and it has been two goddamn weeks since I’ve been torn apart.