Chapter 132 Submission Was Never My Style

• By the time we make it back to our private tent that night, exhaustion finally crashes over me. I sink onto the edge of the bed, untying the leather straps from my wrists. Every muscle aches, and without thinking, my hand drifts to my lower belly again.
• Jack turns from the basin where he’s washing up, water glistening on his forearms. “You’re quiet,” he murmurs, drying his hands. “Usually, you’re the one giving victory speeches by now.”
• I let out a soft laugh. “Maybe I’m learning to let my actions speak for me instead.”