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I can’t help but laugh at her passive aggression, or rather, straight up southern aggression, which forces the food I swallowed to get lodged in my chest, making me cough-snort. Pretty sure I have lettuce in my nostrils. This woman.
We eat in silence, and to her credit, she clears every morsel of everything she ordered. I’m starting to think she’s a sociopath though. Who gets a Frosty without getting fries to dip into it? Feels like Wendy’s blasphemy if you ask me. Why do they even let her eat there?
“If you could go anywhere in the world and cost or time wasn’t an issue, where would you go?” Away from this fucking situation I’ve somehow found myself stuck in.
I said the quiet part out loud again.
Fire flashes in her eyes before she leans forward to poke my arm. “Listen here, Grumpasaurus. I know how to take care of my car. I can change a fuse, change a headlight bulb, check the oil and the battery connections, and fill up the wiper fluid.” She huffs. “Technically I can change a tire too, but I’m usually not strong enough to loosen the nuts.”
Her indignation is adorable, like a storm in a teacup. There’s something hot as hell about that spark of life. Also about the fact she claims she can maintain her car to that extent. She’s probably right about loosening the nuts to change a tire, she looks like I could pick her up and put her in my pocket.
“Get out of the car, Half-Pint.” “Excuse me?” With a shrug, I pull the door open. “You called me Grumpasaurus. Turnabout is fair play. Come on, before we both freeze.”
“Mr. Grumpasaurus, lead the way to your dungeon of depravity.”
I don’t know how long I stare into the darkness, but the hairs on the back of my neck are standing to attention. I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet, and the throbbing in my palms is back. I can hear my heart beating, my heavy breathing, and... Oh my goodness. What was that?
A noise behind me sends a chill through my whole body, and suddenly I’m halfway down the stairs, choosing time with the guy from the plane in a sex dungeon over whatever made the noise up above.
Mr. Still-don’t-know-his-name might be one of the single most beautiful people on the planet, but he’s probably into things I couldn’t ever be into.
A piece of my brain knew people did a lot of the things in my books in real life, but I guess I’d never really put the two together until now, when I’m standing in front of a kinky man who looks like he might want to eat me. Whole.
A shiver rolls through my bones, it has little to do with the cooler temperature down here and all to do with the way his stare bores through my clothing.
This man is dangerous. Not in the I-gave-a-psychopath-a-ride kind of way, but from the heat blazing in his eyes, the tattoos curling up his neck and peeking out from the cuffs of his sleeves, and the way he carries himself as he walks and speaks, this man screams danger.
Is he one of the dominants I read about? Or would he surprise me and be a submissive? A laugh catches at the back of my throat. His presence is too imposing, too intense, too bossy and protective for him to be submissive, right?
Maybe it’s being snowed in a s-e-x dungeon with a beautiful devil man that provokes the next words threatening to fall from my lips. Or it could be the fact I can be whoever I want to be in this moment. I don’t have to be heartbroken Talia whose boyfriend cheated on her. I can be this new blue haired, punk-esque spitfire who sits on thrones in dungeons while wearing a crown.
Consent can always be revoked. That’s one of the cornerstones of kink, and while some people get off on non-consensual sexual activities, I’m not one of them. If the woman doesn’t want to sit on the throne, she doesn’t have to. No skin off my nose.
Turning away from her, I shake my head. The close quarters are getting to me. I’m not used to having people in my space, especially balls of bright, bubbly energy like this one. The fact she’s a blank canvas calls to my inner educator. A stunning piece of clay to be shaped into a timeless piece of art. Ugh.
I’m a good six feet away from her, not wanting to crowd or intimidate her. But the urge to hit the handle to tip her back is strong. A demonstration is often far more effective than an explanation.
I’m a giant compared to her, and this space is comfortable to me. For her to capitulate in this moment takes some fucking balls.
Her cheeks darken as her eyes flicker away from mine. Part of me wants to get filthy with my words, see how red I can make her face, how uncomfortable I can make her, how much I can make her squirm on the chair. The other part wants to kiss every inch of pinking skin to see what makes her tick.
I fucking hate being judged; for my work, for my appearance, for my race, for my sexual deviances.
Many of us in the kink community are used to judgment, but something about it from this woman in particular irritates me more than usual. She doesn’t give off “better than you” vibes, but her words are charged with a deep lack of understanding I’m exhausted by.
People like what they like. We aren’t all tall, dark, and handsome billionaires with troubled pasts and unresolved trauma. It gets tiresome having to explain to people who don’t get it.
When she lands on my chest, I shouldn’t be surprised. This chick is as coordinated as a newborn fucking foal.
“Talia’s Bedroom Bucket List.”
She’s got a point. But I can’t think logically when Jagger, the most beautiful, grumpy, and intriguing man I’ve ever met, Mr. Dominant himself, stands staring at my meager and embarrassing ‘Bucket List’ of things I wanted to try with Harry when we tied the knot.
#1 Oral Sex
“Mama, I’m sorry you think I should stay in a relationship with a man who doesn’t respect me or treat me right. That makes me sad for you. But I know my worth, and Harold Winslow the Third, isn’t it.”
“Mama?” “We’ll talk about this when you get home, Talia Marie.” “No, Mama. We won’t. I’ve made my decision. If you and Dad can’t accept that.” A lump grows so big in my throat it makes my eyes water. “Then we don’t really have anything else to talk about. And if Mr. Winslow makes life harder for Dad because his son is a no good, cheating piece of dirt, then he’s every bit as bad as his son.”
It’s not untrue, but my whole body aches with the stress of speaking my mind to my mother. It’s probably a first. My whole life I’ve done what my parents said, when they said it. There was no delay, no room for independent thinking, no asserting my opinion.
I learned early in life if I didn’t jump to attention and do what they asked, there were stern consequences ranging from being grounded to spanked and everyt...
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If Dad cuts me off, I have my trust fund to tide me over until I can figure something out. Now that I’m twenty two they don’t have control o...
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When I dab my eyes and face dry and blink away the blurriness, Jagger has a crown in his hand. It’s the prettiest, sparkliest, and most pink rhinestone crown I’ve ever seen, and he’s putting it on my head. “You can probably mark off number thirteen now, Half-Pint.”
I like to think I’m a nice person. Fine, I’m a grumpy bastard. But I pay my taxes, help old people cross the street, keep to myself and don’t get in anyone’s way. So when my chatterbox, bubbly Half-Pint seatmate from the plane turns out to be my college rival’s woman, I can’t help but feel like the universe is playing some wild trick on me.
Harry Winslow the Third—that piece of shit never let us forget his lineage when we spoke to him—is an asshole scumbag across the board. His name was a bulletproof shield he hid behind to get whatever the fuck he wanted. The guy was untouchable. He paid people to write his assignments for him. He used ‘roids to get the Quarterback spot. There were at least two rape accusations against him that he made go away. The guy’s literally the scum of the earth.
And yet, here’s his woman, seemingly in pristine condition, completely untouched with a bucket list that’s as laughable as it is despicable. That piece of shit made her wait to have sex while he was boning everything that moved and never even went down on her? And she fucking took it?
I can’t fathom how she thought it was okay for someone to treat her like this. How did she not know what he was like? Or does she? And she’s sparing her mom’s feelings by protecting her from the truth? If she knew the depths of his crimes, this blue-haired shortcake in front of me w...
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It’s unsurprising the prick hid it from her, maintaining a double life, but did he keep her untouched for a reason? Was he savin...
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She doesn’t need to know her asshole ex cheated his way through college, winning damn near everything I worked my ass off to achieve right out from under me. She doesn’t need to know this is personal, just that I’m willing to help her.
If she agrees, this pint-sized queen will get the most mind blowing orgasms of her life.
And when Harry gets her back—which he will, because he always gets what he wants, and he wouldn’t have kept her for this long without actually wanting her—she’ll have had most of her firsts with me. I’ll have defiled his most prized possession.
“I don’t think number thirteen counts.” She’s blowing between her hands, rubbing them like she’s still cold. “I mean, they are restraints, sure. Technically speaking my list said furry handcuffs. But also, I was fully clothed and it wasn’t in bed.”
“Have you really not done anything on your list?” She huffs, blusters, and covers her face with both hands before shaking her head. “No.” The word is half-groan half-wail. “Your ex is a dick.”
“He cheated.” “That’s only part of why he’s a dick. These things on your list? They aren’t anything to be ashamed of. You should feel like you’re allowed to ask for every one of them, even just to try. In any relationship.”
I don’t know why I’m suddenly the chatty Cathy in the room, but I need to somehow make sure she has her eyes fully opened before her parents convince her to go back a...
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“I should?” She’s so fucking sweet and innocent it ma...
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“Yes, Half-Pint. You should. There’s nothing on that list I wouldn’t be only too ...
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“I’m not sure. Is this where people come after?” “After they do dirty things?” My lips twitch as her blush darkens. “It is. We have snacks and drinks, couches for people to rest and recoup, chat and do some of their aftercare before heading back into reality.”
“I know what that is.” Her quick shut down now makes my brows shoot up. She shrugs again. “I read.” Now I want a peek in her eReader. What is it, exactly, she’s reading?
