I roll my eyes. “Shocker.”
Graham’s eyes narrow. I try to cover up my amusement with a cough. I know he is itching to do something about my sass. And my new hobby is teetering as close as I can to the line without crossing over.
“So no tying me up or collars or whips or yes-sir-no-sir?” I ask.
“You watch way too many movies,” he chuckles.
“Also known as porn,” I interject, making his eyes narrow but his lips smirk.
“I mainly want control. It is that simple.”
There’s that two-syllable word again. The one that we keep dancing around but never really define.
He continues, “None of those things you listed out are off-limits to me, th—”
“So you are a sadist?”
“No, Angela.”
“But you—”
“Nor am I a masochist or a dominant or a submissive,” he interrupts. “I don’t identify with any of those titles.”
“I guess I don’t understand.”
Graham gives me a warm smile. His eyes soften and have a calming effect on my anxiety. “What I am saying is that with the right setting and mood, those activities can be fun. However, this is not something I want to conform to or limit myself with.”
“So your kink you speak of is solely having control.”
“Sure. But it is more of a need than a kink.”
“But you have yet to tell me what that means.”
Graham guides me back over to the sofa and pulls me down to sit beside him. He props my legs over his and then grabs my hands. He lazily massages circles into my palms with his thumbs. It feels divine.
“I never had to put it into words before, so give me a moment to collect my thoughts.”
“Why is that?” I ask softly.
His eyes blaze with heat. “Because I have never encountered any woman in my life before you who has driven me so crazy with the need to want to control her.” He swallows hard and looks out toward the windows at the city. “It is irrational and over the top. It is something that I never expected would happen. But from the moment I saw you by the pool, I knew my life would never be the same again.”
A smile breaks out across my face.
“Angie, I need to know that you are safe. And warm. That you are taken care of and eating well. That you have money to spend on the things you need and want. I want to make sure that you do not surround yourself with assholes who I guarantee will hurt you. I want to know where you are—at all times. And understand the need I have for you to pick up the phone when I call or at the very least text back. I need to trust that you would never put yourself in situations where you could get hurt or be hurt.”
This is all too much. My brain cannot keep up. “Graham…”
“Sweetheart, these are the things I think about while I am making multi-million-dollar decisions. While I am hiring and firing people who answer to me. This is what I think about on business trips to Europe. What keeps me up at night. You are driving me absolutely wild, like no one else has done before. I thought pushing you away would be better, but it was easy to see that it did the opposite.”
My brow furrows as I absorb all of this new information. I pull back my hands, swing my feet to the floor, and rub at my temples. My head is spinning, and I feel a migraine coming on.
“I want you in the worst way possible. Like I have never wanted anything else. Including other women, business ventures, or inanimate objects. They are all frivolous things. I want you, Angie. Give us time to figure out what this thing is between us. I know you feel it. Let me date you.”
The thought of him having other women makes my stomach roll with nausea. I do not want a relationship per se. But I sure as hell don’t want to witness another girl getting all oh-Graham-yes-Graham in front of me either. Flashes of Sophia’s perfect image cross my memory like a strobe-light show. I suppose I am just as possessive. However, my fear squelches all movements toward long-term intimacy.
I have waited twenty-three years, holding on to the last bit of control. It’s all I have left from before everything in my life crumbled at my feet. I have managed to inevitably keep guys at a safe emotional distance. It was easy. But not anymore. I contemplate whether or not I can hold out long enough. Graham doesn’t seem like the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of lay. His interrogation and confession prove that much. No, I have somehow, unknowingly, piqued his interest with my illusion of impassivity. Now I have a madman in my presence. Conquer and destroy are the things I see in his beautiful eyes. I am weak, and he wants to rescue me.
“But, you see,” I say lifting my head, “we have a big problem, Graham.”