“You know about the bike, the cottage, and my sexual flavors.”
She relaxes a little, probably finally figuring out how she’s underestimating how much she knows me. Almost on the same level as my parents.
Hell, even they don’t know what I’m into.
She steps closer. “Have you always had this kink?”
“Since I hit puberty, yes.”
“When did you first act on it?”
“During that initiation when I was chasing you.”
Her face blushes. “You…never tried it before?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t trust anyone to do it with.”
“Does that mean you trust me?” She looks at me with big green eyes so full of hope and renewed affection.
No, she wantsmyaffection.
She wants more from me.
Me.
That one baffles the fuck out of me. Why would she? The only thing I know how to give her is pleasure.
“Partially,” I say in answer to her question.
Her shoulders hunch and some of the brightness from before dims. “Why not fully?”
Because you called that motherfucker’s name during that first time.
And she refused to call mine earlier.
Not to mention that she’s begrudgingly into this, partly because I threatened her, partly because she can’t—and won’t—find anyone who satisfies her kink aside from me. Who touches her, fucks her, and pushes her buttons like I do.
But if she has the chance, I have no doubt she’ll bolt.
“It’s my turn to ask the questions.” I cross my arms. “What did that blond fucker do that caused you to zone out?”
She blinks at the jarring change of subject. “He didn’t do anything, but he said something too similar to what Jonah said when we first got together.”
“Who’s Jonah?” I ask, even though I know exactly who the fucker is.
“My scum of an ex,” she snarls at the mere mention of him.
That’s my girl.
“Was it too similar?” I ask.
“It was actually word for word.” She shudders. “It was creepy as hell.”
“Do you think they’re acquaintances?”