Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
No. I’d watched his mouth. It hadn’t moved beyond praising me.
And now it was gone.
The loss of his attention sucked the oxygen from my lungs like a vacuum, leaving behind a heavy chill that brought me crashing to the ground.
“What are you doing?” I blurted, hating the edge of panic in my voice.
His fingers halted over the keyboard, creating a deafening silence. My heart thundered against my ribs. He slowly turned his gaze to me with a raised brow. This time, his stare lacked warmth or pride. The cold disappointment sent my stomach sinking.
“I’m sorry.” The rushed apology sent another wave of surprise rippling down my spine. He hadn’t even said anything, and I scrambled to admit I was wrong.
The seconds ticked by endlessly until he finally turned his chair back to face me with a sigh. “I know this is difficult for you and goes against your need for reasons and understanding, but that’s the point. I believe there is a part of you that needs this, which is why I am pushing you,” he explained sharply, before softening his tone. “However, because it is new, and we are just starting, I will offer you some leeway and explain more than what is usually discussed when preparing a scene. I prefer to keep the details of a scene private beyond when we discuss limits and what we plan to achieve for the scene. It allows for more anticipation, and I find it important in building trust, which is why my offered leeway will have a limit.”
“Okay.” I nodded like an eager puppy thrown a bone. I should have been ashamed, but I wasn’t. I should have wanted to stop, but I leaned into it.
Until his lips pinched, increasing the tight pull in my stomach.
“Do you remember the conversation at the club the other night? When I explained how you were to address me in this situation?”
Memories flashed and sparks ignited through my body, making it hard to latch on to any of them. Then I remembered his hand gripping my jaw before the performance. I remembered his face inches from mine while he told me what to call him. “Yes, Sir.”
The gleam of pride returned, releasing some of the tension.
He leaned forward to stroke his finger down my cheek and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Good girl.” Before I could lean into his hand like a cat desperate for attention, he sat back. “We have approximately thirty minutes left together. For the first ten minutes, you will continue to kneel here while I finish some paperwork. If you can manage to perform that task quietly, then I will utilize the remaining twenty minutes to see if I can give you another orgasm.”
My thighs clenched without thought, attempting to soothe the pulsing ache his words created. I parted my lips, wanting to ask how when I snapped them shut and swallowed the question. “Yes, Sir.”
He sucked in a long breath, soaking up my submission. His shoulders pulled back, appearing more powerful—more dominant.
He turned back to his desk, and I couldn’t help but wonder…had I ever looked like that when I took control? I’d spent most of my life striving to gain control of every situation—of myself and the people around me, but when I looked back, I couldn’t conjure an image of me soaking it into myself like he did. I couldn’t see the control settle into me like a missing puzzle piece. I couldn’t recall anything other than it weighing me down.
I learned to wield my control like a weapon—a defense mechanism against those who doubted me. I learned to embrace the highs I reached when I was in charge at work. But it wasn’t the same. Each time I tightened the reins around my natural reactions and wore that arctic mask as armor, an increasing ache grew under the weight of hiding in shame. Each successful project came with anxiety and sleepless nights. Noise buzzing without end until the project did. The pressure of being the pinnacle everyone looked to for answers when all I wanted to do was breathe.
Even with sex, I’d taken control under the guise of believing I’d accomplished finding a form of release. But that release was a ruse—a lie I clung to because I’d been too scared to let go. I’d believed the boundaries and rules were the key to the experience—the hints of pleasure I achieved.
However, none of that pleasure came close to looking as satisfied as Lucian did in control. None of those moments of discipline came close to the abyss of silence and humming satisfaction that I achieved with him.
The comparison and realization of my relief when I handed myself over to him added yet another layer of confusion. It brought forth question after question without any obvious answers.