Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 129027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
The dom stands tall and quiet once he reaches us, inclining his head towards Quinn. Then he blinks inquisitive grey eyes towards Kira.
Who the fuck is this guy and how does Quinn know him?
“Saint, this is Kira. She’s new to the club.”
“I told you not to call me that,” he says with a deep voice and musical British accent. Is it his real voice or is he just putting it on in some kind of dom ploy? “I go by Bane.”
I try not to roll my eyes. Jesus. Could this guy be any more of a poser?
“Do you want to play?” he asks Kira. “If it’s your first time, we can go quite slowly.”
“I— I—” Kira babbles, eyes wide, chest suddenly heaving. “I don’t know.”
Bane nods and I want to jump in between the two of them and shove the fucker away. Fuck no she does not want to play tonight. I swear, if this bastard tries to pressure her into play before she’s ready, I’ll—
“That’s all right, child,” he says. “You shouldn’t play before you’re completely sure. The game is about freedom and consent, and you want to be able to give yourself to it fully. Whenever you do want to play, remember a safeword can stop it at any time. You’re always safe when you’re with a dom you trust.”
Then he turns back to Quinn and nods his head again, “Mistress,” before turning to leave.
“Now that’s a class act,” Quinn says, admiration clear in her voice.
“Who is he?” Kira asks. By the way she’s looking after the man, a little bit of longing in her voice, I can tell she’s rethinking her decision.
“He’ll be here all night,” Quinn says, obviously seeing the same thing. “If you change your mind.”
But then I smile when I watch Moira clock the new dom and make a beeline for him. “I don’t know. He might have his hands full tonight.”
NINE
KIRA
“I don’t know why you’re being so obstinate,” Carol says, lips curving in familiar disapproval at what I’m wearing. “And how dare you dress like a whore for your engagement dinner? Your father’s going to be horrified.”
I look down, too. Oh god, why am I wearing this? It’s the tight black dress I wore to Carnal earlier tonight. Why didn’t I change?
My face flames as I look toward the stairs. “How long ’til Daddy comes down? Do you have something I can change into?”
And Drew. I don’t want him seeing me in this either. He’s not as conservative as Dad or anything, but I know he’ll be mortified in front of his parents. And wasn’t that what we agreed when we started this whole thing? Neither of us would embarrass the other, and then we’d both be free of them.
“Of course, I’ve got a dress for you,” my mother snaps. “I know better than to trust you with these things. Follow me.”
She heads up the stairs and I follow, feeling about as big as an ant. But then, she always makes me feel this way.
After she’s corseted and bound me in the dress she had in mind, I look in the mirror, gasping for breath and feeling more exposed than ever. My already big hair has been blown out about three inches bigger than normal before being bound back in a high up-do. Meanwhile, my cleavage is an inch lower.
Oh, right. Sometimes when I’m on campus a lot like I have been lately, I forget that I’m still officially a Dallas church lady. Or the daughter of one, anyway.
Carol comes to the mirror beside me, looking far too much like my stretched and Botoxed older twin as she smiles at me.
“There’s my little girl,” she whispers, puckering her lips like she’s going to give me a kiss.
I scream, jerking awake, only to find myself all but plastered to Isaak’s chest. Oh, dear god! I jerk back from him to my side of the bed in the dark of our hotel bedroom, swiping at my mouth and praying I didn’t drool on him.
But then I worry I moved too quickly or that I actually screamed out loud when I was dreaming because he starts to stir.
Immediately, I pull the covers up and play dead.
The mattress continues to shift, and deep, throaty rumbles come from his side, but I can’t make out what he’s saying, if it’s anything.
“Watch out,” I think he mumbles, and I realize he’s dreaming, too.
He actually might’ve been the one to wake me up with as sharply as his legs spasm back and forth.
I don’t think it’s a good dream. Should I wake him? I can’t remember if it’s bad or not to wake someone up from a nightmare.
“No!” he barks. “Elma!”
He suddenly shoots to a sitting position, breathing hard.
There’s a long moment where he doesn’t do anything. It’s silent in the room except for the loud noise of his breath sawing in and out.