Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 90887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
I feel like a bull: calm, huge, with a bubbling power underneath the surface. As I walk to the door, I roll my shoulders and click my neck on each side as my hands flex in anticipation.
When I yank open the door, I'm greeted by a Kyla, who seems smaller than she does at work. Her hands are clasped in front of her as though she feels a need to protect herself from me.
Maybe she does.
Some women like what I like. They find peace in submission and even relaxation in the pain and humiliation. Some women don't ever want to go back to sex without the power exchange. Will Kyla be that woman?
Her eyes scan my torso, taking in the huge skull I have inked there. There's menace in it, but also the representation of death, mortality, and the unachievable nature of immortality. Our lives are fleeting. For me, it's a reminder that life is too short not to be exactly who you are.
I don't say anything to greet her. I simply reach out and take her hand to lead her inside. When I close the door behind her, I see the tiny flinch she tries to suppress. I guide her into the living room, feeling a slight tremble in her hand.
I know she wouldn't be here if she didn't want to be. There's no pressure in the game. She's participating willingly, so the tremble must be about anticipation.
Kyla knows to expect something different but maybe not exactly what she's going to get. Uncertainty can be a powerful aphrodisiac.
"Can I get you some water?"
"Yes…please."
Oh, that little hesitation and the addition of “please” send blood rushing to my cock.
As I turn to seek out a glass, I know she'll see the tattooed image of Hades on my back. It's mostly black and gray, an image similar to the marble statues of ancient Greece. His eyes are empty of a pupil, but instead, inked with yellow and orange, as though his core is made from molten lava. He clutches the chain leashing the three-headed Cerberus. Despite him being the god of the underworld, for me, he isn't a representation of death. He's a reminder that a man needs to live a good life and that the end will come to us all.
Kyla gasps, and when I turn, her hand is pressed to her lips.
"Don't mind Hades,” I say, used to the reaction. “He's mellow."
"He doesn't look mellow," she whispers.
"He's relaxed in his power." I fill the glass with cool water, closing my eyes just for a second so I can recharge in the cloak of darkness.
"Like you?"
When I turn, Kyla has her head cocked to one side, observing. This girl is so perceptive. Some people are shallow streams, but Kyla is a deep lake. I read about these sinkholes in Mexico that you can dive in. The water is turquoise blue and so clear that you can see the bottom, despite them being ridiculously deep. Swimming there is difficult because it's freshwater, so there's no salt for buoyancy. Kyla is just like that.
A shiver runs up the back of my neck, setting tingles running like insects over my scalp, because underneath my dominance, there is weakness and fear too. I'm certain that it's something that all human beings feel when it comes to connecting with other people. This is supposed to be a game, but it doesn’t feel like one. It feels like the start of something, but what, I don’t know. I shouldn’t be thinking this way because it takes me from the moment and propels me forward into a fathomless future.
For now, I have to push everything else aside and focus on giving Kyla what she needs.
Handing over the glass, I watch Kyla take a small sip at first and then gulp the whole thing down. I watch the way she keeps her eyes lowered to the counter where she's rested her purse. I watch her place the glass down and take a deep, steadying breath.
She's ready.
"If you want to stop at any time, you can tap me anywhere three times or say Hades, okay?"
When her eyes flick to mine, I think I see excitement. "Hades. Three times. Okay."
"Anytime," I reiterate. "I have to know that you're here because you want to be…that you're not feeling any obligation or pressure."
"I'm here because I want to be."
As her words settle inside me, I rub the round ball of my shoulder, contemplating how to begin.
Much like a writer feeling pressure to write the first words of their story, beginnings are always challenging for me. I want to throw Kyla deep, but my instinct is to protect her. This has to be about her experience, and I wouldn't be doing it justice if I gave her a half-hearted version.
"On your knees," I say.
Without a second of hesitation, she drops to the floor, her eyes cast onto the herringbone wood-block floor that spears its way across the room.