Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 105615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
There were traces of sweet in this sinner. There were telltale signs that his promises about not feeling anything were just well packaged lies.
Or I could be a hopeless romantic, lying to myself.
I watched him in silence for a little while, eyes on his computer, doing God knew what. He could’ve been penning an erotic novel for all I knew. Maybe some of my favorites were actually written by the main I was currently fucking. Wouldn’t that be a riot?
Jay knew I was watching him. Of course he did. This was a man thoroughly in tune with his surroundings. He was never relaxed, never complacent. He was always on alert. Even though he wore ten thousand-dollar suits, even though he had the mansion, everything at his disposal, he could take care of himself. Defend himself. The scars covering his body told me he already had. He’d fought for this opulent life. Through something I likely couldn’t even imagine. Something that had forced him to believe he wasn’t capable of love, that he had to be in a strict arrangement with a woman, control everything about her, in order to make sure he didn’t get hurt. Wasn’t vulnerable.
I ached to know more about him. To find a way to prove that he could trust me. But I had no idea how to do that. And I wasn’t sure I had the emotional intelligence it took to give him everything he needed anyway.
My mind flickered back to the morning with Ollie, how easy it had been. How light. He was open, easy, and he was interested. I knew that much. The only complications with him would’ve been the paparazzi. The realities of his job. There wouldn’t be rules. He wouldn’t have to command me to have me.
But there was something between Jay and I. Something that wasn’t light or easy. Jay did have to command me. And I didn’t know how to envision a life without obeying him.
Yes, I was officially and utterly pathetic.
“You’re late,” Jay avowed, interrupting my thoughts, my voyeurism.
“An appointment ran over,” I replied, feeling oddly guilty.
He didn’t look up. Jay was probably pissed. He didn’t like it when I was late. Didn’t like that I still took jobs on the weekend, even though it was something we’d agreed upon from the beginning.
“With Oliver Cummings,” he stated.
I blinked, momentarily surprised. Of course, he’d known where I was, who I was with. It was invasive. Disturbing. But I liked it. Liked that he kept tabs on me, that he had put energies and money in to making sure he knew where I was.
It meant he cared.
It also made me feel safe.
As much as I was a twenty first century feminist with strong feelings of independence and healthy boundaries in relationships, parts of me—large parts—enjoyed being ... owned. Not the act of submission itself, not in the broad sense. These feelings would not go beyond this relationship; I’d only ever be owned by Jay. That was my blessing. My curse. Because he was surely going to own many women after me. There had been many before me.
“Why did you pick me?” I asked, instead of discussing Ollie or his surveillance measures further.
Jay paused, something that was entirely uncharacteristic of him. He’d been prepared to punish me for being late, maybe for being late because of another man. When Jay had it in his mind to punish me, nothing could stop him. Certainly not anything I was going to say. But he paused.
“I’m not special,” I continued, unable to stop myself.
Jay stared at me blankly. Well, what a stranger or conscious observer might perceive as blankness. I was no longer a stranger to him, definitely not an observer. I was now embroiled in this man, in his life, yet even now I felt like I knew nothing about him beyond being able to recognize the subtle changes in his expressions.
There was a question in that look. An intensity.
“I’m superficial,” I continued. “I spend too much money on things that don’t really matter. I have made irresponsible choices, and I’m sure I’ll continue to do that. My job doesn’t help people, doesn’t make any kind of positive difference in the world. If anything, it helps perpetuate the dangerous messages that the fashion industry carries. I don’t volunteer. I don’t bring down drug lords or serial killers, nor do I run homeless shelters. I drink with my girlfriends—cocktails that cost three times what they should. I go to parties and live a, by all accounts, frivolous life.”
I started to pace the room because staying stationary under Jay’s intense gaze was all but impossible. I moved toward his bookcase, picking up random objects then putting them back down.
“There are thousands of women in this city living very similar lives to mine,” I continued. “I’m not special. Not someone who merits this kind of attention.” I waved my hand at Jay. “Your attention,” I added, my voice smaller, speaking in a tone I hated. One injected with insecurity.