Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Playing a naughty little game, where we look up wild kinks other people have, my inner voice tries to rein in my wayward thoughts.
Yes, other people.
Not my husband.
Not the man I married and swore to stay faithful to in front of every single one of our friends and family members.
It’s not that man who wants me to break that vow. On purpose.
“Hm, check this out,” he says, startling my vision back into focus after it blurred while my thoughts escalated.
I search the screen to find he’s in our joint email account, the one we use for doctor appointments, bills, anything that both of us need to keep track of. “What happened to the search?” I ask since I thought he took the lead in that endeavor.
He clears his throat and shifts on the couch a little, his eyes narrowing as he stares at the screen. “I just remembered Doc said he would send us an email with the sites he wanted us to look at. Wouldn’t you like to start there, with the material a professional has combed through first?”
Why does he suddenly seem so… nervous? It’s unlike him. He’s usually so sure of himself, but not in a conceited, cocky way. He’s the smartest man I know, and when he makes a decision, it means he’s turned over every option in his mind before he landed on the right one. It’s why his reasoning—and his apology—rang truthful. I imagine he did think all the choices and consequences to death. And it makes sense he’d come to the conclusion and plan of action he ended up going with, since there was an added element of fear altering his perception. It’s an emotion he doesn’t come up against inside himself often.
So when he specifically admitted how stupid he felt, how idiotic his idea was, that in itself was a big deal. Roman Broussard is rarely—if ever—made to feel thoughtless, because the man is vigilant by nature. It’s just another reason I had blind devotion to him—because he proved over and over since the moment I met him that he’d never make a decision that could possibly hurt me. I was safe in his care. I could let go of all control of any situation, because he had it. It’s where he thrived, and it’s where I could finally breathe. And after that dynamic between the two of us slipped into place, we discovered just how deep it ran, just how far we could allow it to go.
The more I submitted to him, the better Dom he became, until he grew and strengthened into my perfect match, more than I could’ve ever dreamed of in a partner—in sex and in life.
This is why my skin crawls at the thought of some other man’s hands on me. This skin belongs to Roman, and other men shouldn’t touch what doesn’t belong to them.
Unless they’re given permission by the owner, a sultry voice echoes through my mind.
Before I can ponder on where the hell that thought came from and every avenue it could branch out to, my husband’s deep voice begins to read from one of the sites he clicked on in the email from Dr. Walker.
“‘Comparing hotwifing to cuckolding is like comparing Pepsi to Coke. There is plenty of overlap, but some very distinct items you should learn before opening up your relationship. But before moving on, there’s something else we should clarify. That is providing you clear definitions of a hotwife, cuckold, stag/vixen, and bull—’”
“A bull?” I nearly squawk, setting my mug down on the coffee table. “Like a…? Why would they name it that? It sounds so… breedy.” My face screws up, and I turn my eyes to look at Roman. His purposefully blank expression has mine immediately falling, and I lower my head on instinct and close my eyes. “I’m sorry.” I swallow, regretting my outburst. “That was so rude of me. No one should ever yuck someone else’s yum.”
Shit. This is so surreal. Never have we come upon anything we didn’t both wholeheartedly agree on when it comes to sex. Sure, there were times when we tried new things in which I didn’t care one way or the other, so we’d play it out and decide if it was for us or not. And no matter what it was, at the end of that trial run, we always came to the same conclusion on whether we enjoyed it enough to add it to our repertoire, or if it was a one-and-done, mark it off the “I’ll try anything once” list type of deal.
But you haven’t tried this fantasy once, that sultry bitch speaks up again.
Yeah, but I’ve also never been confronted with something so…. I don’t know. Usually, I’m down for anything. Either I want to try it, as in I’m excited and “yay, let’s do this!” Or, my only other mode was “Hell, let’s give it a try. Why not,” with a shrug thrown in. This is the first time he’s ever presented me with a scenario that didn’t fall into one of those two categories. And I know he said he’d never coerce me into doing anything I didn’t want to do, but is that what I’m feeling? Do I truly just not want to do this? Like, 100 percent, go ahead and toss in my safe word? That would be another first, another “that’s never happened before” moment. Or is Doc right and I just don’t know enough about it to allow this request to fall into one of my “safe”—yes, or I don’t care—categories?