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)
Before I can think myself into another circle, I suddenly feel warm and rough skin beneath my chin as my head is lifted.
“Look at me,” Rome says, and my eyes blink open immediately, because that was the voice of my Dom, not just my husband. The tone, at least to my ears, is easily decipherable. I know when the man I married switches from my partner in life to my keeper, my master, the Dominant who owns me.
I meet his dark eyes that seem to be lit from within as he speaks calmly. “I know we’re in very uncomfortable territory for you right now. So it’s particularly important for you to be open and honest about your feelings and thoughts every step of the way. I don’t want you to hide anything from me. Your natural reactions to what we’ll read is what I need to see and hear. It’s the data I need to store in my memory in order to be a good Dom for my sub,” he reminds me.
I nod infinitesimally, his strong finger still propping my chin. “Yes, Rome.”
“It’s what allows me to decide whether to push you harder, further, or to back off when I have you in a precarious position in which you can’t speak,” he says, then pauses for me to acknowledge.
“Yes, Rome,” I breathe.
“It’s how I’ve learned to read your every expression, every twitch of a muscle, and every sound you make, giving me—and only me—the ability, the power, to make you come.”
I nearly whimper at the heat in his gaze. Fuck, I married the sexiest man on this planet. He’s a masterpiece, a marvel made of bone and flesh, powered by blood more potent than jet fuel, his pheromones coming off him like the most addictive and intoxicating fumes. No man should be so devastatingly handsome in a plain white Hane’s tee and dark-blue cotton sleep pants he changed into when we first got home, his feet bare. The look is more flattering and delicious than the most sought-after male model in the world’s most finely tailored suit. He’s utterly breathtaking, and more than that, he’s right.
One of the first things we ever learned in this lifestyle was the importance of being completely honest with each other.
I purposely ignore the voice of the past eight months opening her mouth to spout rebuttals about how he hadn’t been completely honest with me.
It would do no good, serve no purpose, to rehash that all out once again. I want more than anything to move past it and focus on the future. Or more accurately, the present. This very second, in which I’m making a decision.
“I’m going to take this research seriously and with a more open mind. I won’t try to suppress my reactions to the things we learn together,” I promise him, and the corners of his eyes crinkle with a look of pride. But I know that’s all I’ll get right now as far as praise goes. He saves that up for more momentous occasions for fear it might eventually lose its effect.
“My sweet Savvy, I acknowledge that your openness means that the things you say and physical responses you make might come off rude, even bratty, and harsher than you would like to show. And since you’re willing to do that for us, to lower all those walls and for the moment forget what’s considered proper, there won’t be any punishments while we’re exploring these sites together,” he assures, and I feel the tension I didn’t realize was holding me so rigid let loose, and if it weren’t for his finger still beneath my chin, I would’ve slumped in my seat.
Apparently, I didn’t comprehend before he said it that I was worried about being scolded or physically reprimanded on top of having to face a subject that makes me uncomfortable to begin with. But now that he has said it, and I know that’s been taken off the table of things to be concerned about, I feel a teensy bit of the excitement return from earlier on the car ride home.
He places a light peck on my forehead before turning back to the TV, and with his hand gone, I relax into the couch.
“Where was I? Ah, yes. The breedy bull,” he says, sending a smirk and wink my way that makes my neck feel hot before he continues where he left off, but this time, he reads it to himself and summarizes it. “Okay, so there seem to be three different scenarios, for the sake of labeling and researching. Cuckolding, Hotwifing, and Stag/Vixen. Each scenario involves the wife having sex with a man other than her husband, but the psychological role of each individual is what makes them different.”
I nod. “All right. What’s cuckolding specified as?” I’d rather him explain it to me than try to read it off the screen, since he reads much faster than I do, and I don’t want him to have to wait for me to finish a paragraph when he’s already done with a page. He does this for me when we’re watching movies too, reads the introductions at the beginning or the updates at the end, without even having me ask, since he’s done it for so long.