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)
Whatever the case, it didn’t matter. There was no going back after that. The experience was so enlightening to us not only as a couple but individually, shining a light on parts of us that had been hidden in the shadows, that we knew our lives were forever changed. It was like Pandora’s box—once it was opened, the contents let out could never be gathered and locked up again. And we didn’t want to anyway. Because letting all our kinks, fetishes, and desires out to play was just too good to ever tuck away on a shelf and try to ignore.
My phone’s ringtone makes me scream back to the present, and when I blink open my eyes and see the computer screen that still shows the words my husband typed into our profile, I know… I just know…
I’m fucked.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ROMAN
I swipe away the Do Not Disturb setting on my phone and wait for the list of backed-up text messages to fill my screen. But it never comes. At least, not the ones I was looking forward to. There’s one from Doc asking how our evening went after our session yesterday, and one from a client requesting a Zoom meeting to help him figure out one of the spreadsheets we created for him. But there’s not the five I demanded from my wife. In fact, there’s not a single one from her.
The discovery sends a mix of feelings throughout my system.
Disappointment—my submissive didn’t follow her Dom’s orders.
Worry—why didn’t my girl send me any messages during my hour-long meeting? Is she okay? What could’ve kept her from doing as she was told, when she’s always such a good little sub?
Excitement—what sort of creative punishment shall I use to fit this crime of disobedience?
And lastly, urgency. I need to check on her this very second, to see with my own eyes that she’s all right and that there’s a perfectly good reason—albeit one that will still be reprimanded with cock-hardening sadism—she didn’t complete her assignment.
I skip right past texting and calling and go straight for the FaceTime button, my own face filling the screen as it rings and I wait for her to answer. She doesn’t pick up immediately, right as it would be setting off my personalized ringtone on her end. In fact, she waits so long to pick up that for a moment my worry overpowers all the other emotions when I think I’ll be sent to her voicemail.
But finally, the screen changes from my own face to a jostling cacophony of movement. I hear Savannah’s muffled, “Shit!” as her phone apparently lands on the floor, and a minute of chaotic repositioning later, she’s looking back at me from my cell. She swipes the loose strands of her dark hair out of her flushed face, and my eyes narrow suspiciously.
My wife isn’t the most cardiovascularly fit woman who’s ever lived, but simply dropping her phone and hurrying to pick it back up would not cause her cheeks to be so rosy. Her eyes are glossy, the way they get when she’s lusty. Her bottom lip looks red, maybe even a little raw, like it does when she’s been nibbling it, either out of nervousness or arousal. But the most telling sign, the one that distinguishes her emotions from being either hot and bothered or upset in some way—her chest, right below the hollow of her delicate throat. It’s splotchy, as if pink paint on a brush was slung across her creamy skin. That is what tells me my wife, my little sub, is 100 percent turned on.
And fuck if that doesn’t make me instantly hard.
I keep my face calm as I ask her, “Are you all right, baby?” My voice is salted with concern—not the amount I was actually feeling when she hadn’t picked up the call yet, but maybe a bit more than I’m truly feeling at the moment, since I know now my woman is just horny and not in danger.
But she must be feeling all sorts of needy if she’s showing so many outward signs of arousal, so I’m dying to know what she was doing, what she was reading, that made her lose track of time and her assignment.
“Yeah!” she croaks, then clears her throat. “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry.” She glances away and squints in the distance, then turns back to the camera. “That hour went by incredibly fast. Are you sure you didn’t call early?”
Ah, my little vixen. Trying to distract me by shifting the questions toward me. Nuh-uh-uuuh.
“Oh, I’m quite sure, Savvy. Now, how about you explain to your husband why he opened his messages to find no new ones from you, when he spent the past sixty minutes anxiously counting down by the millisecond for his meeting to end, so he could read the articles and profiles you were supposed to send.”