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)
I focus back on the present, at my wife’s re-pinkening cheeks, a new splotch or two blossoming on her chest. That was not the reaction I saw coming to my taunts. What the fuck?
Savvy doesn’t get off on being humiliated. Degraded and used, yes… oh yes. But verbally demeaned, not a chance. That either hurts her feelings or makes her feisty, depending on where the day lands in her cycle.
So how is it that neither of those is the case, and instead, my wife looks miserably horny, like she’s desperate for release, after I tried to rile her up with a memory that used to embarrass her? She’s always hated being reminded of a time when she didn’t have control over her own body. What the hell is going on?
“On your knees,” I demand, the words coming out before I even think up a plan all the way through. “Right there on the floor in front of the computer, hands behind your back, ass to heels, legs spread. Don’t you dare fucking exit out of whatever keeps drawing your eyes away from me. I’m on my way home.” She’s already in position before I’ve finished speaking, my good girl—but I withhold the praise, and I hang up instead, rushing out to my truck.
The drive home seems to take an excruciating length of time. My thoughts are running rampant the entire time, which seems to make the fifteen-minute trip feel like a dozen hours. By the time I pull into the garage, I’ve worked myself up into a frenzy, so pent-up with aggression that my skin feels tight. It’s as if I’ve swollen in size, like a beast might burst out of me. It’s a familiar feeling, one Savannah calls my Hulk mode, when I apparently remind her of mild-mannered Dr. Banner transforming into his giant green counterpart.
Inside though, I feel a more accurate likeness to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Because where big-ass Incredible Hulk uses his rage to save the world, all I want to do is let my sadistic side run amok, specifically on my wife’s body.
I loosen my tie, yanking on it more aggressively than what is needed, as I make my way up the stairs, taking them two at a time. My 34-length legs carry me to the office in the blink of an eye, time now seeming to be on fast-forward to catch up with reality after moving in slo-mo on the drive here.
When I burst through the doorway, I see her immediately even though most of her is hidden, but she’s exactly where and how I demanded her to be. From this angle, I see the back of the computer monitor, only the very tip of her messy bun showing over the top of the desk. But beneath it, I see her folded legs, her knees spread just how I like them. Between them is only a swatch of fabric—her panties she never took off like she teased she would before my meeting. My T-shirt is bunched around her hips, and around her, her green sweater pools on the floor, making her bottom half look like she’s a little fairy perched on a lily pad. I see nothing above her belly button from this spot by the door, and while I’d love nothing more than to stare at my now obedient sub in her waiting position, I can’t stand the mystery any longer. I have to know what caused my wife to have such a reaction.
I start to stride around the desk then think better of it, instead walking straight up to it to spin the monitor around so I can see it with her in my peripherals. She doesn’t move, doesn’t even lift her eyes, obeying our set and no-longer-verbalized rules to a T, now that she’s already in trouble.
When my eyes focus on the screen, I scour the page, ready to pick apart and analyze every minute detail of what I’ll find there.
But what I see doesn’t quite… compute. As in, in my brain. I don’t understand. “Savvy, did you disobey me once again?” I growl, and she lifts her head for a split second before catching herself, tilting it back down. But in that tiny blip of time, I saw the confusion written clearly on her face. Whatever she says will be the truth.
“No. I haven’t moved since we hung up.”
My brow furrows as I stare at the crown of her head. “Not even to change the page you were reading on the site?” I demand.
She shakes her head but doesn’t lift it. “No, Rome. I promise.”
“Give me your eyes,” I order, and she does so without hesitation. “Tell me again.”
She looks deep into my eyes, hers and her voice unfaltering. “I didn’t change the page. I didn’t change it at all. I went right to it from the start, curious to know what you’d written about us,” she confesses, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that what she’s saying is the truth.