Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 106065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
That had to be Reid and Max. They’d started Old Town, my former kink community. The one Lane was still active in. But I’d heard of House Mclean from a friend, and two munches and an event had sold me on it. I’d changed communities three years ago and never looked back. Because as much as I liked Reid, Max, Lane, and a couple others in Old Town, there’d been too much relationship drama at their parties.
I remembered when Marcus had joined Mclean two years ago; I’d thought, now I would never have to worry about dating jungles and jealousy drama ever again. He and I had met online, and I’d roped him into joining my community. Another thing he’d done for my sake.
“Can I ask you something?” Lane cocked his head. “Don’t spit out an automatic response—think it through and be honest. Are you in love with Marcus?”
Of course I was!
The answer sat right there on the tip of my tongue. If I weren’t in love with him, I wouldn’t even consider moving to fucking Denver.
“Yes,” I replied confidently. “He knows what’s best for me, Lane. He’s patient and firm and wonderful.”
He raised a brow.
I stared at him, getting annoyed.
“Remind me of the scene you did shortly before going to Denver,” he said. “Let the record reflect that you struggle to cry on your own, so you seek emotional releases in your masochism. And Marcus doesn’t want to beat you because he’s uncomfortable with pain.”
What was he getting at?
“We all have our kinks, don’t we?” I frowned. “Or am I supposed to dump Marcus because we’re not a perfect match?” That was stupid. We’d managed to find our compromise, once again, because Marcus was generous. He was okay with me having a nonsexual arrangement with a Sadist.
“No,” he said patiently, “but, Corey, he beat someone else right in front of you.”
I smashed my lips together and glared. That was fucking different. He’d punished me that night. I’d been bad. I’d broken his rules.
“That was my fault,” I snapped. “I already told you this. I went against his word, and he punished me for it.”
“By making you watch him perform an act you need for yourself…on someone else.” He punctuated every damn word. “That’s fucking cruel.”
I didn’t wanna talk about this anymore. I set the plate on the table and felt myself shutting down. “I think dinner is over now, Lane. I’m gonna shower and go to bed early.”
He sighed heavily. And I hoped he didn’t push me, ’cause I wasn’t in the mood.
He didn’t get it. That was the problem. He didn’t understand.
“All right.” He bobbed his head slowly, thinking, and got off the couch. “I’ll ease off for now. Just one thing.”
I stared up at him and narrowed my eyes.
“I want you to think back on when you first met him,” he told me. “Try to remember how you felt back then. Think about what made you fall for him, the attraction, the traits that reeled you in—and compare them with today. Because sometimes people mix up love and…feeling like we’re in debt. Especially people like us, cousin. Especially you. You constantly worry about being too difficult for others, and it’s messed up.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t want to. He was being a jerk. A stupid, stupid, hurtful jerk.
CHAPTER TWO
After a crappy night and an even crappier morning, I tried to lift my mood with fried chicken and good music. Two blocks away from my condo, a man named George and his two daughters ran the best chicken place in all of NoVa. He represented Southern tradition, and his girls brought trends and flavors in for monthly specials. A cozy yet popular place, with comfy seats and low tables. I always picked my spot in the corner by a big window so I could people watch.
With Danielle Bradbery’s “Sway” on repeat in my headphones and a small bucket of fried chicken, I slowly but surely reenergized myself and dared to look forward to the event tonight.
I was going.
I’d gone back and forth all night, till I’d literally slapped myself and logged in to my account on our online forum. There, I’d checked the attending box and convinced myself that I had to make it count. I was leaving soon enough. But maybe I could stay in touch with my friends and come visit?
I bit into a drumstick and watched a hot construction worker walk by outside the window.
It was a little funny how I’d fallen in love with a Suit when my type was the average blue-collar worker. I’d always found the working class more reliable. Most of us just wanted a house to come home to, a family, food on the table, and a vacation here and there.
Life with Marcus was different. He wanted to eat out at restaurants every day, preferably. His kitchen had enough utensils and plates to reheat leftovers. His job entailed a fair bit of traveling too.