Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“Because he said every guy says that exact same thing…until they find the woman they can’t live without.”
A pain thudded in my chest, hot and cold at the same time. I didn’t understand the sensation or what it meant. All I knew was I felt it.
“Obviously, he was wrong… I was wrong.”
“Rome, you’re looking at this the wrong way. I do want this to last forever. I just want our relationship to be a little different. That’s all.”
“You mean, you want to hurt me.” She broke eye contact because she couldn’t look at me anymore. “You want to tie me up and knock me around. Yeah, that sounds like a blast… I’ll pass.”
“It’s not like that.” Not even close. “All the things we’ve already done are precursors to that. You would enjoy it. You would enjoy me. I promise you.”
“No, I don’t enjoy being bossed around. Come on, Calloway.” She turned back to me, a sneer on her face. “Do you even know me?”
The insult burned through my skin. “Yes, I do know you. I know how much it turned you on when you slapped me—both times. I know how much you liked my cock in your ass. I know how much you like it when I give commands when we’re in the bedroom. Stop looking at this in black and white. Give it a chance, Rome.”
“No.” She shook her head, resistance in her eyes. “I’ve already been down this road before. I’m not going there again. You would have saved me a lot of time and heartbreak if you’d just had the balls to be honest with me.”
I only focused on the first thing she said. “You’ve been down this road before?” How could she have been part of the lifestyle if she was a virgin? “What does that mean, Rome?”
She sighed as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to explain the story.
“Tell me.” I kept my tone polite so I wouldn’t push her further away. I would always be authoritative, but fortunately, I was able to control it around her—for the most part.
“When I first graduated college, I moved to New York for work. I had mounds of student loans to pay without any way of paying them. I lived in a studio apartment with three other girls for a while. I couldn’t find a job that paid enough, and eventually, I wound up living on the street. Christopher was in the same position I was for a while because he didn’t have a dollar to his name while he was doing an internship.”
Now I wished I’d never asked. Imagining her in a sleeping bag on the sidewalk made me hate myself for living in my mansion. I wanted to take care of her. I wished I could go back in time and take her home, lavishing her in warm clothes, food, and anything else she wanted.
“One day, this nice man walked up to me and gave me a hundred bucks. I was so grateful I cried. He set me up in one of the apartment complexes he owned so I would have a place to stay with Christopher. Once things were settled, he asked me out. I thought he was cute and compassionate, so of course, I said yes. But then he asked me to do things I wasn’t ready for. I said no, and he accepted that—for a while. But then he became angry when he didn’t get his way, threatening to take away everything he’d given me. When I refused to sleep with him, he broke my arm and beat me senseless…”
Tears sprang to my eyes, burning them because my ducts hadn’t produced liquid in so long. The idea of Rome suffering made me break inside. The fact that a man took advantage of her when she had nothing left in the world just sickened me.
“He wanted me to submit to him. He wanted to control me. He enjoyed hurting me. The gleam in his eyes when he heard my bone crack in two…is something I’ll never forget.” She stared at the ground as she finished her story. “So, I’ll never be your sub, Calloway. I’ve been used and abused once before, and I won’t tolerate it ever again.”
I had to walk away because the pain was too much. I couldn’t face her any longer, not when I felt my body slowly begin to crack. I turned away and approached the window in the living room, overlooking the traffic down below. My face was hidden, and my breathing was under control. But my momentary privacy allowed a tear to escape from the corner of my right eye, drip down my cheek, and fall to the floor.
I took a moment to center myself, not giving in to the overwhelming grief flooding through my body. I hadn’t felt this way since I first admitted my mother to the nursing home. The idea of Rome being treated that way disgusted me—killed me.