Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“I can’t stop thinking about how if James had looked, even though he had the right-of-way, or if I’d seen it quicker and yelled.”
“That must feel heavy.”
I murmur without looking back at him, “Endless loop about my current suffering.”
“I have to be honest.” He waits for me to peek up at him before he tells me, “I’m not a fan of that loop of yours.” He offers me a kind smile and raises his brow.
“That would make two of us.”
“But I’m happy that you’re talking about it.”
“I want it to stop,” I confess to him, not hearing whatever he’s just said. “How do you make it stop?” The question reeks of desperation.
“Recognize that you are ruminating. Acknowledging that it’s not productive.”
“I do that. When I go there, I realize it’s happening at least.”
“Good. Good.”
“And then I’m angry that I’m thinking about it again and reliving it. I get so frustrated with myself … it doesn’t stop.”
“I need you to know that we are not our thoughts. Separate the feelings from the thoughts.”
“I thought you said there was purpose in suffering.” The words race out of me, nearly sounding accusatory.
“The purpose of suffering is not to suffer. The purpose is knowing why you feel that way and then what you can do, if you can do anything. In your case, you can’t.”
“I wish I could.”
“That’s understandable.”
“Help me make it stop,” I practically beg him, praying he can understand how much it still hurts. “Please.”
“Tell yourself it’s just a ball in a box. The button was pushed. Was there something that led to it or not? If there’s nothing to do, nothing to control, let it go.”
“Okay. Let it go.”
Damon makes a show of looking at his watch. “Well, we dove right in, didn’t we?”
I let out a small laugh, laying back into the pillow.
“Do you know what triggered it?”
The bedroom. I don’t answer him, though. “I think I’d rather talk about something else.”
“We can do that.”
My lips perk up into a soft smile. “You’re easy to talk to, you know that?” Damon’s broad smile is comforting. I add, “And you have a beautiful smile.”
“Well, now you’re just buttering me up for something.”
I don’t say anything, I return my attention to the lone loose thread on the knee of my jeans. Just let it go. Feel it and let it go. The advice resonates but it’s too simple. At this moment, I’m not sure how to feel about its simplicity.
“If you don’t want to talk about James, maybe we can talk about Zander?” Damon suggests.
“What about him?”
“Have your other relationships been similar? Romantically or sexually?”
“As in, have I had other Doms in my life?”
Damon nods.
“Only one. My husband. But it wasn’t the same.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shift again, feeling colder as the breeze sweeps my hair in front of my face. “I … feel uncomfortable comparing the two of them.”
“Remember that it’s okay to be uncomfortable. There are no good or bad emotions. Only comfortable and uncomfortable, and there’s nothing wrong with either.”
“I don’t want to talk about him right now.”
“I understand. Let’s go back a bit, shall we?”
Nodding, I clear my throat. “Okay.”
“Back on the topic of sex, sexual empowerment, is that what you called it?” He references a conversation we had the other day.
“Yes.”
“You said something about having all the money in the world, but you choose to use your platform for sexual empowerment.”
“My social media following.” Yesterday and the day before, I went on little rants mostly. Apparently Damon wants to hear more of my “I am woman, hear me roar” movement.
“That’s right.”
“How far back did you go when you looked through my social media posts?” I question him nearly comically, although it doesn’t reflect in my expression or tone.
“To the beginning, skimming,” he admits which is shocking. “I wanted to make sure I understood what you meant about using your platform for empowering women and sex positivity.”
“Being called a whore and slut for years will do it, I guess.” Those types of comments started the moment I wore my first bikini … I think I was fourteen. I know my dad was still alive, so I was young, just posing with friends at the beach.
“I did notice when you got engaged so did the amount of overt expression in your posts.”
“I like posting things that make women more comfortable with their bodies and sexuality. I always have but I had to be careful. I didn’t want to sound bitchy or judgy … I just wanted women to know it was okay to want sex. To have sex. To wear what they want and to say no if they didn’t want to do something. That it didn’t make them “less than” to want some activities.”
“Was your mother an active role or voice in that subject?”
My snort is exceptionally unladylike. “No. No, not at all. I don’t remember much about my mother except …”