Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
He laughed softly and formed a neat pile with the snacks he’d bought for Lily. There came the Hulk. Animal crackers, Marvel-style. “Well, then,” he said. “I made sure to pick things with decent shelf life, so there’s no need to try everything at once.”
I shook my head in wonder and just looked at him.
It made me curious about his own thoughts on children. “Do you want kids of your own someday?” After all, he was only thirty-two. I’d been nearing forty when Samantha became pregnant.
“I don’t know.” He squinted in thought, then shrugged. “I never had a strong opinion in either direction. When Mom asked me a few years ago, I said I’d let my future husband decide.”
Future husband.
Interesting. I’d been similar at his age. It was Samantha who had said she wanted one child. Just one. And then we’d had Lily. Her hearing impairment had been detected by the doctors before her autism. And when the final diagnosis arrived, Samantha had asked if I’d wanted one more.
It’d been such a punch in the gut. In retrospect, I knew that was when I began letting her go. Because it’d felt like she wanted a second for the sole reason that Lily didn’t live up to her expectations.
“Did I scare you with that, Uncle Franklin?”
I glanced back at him and quirked a faint smile. “I’m still standing here, aren’t I?”
He offered a smirk and a shrug before he stowed away most of the groceries. The items he’d picked for lunch stayed on the counter, and I figured I could help out by reheating the chicken.
“I know for sure I want a dog or a cat, though,” he said. “Maybe a bird.”
“Now I’m terrified,” I muttered. “Lily wants a cat for Christmas.”
“Mom told me,” he chuckled.
Hmpf.
With sodas and two plates filled with chicken, buttery and garlic-smelling mashed potatoes, green beans, and corn bread, we headed into the living room and sat down on the couch together.
Jack dove right in on his previous “I come prepared” topic. As in, ground rules and relationship structure.
“So here’s the thing,” he said. “I’ve had a few opportunities to observe you during play now, and would you agree that you like the sensual versions of humiliation and degradation? You don’t want to actually suffer in that sense—you don’t want to cry or feel genuinely hurt. You want the erotic shame and embarrassment.”
I chewed around a mouthful of chicken and nodded slowly. That sounded about right, yes. But what did this have to do with rules?
“Okay, that brings us to a bit of an issue,” he told me. “You’re almost impossible to degrade, Franklin.”
I coughed around a laugh and reached for my soda. Christ. I took a big swallow and cleared my throat.
“When you saw Shay last night, you envied him,” he pointed out. “When Noa calls you a whore, you agree with him. When I fuck Macklin three feet away from you, you get turned on.”
“I was angry and ready to beg you too,” I argued.
“But were you humiliated?” he asked.
Hmm. I frowned and took another sip of my Coke. Maybe he had a point. “Fleetingly. It passed quickly.”
“And that’s fine, obviously. I’m just pointing things out,” he replied. “But I did notice a difference in your behavior when Dean was nearby. You got embarrassed easier.”
He had a point there too.
I’d been mortified by Noa and Jack calling me names—right up until Dean showed his interest. After that, I was ready to be anything they wanted me to be.
I put down my fork and eyed Jack. “Where are you going with this?”
His sly little smile was foreshadowing. “I want you to play more with him.”
The way he phrased that set off warning bells in my head.
He wanted me to play with Dean…?
“I want to watch him humiliate you,” he murmured. “There’s something about the natural authority around Dean that puts you on edge.”
My brows knitted together again. “I’ve had the exact same reaction to you since you did your internship with me, Jackson.”
He shrugged and took a bite of his corn bread. “That may be, but you’ve relaxed now, haven’t you? I don’t put you on edge. If anything, you’ve been more of a switchy submissive with me—which I fucking love. I didn’t think I would, but you’re changing things for me.”
Oh boy, I could say the same about him. He’d changed everything.
“It was hot when you got mad at me last night,” he said. “And the way you and Macklin kissed and made up? Or sucked and made up. The voyeur in me was happy.”
Fuck, this was becoming overwhelming. What the hell was I? A sub? A humiliation whore? A fetishist? Exhibitionist? A submissive ageplayer? Did those labels matter?
“Don’t overthink it, baby.”
Right. I released a breath. Still confused. But I had to accept that I was going to change and develop a lot faster than most, because of how new I was.