Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
"Come here, Vivia.” When he says come here like that…
He pats his knee. He wants me to sit on his… lap? I don't know about that. I'm thin and fit, but that rocking chair looks like it's straining under his weight never mind with two of us sitting on it. Still, he gave me a command, and I'm expected to obey. I walk to him, shuffling my feet.
But he doesn't drag me onto his lap. He gestures to a footstool in front of the rocker. Interesting.
"Sit here, please." He parts his knees and puts the footstool between his legs. He wants me to sit by his feet?
Why the hell does that appeal to me?
I shouldn’t want to. I should feel insulted or demeaned, but instead, I feel… I’m not sure how to describe it. Small in a good way, not belittled but more like I’m… taking one step closer to intimacy with him.
Weird.
I swallow my rising nerves, and nod. I already feel half naked wearing these clothes with no underwear, but the way his eyes take me in, I feel even less clothed than before. I’m vividly aware of what little separates us from each other.
I slide myself onto the footstool, and he quickly adjust his legs. To my surprise, this is very comfortable. I lean against him. His strong, sturdy legs provide good back support. The flickering flames generate a radiating warmth, so I'm not cold anymore. And while I sit at his feet, he starts doing something I'm not prepared for. He threads his fingers through my hair, combing the strands almost methodically. I fight against the urge to close my eyes and relish in this feeling. It's soothing, and luxurious, and I’m tired.
I put the weight of my head against his knee while he continues to play with my hair.
"Beautiful. Your hair is beautiful," he says, threading his fingers through it. I feel a lift and tug, curious what he’s doing until it dawns on me.
"Are you… braiding my hair?” I ask, incredulous.
"I am. It'll be hard to wash it here, but this way it won’t tangled as much.”
"How do you know that?" How does a man like him know anything about hair care? But I don't really care how he knows it, I'm just talking nervously, because him braiding my hair feels so intimate, I feel uneasy. I shiver.
“Cold?”
“A little." He spreads a blanket over my legs.
He continues quietly braiding my hair and doesn’t answer my question.
“I don't suppose you have a hair tie?”
“No.” I clear my throat. “Why are you doing this?” I ask.
I try to keep my tone casual, curious, and not guarded, but I fail.
“Doing what?” he asks.
“You know.”
“I don’t like insinuating or assuming anything,” he says. “I want you to be very specific with me. I’ve kidnapped you, instructed you to sit between my legs, and now I’m braiding your hair. What is it that I’m doing that you want information about?”
“Okay, so… braiding my hair and having me sit here.”
“I told you. I’m braiding your hair because it will keep it less tangled. You’re sitting by my feet because I want you to be within arm’s reach of me. Also, I like you here. And if you were sitting beside me, you might forget your place.”
My place.
My place.
Hmm.
That should make me angry. I should want to slap his face. But now, my body has to go and betray me again with an accelerated heartbeat and curiosity.
“Okay, so earlier today, you practically beat me. And now you’re treating me with tenderness. What changed?”
I can feel the tension in his legs from where I sit. He doesn’t like what I just said, but he’s holding himself together. “That, lovely, was hardly a beating. Believe me when I tell you, you would know the difference.” The chill in his voice sets my nerves on edge. I know then that I would.
“I spanked you. And I can say with confidence that wasn’t the last time that will happen. But I can also say that if you behave yourself, most of the time you’ll enjoy it.” Well of all the arrogant things…
He continues, so I clamp my mouth shut because it’s definitely the best thing to do right now.
“But I understand your question. Do you wanna know why I’m not interrogating you right now? I’ll tell you why.” He sobers, and there’s a sincerity in his tone that I don’t miss. He is telling me the truth.
“I’ve thought it over. I don’t believe you’re guilty. I’m rarely wrong. And if I am right, that means that our roles have changed significantly.”
Really.
“How so?”
He leans forward, his hands on my shoulders. It feels so good I want to close my eyes and sigh.
But I don’t. I have to stay alert. Without a word, he brushes the braid over my shoulder so he has access to my bare neck before he presses a kiss to my naked skin. I imagine my flesh sizzles. My God, his command over my body.