Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
I shake my head and keep it generic.
I’m good. How are you?
Marla: Okay. No, I’m kinda fantastic. I wanted to meet up again at the club tonight, but the website says they’re closed. Maybe next week?
Yes, sounds good to me. But girl, I want all the details. You’re just going to say you’re kind of fantastic?
Marla: I went home with Viktor last night. His private dungeon makes Verge look like the kiddie gym.
I grin to myself. This is awesome. Even though I’m excited for her, I’m a little scared. Does she even know who he is?
Is he a good guy, though? Like how well do you know him?
The door to the room opens, and Axle walks in carrying a tray with a bunch of food. I feel a little guilty holding my phone, though I’m not really sure why. He didn’t tell me I couldn’t have my phone, but I have this weird idea I should be submissively lying there or something. I put it down.
“Do you know who Viktor is?” I ask him.
He draws his brows together. “The name’s familiar,” he says. “Why?”
I don’t want to rat out my friend, but at the same time, I want to know details.
“Marla left with him last night,” I say. “She texted and says she’s excited, but I’m not really sure how well she knows him.”
He slides the tray on the bedside table. There are two turkey sandwiches and some chips.
“Well, Marla’s a big girl,” he says. “She knows better than to give too much trust too soon to a guy she doesn’t know, doesn’t she?”
I look down at my naked body and back up at him, and it seems he reads my mind, because he clucks his tongue. “Afraid you’re the pot calling the kettle black?”
I shake my head. “You’re hardly a guy I don’t know,” I tell him.
“Not sure that’s true, babe,” he says, handing me a sandwich. I don’t even ask him where he got it or how. I’m starving, and I know he’s only going to give me something good to eat. I take a bite, chew and swallow, and don’t say anything at first. So many questions. But where to begin?
“Why do you say that?” I finally ask. I take another bite of sandwich and watch him as he chews and swallows before he swigs down half a bottle of water.
“The man you knew was a good man,” he says. “Preached the good word to people. Helped people choose between right and wrong. Counseled them. Performed sacraments with hands blessed and sanctified to do so. But I was corrupt. I shouldn’t have been a priest to begin with.”
I swallow my own water and sit up in bed. “Is anyone really good?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Sure they are. And don’t downplay the shit I’ve done.”
“The Noah I knew was a strong man,” I say quietly. My voice is a bit shaky, but I press on. “He made mistakes. And yes, he never should have joined the priesthood to begin with. But he did the right thing and when he knew he’d made a mistake, he left that life behind, because it was never his to begin with.”
He smiles sadly. “But we were talking about Marla.”
I smile back. “And now we’re talking about you.”
“I shouldn’t let you take control here,” he says.
“I’m naked in your bed, dying to climax, and welted and red all over from your hand. What part of this am I controlling?”
He tugs a strand of my hair playfully. “Adorable,” he says. “And yeah, that’s why I left. I didn’t maintain my vow of celibacy, and I couldn’t pretend to be someone I wasn’t.”
“I couldn’t, either.” I speak so softly at first, I wonder if he heard me, because he doesn’t react, just opens a bag of chips and pops one in his mouth. But after a minute, he speaks up again.
“Sometimes growing up means making mistakes, learning from them, and doing better with the next choices we have. You left your home. You went off and pursued your dreams. Nothing wrong with that.”
“And there’s nothing wrong with choosing to live the way you do,” I tell him. “You could have stayed, like how many others who stay, and keep mistresses and lovers? But you didn’t. You recognized you weren’t meant to choose that life, and you went to pursue your own.”
He nods, thoughtfully. “Back to Marla,” he finally says, and I know he’s choosing to change the subject on purpose.
I hope he’s at least thinking about what I said to him.
“Marla,” I repeat.
“Keep in touch with her,” he says. “She’ll do the right thing, but sometimes people need the space to do that.”
The irony kills me. “Maybe you should take your own advice,” I say, but his demeanor changes and his gaze turns stern. My belly flips when the low tone of his voice arrests me. “That’s enough now, Chandra. I’ve let you speak freely. Now this conversation is over.” He raises a brow and gestures to the tray. “Eat.”