Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
His eyes are troubled, and his jaw ticks as he considers me. He doesn’t like the fear he thinks he can sense in me at all. He doesn’t like me learning his secret or witnessing my reactions. “Just fix the locks, and you can go,” he says softly.
It’s his gentle concern that opens something inside me. I want to look around, take in the reality of my fantasy, and touch things I’ve only imagined until now. As I walk into the room, Mr. Bjorn says, “Don’t,” in a pained voice. “I know how this must look to you. I just want the door fixed so I can lock it again.”
“You lock the door, so you can’t come in here?” I ask, stepping toward the bed and trailing my fingers across the clean white sheets until they make contact with the cold steel of the handcuffs. A shiver runs up my spine, tingling over my neck.
“Yes.”
“But why have it if you don’t use it?”
He runs his hand through his thick, dark hair, focusing on the window’s anonymous blackness. “I thought if I made it, I would… I could find someone who would want the same things as me.”
“But you didn’t find them?”
He shakes his head.
“Social media? Aren’t there websites?”
He fixes me with a stern look. “Do I look like a man interested in social media?”
“You don’t look like a man with an illicit sex room in your house.”
The skin above his beard reddens, and he shoves his hands into his pockets.
I hate the embarrassment caused by his preference, but then I consider my embarrassment about my desires, and I understand how he feels. It’s difficult to want something that isn’t mainstream, and it isn’t easy to find someone you’re attracted to who is into the same thing. I wonder how long Mr. Bjorn waited to find someone before he locked the door to his hopeful fantasies. The thought makes me sad for him, and sad for myself, too.
Pushing a part of yourself down and ignoring it doesn’t make for a happy life. It creates a heavy weight of shame and regret.
I want to discover more about what Mr. Bjorn likes, hoping that talking about it will be cathartic. Looking at the array of restraints and equipment and imagining Mr. Bjorn’s big hands holding me down is turning me on.
“Do you like to be restrained?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.
“No.” He practically growls his answer. “I like to be in total control. I need to be in total control.” Those words are like a balm washing over me. It’s as though I’ve been searching in a dark forest and have finally found the place I’ve been longing to find, the warm cottage with all the food and comfort I could want.
“You know,” I say, turning to face him, finding him resting against the bed frame, “When you called me, I was in bed. I was—”
Before I finish, the sound of a door banging downstairs makes us both turn toward the hallway.
“Is there someone else here?” I ask.
Mr. Bjorn nods solemnly. “My brother, Evan.”
Footsteps sound on the stairs, and Mr. Bjorn sighs and takes a step back, leaning against the wall. “Robert?” The deep voice of Mr. Bjorn’s brother interrupts the silence.
“In here.”
I brace myself to come face to face with another enormous man. Will he look like Robert? Is he younger or older?
I get my answer as he comes into view.
They’re identical twins. My pussy flutters as more dark eyes find mine, and a half-smile forms on his face. “I didn’t know you had a guest,” he says, appraising me with warm humor lighting his eyes.
“The locksmith,” Robert says.
“I didn’t know they make locksmiths who look like this.”
They’re identical but with subtle differences that fascinate me. Where Robert’s brows are serious and straight, Evan’s pull into shapes that convey a subtle amusement. Where Robert’s eyes are a dark chocolate brown, swamped by obsidian pupils, Evan’s eyes seem brighter with sparkling mischief.
“They make locksmiths in all shapes and sizes,” I say, smiling.
“Mmm…” He glances at his brother. “So, you’re putting the locks back on?”
“Yes,” Robert snaps. “Of course.”
Evan shakes his head. “I don’t see why it’s needed. This is our home. Why should we have parts of it that are inaccessible?”
“You know why.” Robert folds his arms, expands his chest, and grits his teeth.
“What do you think?” Evan asks me. He cocks his head to one side and raises a questioning eyebrow. Maybe this room is important to both men, but one is reluctant to use it and the other isn’t?
I shrug. “If children were in the house, I’d say keep the locks. But if it’s just you who lives here, then you don’t need them.”
“It’s just us,” Evan says. “Right now—”
Robert snorts. “Can we just let—” He looks at me, realizing he’s forgotten my name.