Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
“But we can wait.” His fingers rubbed my tender wrists, the stiffness from the restraints dissipating with each stroke. “As long as you promise not to go runnin’ anywhere in the middle of the night.”
“I promise,” I replied immediately. I hated myself for making a promise like that. One I knew I was going to eventually break.
The next morning I emerged from the bathroom early. The telltale twinge in my stomach had woken me.
Swiss was squinting at me. “Get back in this bed,” he ordered. “Wanna fuck you,” he added sleepily.
Despite what was going on with my ovaries, my body responded, seeming to have a mind of its own. I very much wanted him to do that.
“We, uh, we can’t have sex,” I said tentatively.
“Why the fuck not?” Swiss demanded, sitting up in bed now, obviously a lot more awake.
“I’m, um, on my period,” I told him very quietly. I was thoroughly disgusted at the shame in my voice and coursing through my body. I’d made sure that Violet was never ashamed of what her body did. Made sure it was not a dirty, secret thing like it was when I was growing up. It was a part of being a woman. A part that wasn’t always great but something to be proud of.
Violet, to her credit, was not embarrassed in the slightest. And I was proud of myself for not letting all my crap leech into her.
And to Preston’s credit, he never shamed our daughter when she talked openly about her bodily functions. In fact, he’d celebrated her. Prided himself on being the father who would go in and buy her tampons, and then the Diva Cup that was so much better for her and the environment.
I loved that Preston was like that with our daughter, and to a point, with me. He never really wanted to know too much about it, but he would run me a bath. He’d get a heating pad for me if cramps were bad. Of course, only after I’d given him the obligatory blow job that he was entitled to when I was menstruating.
He certainly wouldn’t touch me in any other way. He thought it was ‘foul.’ Because I didn’t have anyone else to compare my situation to, I assumed that most men—certainly most men in my generation—were of the same opinion. It only served to shame me further when some of the times I was the most turned on were during the week that Preston refused to touch me.
That, of course, was coupled with the ever-present shame from still being turned on by the husband who beat me.
“You’re on your period?” Swiss repeated, bringing me back into the small room that was once his that had become ours.
My clothes—a collection growing steadily, thanks to Macy, Freya and Caroline—were in the compact closet, and I had two drawers of my very own in the dresser. I had bought a scented candle to put on that dresser. Swiss liked that and bought more, discovering all of the things we could do with the hot wax.
A couple of pieces of cheap jewelry were arranged in a little bowl on the dresser. The bathroom was changed the most, with proper and separate shampoos, body wash and body scrubs in the shower, assorted skin care and makeup arranged beside the sink.
Now a little box of tampons stashed in the bathroom cabinet.
Swiss pulled back the covers, got out of bed—naked—and walked to where I was standing by the bathroom door. He didn’t stop until he made it to me, one hand going to my hip, the other brushing hair from my face. I was only wearing his tee… most of the time I slept naked, and when I didn’t, I was wearing something of his.
“You want to fuck?” he asked, his pillowy lips tilted up.
My skin flamed. “I can’t,” I murmured.
His finger went to my chin, lifting it up so I couldn’t avoid his eyes. “I don’t believe that was the question. Now, if you’re hurtin’, I’m totally down to go on a junk food run, tuck you up in bed and cuddle and watch whatever show or movie you want.” His hand stroked my hip. “But if you want my cock, I’m more than happy to give that to you, Countess.”
My eyes widened at him. “Don’t you think it’s, uh… gross?”
He frowned at me. “Not one single thing about the female body, yours in particular, that I think is gross, Kate.” His hand skimmed across my stomach then up to my breasts, which were slightly swollen and tender.
I sucked in an unsteady breath.
“I happen to think the female body is fuckin’ glorious,” he murmured. “At any time of the month.” He gently tweaked my nipple. “And in case you haven’t noticed, baby, I’m more than a little fucked-up. I like to see a woman bleed.” His finger brushed the swell of my breast where he’d ran a knife along it two nights before, licking the blood from the blade as he fucked me.