Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
I type it out, giggling as I hit Send.
Me: Ew. And I’m still wearing them? I should definitely take them off.
I’m still giggling when the three dots indicating he’s typing pop up on the screen. I feel twenty again, giddy to see his flirtatious and naughty words. It makes a sweet ache blossom in my core.
But the text doesn’t come. Instead, the cell almost hops right off the desk it vibrates so hard, making me jump it’s so startling right in my face. I catch it before it buzzes any closer to the edge, seeing my husband’s handsome face in his contact photo. Fuck my life, he skipped right past texting and calling and went straight to FaceTime.
I swipe the screen, knowing not answering is so not an option.
My face is sheepish in the small window in the corner as I answer, his stern expression filling the rest of the screen.
“Good morning, my love,” I say as cheerfully as I can manage, which is an undertaking with those dark eyes staring directly into my soul, no matter if it’s actually through a camera. Had the past year not happened, I could’ve definitely held my own, answered him with sass, and taunted him until he’d forget the meeting altogether and come home to punish me until I couldn’t walk from the number of orgasms he forced me to have. But my confidence took quite the blow when I thought he cheated on me, and even though I believed him when he told me soon after that he had never touched the woman, my self-worth still didn’t fully recover, since just because he didn’t turn to her physically, I thought he had still turned to her over me.
Now that I know the truth, that in his mind he truly fantasized it was me he was conversing with, I feel like the bruises and cracks in my self-image are finally starting to heal. But after feeling that shitty for so long, I know realistically I’m not going to be all better overnight. It wasn’t just some twenty-four-hour bug I’ll wake up from, take stock of myself, and discover there’s no more pain. No, this will probably leave a few scars I’ll carry for the rest of my life. But they say scars are the toughest part of us once they form, so I’ll just have to remind myself to look forward to them, proud I survived and wear them at all, instead of dreading their existence.
His face softens the slightest bit, and I wonder if he saw something in mine that told him he should be gentler with me than what he initially planned for this FaceTime call.
His tongue runs along his lip as his eyes lower to where my nipples are clearly visible through the white cotton tee. Then they lift once again, and I feel the heat of his stare as if he’s standing right here in front of me.
His voice is much calmer than what I first expect to come out of him.
“I’m going to set my phone to Do Not Disturb for the next hour. When I turn my notifications back on, I expect there to be three links to articles on the site—” I relax, because that’ll be super easy. I’m already itching to dive into the tab labeled Toys. “—and links to at least two member profiles that interest you.”
With that tacked on to the end, all the relaxation I felt mere seconds ago swiftly changes to tension, and my heart starts to race with anxiety, sending the butterflies that had been happily flapping around into a divebomb to huddle in fear at the bottom of my gut.
He continues, showcasing clearly how well he knows me—at least who I was a year ago. “And, Savvy, before you try to use any technicality that would ultimately lead to me being highly disappointed in the links I receive, the member profiles should be chosen after you’ve narrowed down the browse feature by setting the filter to male members only, and under Kink Preferences, ‘Bull’ should have a checkmark. As of three minutes ago, it should give you a list of 173 profiles to choose from.”
I have no time to argue, not that I have it in me anyway. He glances at his watch and then looks at me one last time before he says, “I don’t have to waste my breath telling you there will be consequences if my demand isn’t fulfilled.” It’s not a question. And he’s right. He didn’t even have to say that much. I already knew. The tone, the use of my nickname, the clear and precise instruction—this is my Dom I’m speaking to, not my much laxer husband who’d let me get away with murder because of the soft spot he has for me and only me.