Page 21 of Bound To Me

I waited for him to react; I was glad that I couldn’t see the look on his face as I buried my face into his chest.

“Please go on. I’m listening,” he finally said, gently rubbing the tips of his fingers up and down my covered arms.

“We met on a BDSM app. I was instantly obsessed with him, and he was instantly horrible to me. I had never been a submissive before, but I was curious. He raped me the first night we met, but I thought because he made me come that it was okay. He acted as if he did nothing wrong. Then he told me that I washis. And that sparked something inside of me because all I had ever wanted was for someone to justwantme.”

My tears were falling onto his chest.

“He became more and more abusive. I tried to leave him and then he…he…” I began to sob, unable to continue as my shoulders heaved into Elliott’s arms.

He put both arms around me and held me until my crying slowed several minutes later.

“Jacqueline, you know that’s not what a dominant/submissive relationship is supposed to be like. Right?” His voice was careful and gentle.

My eyebrows pulled together with confusion. Of course I knew that. But surely he didn’t have any experience with that, did he?

I finally looked up at him, his strong jaw clenching as he looked down at me. His eyes were still soft but I could tell he was upset.

“Yes, I know that now. Is that something…you’re familiar with?” I held my breath—I didn’t even know what I wanted his answer to be.

He blinked before he answered, never pulling his gaze from mine. “Yes. My wife and I…we explored a lot of that during our marriage.”

My jaw would have dropped if it wasn’t resting on his chest. “How so?” I asked eagerly.

“Well, Kate came to me with it. My wife—her name was Kate,” he said, and I smiled. “We had been married for a couple of years when she told me she wanted to try something new; she wanted to be dominated. So I did my research, we tried some things out, and I found myself enjoying being a dom. I liked a mixture of things—being a traditional dom, a pleasure dom, a rigger.”

I started to get aroused again. His words from earlier during sex stuck out immediately: seeing me come turned him on more than anything and my pleasure was all that mattered.

He smiled as he added, “I am also very into primal play. The list could go on.”

“I don’t even know what any of that means.” I laughed, embarrassed. “All I know is that I enjoy being told what to do.”

Elliott smiled at me again, seemingly holding something back.

“What?” I smirked, getting up on my elbow.

“I could tell during sex that you were submissive. Begging for my cock, asking me with a ‘please.’” He almost looked embarrassed to be talking to me this way.

I looked down at my empty left-hand ring finger.

“Do you like to be called anything in particular while you’re being dominant?” I looked up at him hesitantly.

He gave me a soft smile. “Before we get into this, I’d still like to get to know each other better, if you’re okay with that.”

I think I’m in love. I nodded and slowly sat up, unbuttoning my shirt. Somehow, I was ready to show him. The fear that had always held me back seemed to dissipate in his presence. My heart pounded in my chest, but there was a strange sense of calm washing over me. I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of my past and the scars that marked my body, both seen and unseen. In this moment, I knew that showing him meant revealing not just my physical vulnerabilities, but also the emotional wounds that haunted me for so long. Yet, with him, I felt a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, he would understand and accept all of me.

“You don’t have to—”

“Iwantto,” I interrupted. “I don’t want to be ashamed with you.”

I let my shirt fall off my shoulders, down onto the bed, and removed the blanket from my lower half. I watched his jaw clench and his eyebrows pull together slightly as his eyes scanned my body. I looked down at the “Michael’s Property” scaron my stomach, then to his name on one arm and his name plus “slut” on the other. My upper thighs bore the same marks on each leg.

“Besides the physical pain he inflicted, the emotional scars he left may be even worse.”

“He’s in prison? Because if not, I’m going to kill him,” he said quietly, his voice trembling with barely suppressed rage as he continued to eye my scars, his jaw clenched and his eyes burning with fury.

I realized he was dead serious.

“Yes, I think so, but he’s getting out soon. He may be out already. I changed my number so he can’t reach me anymore,” I explained.

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