Page 56 of The Promises We Break

Ienter the kitchen, where Ember sits at the table, going through her work notes. She sorts through some paperwork between typing on her laptop, with a piece of toast hanging out of her mouth. If she’s not physically working on something for XConnect, she’s researching something related to it.

She is the most hard-working, dedicated person I’ve ever met.

It’s sexy as hell.

She’s so focused she doesn’t even hear me enter the kitchen while she plugs away, nibbling at her breakfast, but paying more attention to her work than her food.

I had only been gone for two weeks, but it felt longer—not only in time, but in the subtle changes that are shining through her. She’s more confident, something that I think has to do with Elena, Cruz, and her current project. Maybe she’s got a little glow from last night; I’d like to think it has something to do with me, too.

She has also lost a few pounds. Not much, but enough for me to notice, because hell, I notice everything about her.

I see now that she gets so involved in work, hyper-focused on whatever she is working on, that her food ends up just sitting there, and she probably skips way too many meals.

I can handle her dedication to her career, but not at the expense of her health.

“Your breakfast is getting cold,” I remind her of the lone plate that’s been pushed to the side.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” She picks up her fork, stabbing a tiny strawberry, eats it, then returns the fork, and pushes the plate even further away.

A subconscious habit I’m going to have to break out of her.

Pouring myself a cup of coffee, I take a few sips, observing her before I slide into the seat next to her, placing my laptop on the table.

“Do you have a few minutes to research some other things?” I push my closed laptop closer to her and she eyes it suspiciously.

“Sure, like what?” she asks, glancing at me before shutting down her laptop.

“Open it up.” I tip my chin at my computer.

Her brows furrow, and she gives me a curious look. Reaching for the device, she pulls it in front of her and opens the screen.

“Oh… my.” Her voice a breathy whisper.

I smile as I watch her eyes bouncing between the sections of the screen. I observe deeply when she stops on one side, biting her lip, and her cheeks flush a bright shade of pink.

“Which one caught your attention?” But I already know the answer based on where her eyes are stalled.

I took the time this morning to pull up different videos with an array of kinks, things that I thought might interest her. Using a new window and placing each of them on different areas of the screen. I was curious as to the one that would catch her attention first and, as I guessed, her eyes zero’d exactlywhere I thought they would—the top left-hand side of the screen.

The night we spent together, after I steered her away from that shitty hotel she was trying to stay at, she took charge in a way I had never experienced with another woman. It was euphoric, seeing her take charge like she does in life, with how she dives into projects, her job, and anything else she puts her mind to.

I assumed lack of sexual experience caused her to shy away from doing more of what she desired, but I think nerves got the best of her, so she refrained from being open about what she really wanted.

So, I strategically placed a video of a woman blindfolded and tied to a bed in complete submission to a man who is clearly dominating her. Another video is the exact opposite. A man, blindfolded, restrained, allowing the woman to be in full control.

As I suspected, her head tilts to inspect the subdued man. Avoiding the submissive woman like it’s the plague, she leans closer to the blindfolded man, angling her view as she appraises the stilled clip.

My lips lift up in a smirk at my observation and her blushing as she bites her lip.

Reaching over the keyboard, I tap the spacebar, and the video begins to play. She flinches back with a gasp as the woman crawls over her lover, caressing him softly at first, then wraps her hand around his cock and begins stroking and jerking as her lips lick the swollen tip.

My body has a mind of its own when I stand and step behind her. My hands rub up the sides of her arms and the touch rips her out of her trance. She stands, panicked, picks up her coffee mug, and walks around the kitchen island, setting her mug in the sink. She misjudges the depth, and the mug drops aggressively onto the steel, clanging against the ceramic.

“Shit!” she curses.

“Hey.” I follow behind her.

She turns around to face me, her shoulders back, faking a confidence that doesn’t match the flush in her cheeks.

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