Page 27 of Gideon
“Tell. Me,” she demanded again, her words low and deep, rich with the anger and hatred I saw mirrored in the vibrant green slivers that pierced me.
I shook my head once, forcefully. I would not bend to her whims. Not now. Not ever.
“I said tell me. Now!” She literally stamped her foot, pounding out her demand with force.
“No.” One solitary word growled in the lowest of tones. I saw her eyes widen, popping open with surprise as my dominance came up to the surface, showing itself for a mere moment before I forced it back down. But yet it simmered there, just barely hidden from her purview.
“I said now,” she growled right back, her teeth clenched. Christ, that fire made me want to tame her into beautiful, pliant submission.
“You couldn’t handle it,” I sneered. I finished closing the distance, looming over her as I bent down slightly to be right in her face, my words nearly vibrating across her skin. I wanted to see her back down, to submit, to cower.
“Fucking. Try me.” Oh, that fucking little brat! I took one slow, deep breath, centering myself while trying to keep my veneer of calm intact.
My brother’s words flashed through my mind.
Talk to her. Tell her the truth. Be honest. Be open.
In a loop, they repeated on and on. This wasn’t the way. I knew it wasn’t the way, but fuck me ten ways to Sunday. All I wanted to do was claim her. I wanted to truss her up like a fucking Christmas goose and put her on display for all to see.
Perhaps with a gag in her mouth.
That would be a sight to behold.
“What? Is poor Gideon afraid?” she taunted me. Motherfucker —
My hand shot out, wrapping around the slim column of her neck and squeezing just enough to see her eyes widen before I spoke.
“You think you can handle me, little girl? You think you can handle my truth?” I snickered sensually. I expected her to cower, to fight. But her eyes fluttered back before she regained her thoughts anew. She steeled herself, her eyes narrowing again as she leveled a fiery gaze of pent up anger. Anger, and lust.
“Like I said, fucking try me. I can handle whatever you can give.,” she spat back at me. Her words may as well have been her actually spitting in my face.
My other hand wrapped around, fisting in the curls of hair at the back of her head tightly as I yanked her head to the side, my nose moving up the column of her neck, feeling her heart pulse and pound beneath the thin skin before my lips found her ear.
“I do not kidnap, murder, or even coerce, little vixen. I negotiate. I communicate. And when consent is given, I tie my women up into beautiful pieces of artwork before torturing their sopping wet cunts to the heights of exquisite agony before I make them explode into pleasure they’ve never felt before. I truss up my women into ropework so complicated and intricate that they cannot get out. But they don’t want to get out. No, they beg me for more. They beg me to pleasure them, to use them, to turn them into nothing more than crying puddles, shattered shells of the women they once were. And when I’m finished… would you like to know what I do then, my loud-mouth heathen of a wife?” I purred against the shell of her ear, feeling her tremble beneath me, waking my dominance and shoving it straight to the surface with no filter and no control left to keep it hidden.
She nodded her head ever so slightly, but it was enough. It was consent.
“When I’m done and I’ve had my fill of their delights, I take them down and I bathe them. I care for them and put them back together into a better version of themselves. I help them achieve peace and strength and a freedom they weren’t able to find on their own. Do you know why they couldn’t? Do you?” I continued, holding her tightly in my grasp.
She shook her head this time, the slightest movement I allowed her under my tight hold.
“Because they are submissive women. And I am a Dominant,” I growled, taking the lobe of her ear and nipping it lightly.
“Wait, what?” she barely whispered. Her eyes dilated with desire, yet I could see the glimmer of anger and hatred still glowing like an ember behind all that confusion that still clung to her.
Slowly, I released my grasp on her, pulling back as I spoke. “You said you wanted my truth, that you could handle it. That is the truth.” My solemn words sunk into her and I watched as she tried to dissect them and make sense of what I had said.
I stepped back, giving her time to process. I watched as the tension seeped out of her body, her shoulders slumping forward as her eyes darted back and forth over the floor, thoughts plaguing her mind.
“I am not a wicked man, Naomi. I’m not evil. And I’m not the kind of person who wants to hurt people, especially women. I am a Dominant. A rigger, to be specific,” I explained, my voice calmer and more understanding as I spoke.
“But you just said you tie women up…” she trailed off, still not looking at me, her eyes trained on the floor between us, almost looking through me.
“I do. And they love every moment of it, as do I. But the most important part of what I just told you is that I do it with consent. Consent is the difference. It is the difference between a good man and a man of Zion. It’s the difference between an abuser and a Dominant. I am not an abusive man. I am a Dominant,” I continued my explanation, praying to a non-existent God that she would understand. Praying that this wouldn’t all blow up in my face and fuck over everything my brothers and I had been planning.
“And the other part?” she asked, her eyes finally rising from the floor and meeting my own.
“Which part?” I asked calmly.
