Page 34 of Bite
I wet my lips again, throat tight. “The, uh… impact play,” I manage.
One brow arches. “Spanking? Flogging? The bite of a belt?” His voice doesn’t flinch, doesn’t waver– he lists them plainly, as if reciting poetry.
My cheeks flame. “I’ve never… had any of that,” I admit. “I don’t know if I’d like the pain part.”
“Pain,” he says, rocking back on a hip, “is only half of the story, darling. There’s release in it, too. Relief. Some crave the sting, others the surrender. It’s not about damage, it’s about sensation.” His eyes trace my face intently. “I would calibrate it to you. Every touch, every strike, measured.”
I swallow hard, pulse thundering. “And the restraints?”
“Bondage?” His smirk curves, slow and wicked. “To be bound is to let someone else carry the weight of choice. Rope, cuffs, silk… each tells the body something different. Some find comfort in it, some find ecstasy. Do you fear it?”
“Yes,” I whisper. Then, shamefully, “And no.”
His gaze sharpens, satisfaction flickering in the pale blue. “A healthy answer. Fear keeps you cautious. Curiosity keeps you open.”
I nod slowly, suddenly desperate for air. “What about… control?”
“Dominance,” he supplies smoothly. “Submission. Power exchanged like currency.” He steps in closer, voice dropping an octave. “You would never be powerless with me, Marilyn. You would choose to give me the reins. That choice would always remain yours.”
The air between us now feels molten, a buzz tingling beneath my skin that’s definitelynotfrom the tequila. I shift my weight, thighs pressing together, forcing myself to look up at him again.
“I just… don’t want to go into something like this blind.”
“Good,” he replies with a derisive nod. “I want you to be fully apprised of every aspect of the agreement before you enter into it. We can mark those line items as conditional, if you’d like.”
I nod again, hardly believing I’m even having this conversation right now. My eyes slide over the room– lampshades with stained-glass petals, the carved arm of a chair– anything to avoid looking athimwhile my thoughts sprint in circles.
“Was there something else?” he asks, as if he can sense where my mind has wandered.
My gaze snaps back up. “The part about… other partners,” I say hesitantly.
He inclines his head, expression neutral for a beat, then answers in the same flat, casual tone he’s used all evening. “I enjoy voyeurism. I also don’t like to limit my own participation. I’d never require it of you, but I will request it. And when I do, you’ll have full consent and control over who, when, and how.”
My brows draw together. “SoI’dchoose the other person?”
“Yes. Always.”
“And what about you?” I ask, heart thudding. “Wouldyou…?”
“I will have other lovers,” he says plainly, completely unapologetic. “But I won’t drink from anyone else, and nobody else will drink from you. Your blood is mine alone.”
The proprietary tone in his voice stirs something hot and complicated inside me. I swallow thickly, eyes skittering around the room again.
I can’t let him see how close I am to unraveling. Because if I actually look at him–really look– then I know what’ll happen.
A dull, insistent ache settles between my thighs, a slow burn that’s equal parts shame and want. My mind floods with images it’s not supposed to conjure: surrendering to his desires, being pleasured by someone else while James watches on. The idea of exploring my sexuality, of dancing the line between fear and arousal until they blur into the same thing, feels both obscene and thrilling.
It should be insane to even be entertaining this. And yet it’s also a rush– like pausing at the top of a roller coaster, stomach curling in on itself with anticipation for the drop. Even knowing it’s coming, part of me is desperate to throw up my arms and just fall.
“And I’d live here?” I ask after a beat. “With you?”
“You’d have your own private suite,” he replies steadily. “A full wardrobe. A driver at your disposal. A monthly stipend for whatever you need, on top of your payout at the completion of the contract. You may come and go as you please, but you’ll have a security detail if you leave the estate alone. My name and position carry certain notoriety, so precautions must be taken to ensure your safety while under my patronage.”
The words settle over me as I nod stiffly. “So I’d be kept.”
“You’d bechosen,” he corrects, finally lowering himself to take the spot beside me on the sofa, close enough that our shoulders brush. “You’d be comfortable. Safe. Adored.Mine.”
His voice drops an octave on that last word, making my breath catch and my pulse quicken.
