Page 33 of Surrender
“That’s exactly what I want,” I reply, eyeing her speculatively. “Is that still what you want? You seem nervous.”
“Yes!” she exclaims, her eyes wide and urgent. “I mean, it’s what I want. I got myself all pumped up on the drive out here. This is going to be fun, like role-playing. But instead of being a character, I’m the director!”
I chuckle at her enthusiasm. Seeing the spark in her eyes is reward enough for giving in to her desires and making mine completely secondary. This is a total transformation from the woman I’ve grown to know the past few years. She’s embracing something for herself for once and the anticipation of seeing her really sink into it might just kill me.
“Let’s get on with it then, turncoat.”
She frowns at my comment. “Did you just make a joke?”
I frown back. “I make jokes.”
“When do you make jokes?”
“Okay, I’m not a standup comedian, but I’m not Mr. Serious.”
“No, you’re Mr. Submissive.” She smirks, then bites her lip.
“If you start to call me that, Sloan, I swear…”
“I want you to fuck me,” she barks, setting her glass down on the counter and widening her stance with determination. She’s a striking vision of power and command, like a real-life Wonder Woman.
My body’s reaction is immediate. “Anywhere in particular, Treacle?”
She smiles. She likes when I call her that and I so want to please her. “In your closet.”
I bite my lip and, fuck me, I think I’m already getting a little bit hard. “Your command is my wish.”
“Shut up before I spank you.” She giggles and cringes at her words, like she’s trying them on for size and is not quite sure if they fit yet. It’s pretty much perfect.
I shoot around the island and toss her over my shoulder. “Promises, promises.”
She gives my arse a hearty smack as I take her upstairs and relish in the fact that this entire messed up arrangement is already ten times better than I imagined.
Oh my God, I’m getting horny just thinking about his glass enclosed closet, never mind the fact that his ass is rock-hard under the tight jeans he’s wearing. I’ve been fantasising about the closet in Gareth’s bedroom since the first time I saw it. It’s a damn shame to waste it on a man. I could make the area sparkle.
Gareth doesn’t stop to flick any lights on in his room. He just continues to carry me up into his elevated closet that overlooks his giant bed. I hope to make good use of that piece of furniture eventually.
He sets me down on my feet. We’re both breathing heavily, but I don’t think it’s from the exertion of him carrying me up the stairs. The blue rope lighting has set the scene immediately, and my fingers itch to touch him. He’s dressed in another one of his classic white T-shirts that shows every bulge of his muscles, and a tiny smattering of chest hair peeks out theVneckline. I want to do so many things to him, I’m not sure where to start.
“I’m nervous,” I admit, losing some of my earlier bravado.
“Don’t be,” he replies, bringing his warm hand up to cup my cheek. His hazel eyes are dark and his brow is serious as he stares into my eyes. “You know how to do this, Sloan. You’ve done it before. Just think about what inspired you last time.”
I close my eyes and flashes of my entire life play on the backs of my lids. So many choices have been made for me. From the moment I peed on that stick, to the realisation that Sophia wasn’t a healthy baby, to the day Cal told me we were moving to England. The divorce. The shared custody. Cal’s mother. None of my current circumstances have been initiated by me, aside from the Sophia part, which isn’t a circumstance. She is the saving grace of my entire life. I want to be strong for her. I want to rediscover my inner strength and prove to myself that I’m more than someone who simply reacts to life’s curveballs. I’m in control of the pitch.
“Kneel, please,” I state, my voice sounding like a stranger.
Gareth fails to conceal his pleased smirk and drops down on his knees. The long columns of his thighs are extraordinarily thick beneath the tight stretch of his jeans. Soccer legs. Sexy soccer legs that I get to do things with.
My hands tremble as I finger the double-breasted buttons on my coat. Gareth’s eyes follow my movements as I slide the plastic buttons through the slips. When I open it to reveal my impulse purchase of La Perla lingerie, his expression makes the expense one hundred percent worth it.
Gareth’s Adam’s apple moves slowly down his throat as his jaw ticks with pained restraint. The desire in his eyes is making me unsteady in my heels, like a gravitational pull sucking me in.
Breaking my focus, I pull out my tape measure before shimmying the jacket off my shoulders. It drops to the floor with an audible thud. He takes in the violet sheer embroidered set and looks up at me in wonder, his face saying so much more than his words ever could.
Having Sophia ruined sex for me and Cal. He was in the delivery room when she was born, and I could tell he was disturbed by some of the things he saw. And not in the cute, “Oh, he’s a guy and he’s so squeamish” sort of way. It was more the, “I’m judging everything I’m seeing very harshly” sort of way. Several months later, that notion was confirmed when we were at a party in Chicago and he made a joke that my vagina was like a crime scene after childbirth. It was mortifying and it hurt me deeply. He took a beautiful moment and turned it into a crude punchline. It hurt our sex life even more. I struggled to feel desirable, so sex became few and far between until we eventually just stopped. Then Sophia got sick and life became about something so much bigger than lack of sex and body issues.
But knowing that I’m not married to Gareth—that this is casual and temporary and not about feelings—is liberating. I don’t care if I feel different down there. We haven’t slept together in ayearand he still wants me. Maybe time healed whatever changed down there before.
