“None of your business,” I snapped. “God, y’all are always up my ass. You and Austin are pests.”
“I’m just checking on you.”
“No, you’refishing,” I said. “You act like you’re just a bookworm car guy, but you like gossip more than Mom does.”
He feigned a scoff, but I could hear the hint of amusement. “All right, all right. Acting like it’s a crime for your older brother to call you.”
“Dallas,” I growled.
“Fine,” he sighed. “Jesus. I’ll leave you be . . . Want to get lunch tomorrow?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I guess. Nothing in town sounds good, though.”
“We could make the drive somewhere.”
I narrowed my eyes, torn between being suspicious and genuinely feeling worried about Dallas. It was rare he asked for one-on-one time, and when he did, that usually meant something was on his mind.
“How about I make lunch?” I offered.
“Absolutely not. Your cooking is horrible.”
Now, it was my turn to scoff. “Okay, well, you cook then.”
“All right, I will. Lunch tomorrow at my place.”
“And try not to poison me. The last thing I need is to be shitting for the next week because you didn’t cook something right.”
“That only happened once.”
“Once was more than enough.” I wrinkled my nose, thinking about the time Dallas had offered to cook family dinner and gave us all food poisoning. I’d sent him a Venmo request for ginger ale and meds afterwards, along with “fuck your cooking forever” in the memo. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Oh, can you do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Can you tell Austin to lay the fuck off when it comes to my romantic life?”
“Nope. See you tomorrow.”
He hung up before I could protest.
What a bastard.
I was starting to dream of the day Austin or Dallas fell in love with someone, because then I’d be able to give them equal amounts of shit. I was saving up years worth of frustration for them. I’d never take it out on their partners, of course—but I wasyearningfor the day I could wreak havoc on them.
Out of love.
I groaned and sat back down on my stool, glowering at my canvas.
The pink was drying into a nice shade, one I could build on well. My gaze swept around my studio and I stood up, giving myself a moment to take a walk around. A lot of the art in this room was locked away for very specific reasons.
One, they were personal.
Two, they were kinky as fuck.
Paintings of women with rope wrapping around their bodies on full, glorious display. Couples and throuples grinding together, kissing, fucking. One of my personal favorites was of a woman wearing a ball gag with spit dripping down her chin, her eyes full of pure submission.
A lot of people had misunderstandings about submission. They thought it was disgusting, taking women back decades.Why would you ever submit to a man?
It was never about that. It was about trust. It was about knowing I could trust someone so wholeheartedly that they could put me on my knees and make me beg for them. It was knowing they respected me enough to fulfill my desires in a consensual, healthy way.
