"What?" Blinking, I look at Roman. "I'm sorry. I was wrapped up in this moment with the honeycake."
Ava laughs. "I hear you. I might have had a religious experience when I took a bite of the rhum baba with the cloud berry confiture."
"Do I need to give you a moment?" Dmitri asks with a grin.
"I'm just fine," Ava says primly, dabbing her lips with her napkin.
We say our goodbyes at the gate, and Roman hands me my helmet. "Are you tired, baby?"
That unsettling expression of his... I should say 'Yes, I'm very tired.' I should say the wine's getting to me.
But I don't. I say, "Not so tired," and watch his grin spread, predatory and eager across his gorgeous face.
Chapter Twenty-Two
In which Roman introduces Violet to the dark delights of the dungeon.
Violet…
Nothing with Roman is simple.
Asking me if "I'm tired," could mean several things. "Do you need a short rest," for instance, or "Are you strong enough to survive a full-scale sexual odyssey that will leave you bruised and aching but extremely satisfied?"
"Then say yes, sweet Violet." He's watching me, head tilted, waiting for me to say the words.
"How can I say yes when I don't know what I'm saying yes to?"
Roman's pale green eyes darken. "You trust me." His voice is rough. He's close to me, I have to tilt my head back to see his face. "You trust that I will look out for you." He steps closer, and I step back, an awkward little dance of uncertainty. "You trust that I will push you past your limits, and then I will bring you back safe and sound." A terrible grin spreads across his face, filthy and knowing. "You'll be sore and shaken up, of course, but it will be worth every ache."
I remember how it felt, his hands on my breasts, squeezing my nipples and tugging them, slapping them sharply and how hard I came. I'd like to lick my lips right now, but my throat's too dry.
"Okay," I croak.
"Okay, what?" He bends his head, his lips brushing against the thin skin of my throat. "What are you saying yes to, my sweet Violet?"
"I… don't know."
I went bungee jumping once on vacation in Costa Rica. A jump from a bridge over a deep gorge, water rushing violently through it, sheer cliffs on either side. It was beautiful. It also screamed death, and ruin. Somehow, Larry convinced me to try it. As they strapped me in, I looked at the thin rope that was the only thing between me and a terrible, plunging death.
"Trust it to hold you," the guide said, patting my shoulder.
And I jumped.
It was a wild sense of weightlessness, nothing but the roar of the wind rushing past me until the rope came to its end and snapped me back.
It feels like that now, nothing under me. Nothing keeping me connected to this reality, except for the thin line of Roman's promise.
"I guess I'm saying yes to everything," I manage.
"Good girl." He nuzzles my cheek. "Do you remember your safe word?"
We're talking about safe words, standing on the sidewalk next to his expensive bike. A few steps away, the maître d' is greeting a new couple, with the faint sound of the music from the garden restaurant behind us. Who talks aboutsafewords at a time like this?
I do it seems, because I nod at him.
"Repeat the word back," he says.
"Amber." The two syllables slip past my lips as if the rest of me is eager to rush forward, even as sensible Violet is screaming,What the hell are you doing?
