Page 77 of His Turn

“Oh?” I say. “How so?” I don’t even remember what I picked.

“They’re not traditional,” Bric says.

Shit. What did I pick?

“But whatever. I can see this is a game to you. So we’re going to choose one of them tonight and you’ll have to live with it.”

There’s brochures stuffed between his seat and the center console, so I take them out and look at them again.

Yeah. Not really my thing. One has turrets. Looks like a fucking castle. One is contemporary, but not traditional. And the third is Santa Fe Spanish. I almost can’t stop the laugh.

“I’m disappointed in you, Nadia.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you put no thought into this. These are not your choices. And tonight I’m going to spend somewhere between three and five million dollars trying to make you happy by giving you a home, and you put no thought into it.”

“That’s not fair. First of all, I’m not asking you for a house. Second, I didn’t even have a chance to look at what was in the envelope until my break. And by that time, it was almost noon. If you want to make me happy don’t give me deadlines.”

He looks at me. Sternly. And the few moments of silence that come with that look make me squirm. “I didn’t say house, Nadia. I said home.”

OK. Just give in, Nadia. It’s easier. Get the night over with and then you can go—

“Why are you playing?”

“Why are you playing?” I ask. “If all you get out of it is disappointment.”

“I was hoping we had come to an understanding.”

“Why? Because you’re blackmailing me?”

He scoffs.

“You are,” I say. “Blackmailing me.”

“So quit the game. You’ll save me a few million dollars.”

“You could quit too,” I say. “And save yourself.”

“Jordan laughed when I texted him your choices.”

“Did he?” I say. Fucker. He hasn’t called me at all. I spent a good amount of time this morning listening for the phone to ring and Chris’s soft steps as she came to tell me I had a call. But he never called. It seems he’s abandoned me to Bric.

“He said these aren’t your choices, which I already knew since you told me traditional. And then he laughed again.”

“Does it hurt your feelings when he laughs at you, Elias?”

The sneer he shoots me makes my heart skip a beat. “You’re trying to control me. And I thought we already had this talk. I’m the top, you’re the bottom. You exist to please me. And when you please me, I please you.”

I look out the window, too angry to trust any words that might come out.

“This is a power struggle,” he says. “And I like it.”

I look back over at him, confused. “You do?”

“Of course. What good is a dom/sub relationship if there’s no power struggle? It makes things exciting. I break you down, you learn something about yourself. If I do it right, you don’t get hurt. So I learn something about myself as well.”

Is he serious right now?