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11
CLAIRE
Griff doesn’t sayanything after telling me we need to talk. We take turns washing each other; even though the mood between us is tense, the way he touches me is tender. I feel worshipped by the caress of his hands and the look in his eyes.
He hands me a towel after turning off the shower. We dry off in silence, and then he disappears into the bedroom. I pull on my pajamas and find him standing by the bed with my phone in his hand. Luckily, I washed the sweatpants and t-shirt I borrowed from him a few weeks ago, so he has those to wear.
“Do you know who’s sending you these messages?” He hands my phone over to me, the lock screen showing a new text from whoever is blackmailing me.
“No,” and I need to change my notifications, so they’re hidden on the lock screen. “I’m working on finding out though.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?” His eyes narrow in irritation, and his tone has my back going up.
“Because you’re not entitled to know every single thing about my life.”
“You came to me for help.”
“The fucking audacity of you to go through my phone and look at text messages.” I step up to him. “Just because we fuck doesn’t mean you get to start acting like you own me, Griffin.”
“Oh? Is that what we’re doing? Just fucking.” He wraps my hair in his fist and slowly pulls my head back, so I’m looking up at him.
“Yes.”
“I have news for you, Tsarina. I haven’t even come close to fucking you yet.”
“Then what have we been doing?”
“Having sex.”
“Newsflash, paperboy, having sex is fucking.”
“Oh, you couldn’t be more wrong.” He chuckles darkly and pulls my hair harder. “If you keep acting like a brat, I’ll show you the difference.”
His dark tone and rough treatment have me clenching my thighs to ease the ache. Why does this turn me on so much? Why do we always end up naked? My desire for him is so strong that I have to actively work to not give in to my urge. This need to please him scares me because it doesn’t make any sense.
I’m a strong woman. I have never been the type to be walked over. I don’t follow orders, I give them, but I know that if he told me to drop to my knees for him I would. My internal debate must show on my face because he backs off.
“What’s going on up there?” he taps my temple.
“I’m just trying to figure out why we always end up naked. Why I’m so driven to obey you all the time. I can’t make sense of it.”
“It’s just us, our chemistry. You pull away, I push forward. I pull away, you push forward. I do want you to know that I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. If I’m pushing you too hard, you can always tell me, and I’ll pump the breaks.”
I nod.
“Can I give you my thoughts on why you’re feeling the way you do? About wanting to,” he swallows, “please or obey me?”
“Yes,” I groan and rest my forehead against his chest, “because it is so out of character.”
“I think you are clinging to control in every area of your life because your diagnosis has rocked you to your core. Many strong people, women and men, find submission in any way, to be freeing. Letting someone else take control eases the weight on your shoulders, even for an hour. It makes a difference. Maybe you have always had this submissive aspect to you, but you buried it because you had to.”
I let his words sink in, wondering if he’s correct. Could there be a woman capable of submission inside me? Is that something I want?
“Will you only want me for the long term if I am submissive?” The question tumbles out of my mouth, surprising me.
“Tsarina,” he uses both hands to cup my face, “I want you whatever way I can get you. Even fighting over allowing me to help you. I’m crazy about you. As far as I’m concerned, you are mine.”
I melt against him. I’ve known all along that I should let him help me figure out who’s behind the threatening texts. “Okay, let’s figure out who’s threatening me.”
