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Annika:But you aren’t.
Creighton:In my mind, you are the personification of that color.
I try not to blush, but considering the heat in my cheeks, I’ve definitely failed.
Creighton:That’s one. What’s two?
Annika:When did you start having these…singular tastes?
Creighton:Since I hit puberty.
Annika:So you’ve been experimenting since?
Though I wouldn’t call his lashes experimental. He knew exactly what he was doing. Despite the pain from his handprints, they’re not meant to leave a permanent mark.
Which means he’s done this countless times before.
To a dozen other girls. Maybe more.
Nope, no. I’m simply not going there.
Creighton:Not experimenting, engaging.
Annika:With girlfriends?
Creighton:With sex partners.
Annika:As in, whores?
Annika:Sorry, I mean sex workers?
Creighton:No. Willing submissives.
My fist tightens at the thought of how many submissives have gotten on their knees, taken his beatings, and thanked him for it later.
Hell, if the fangirls at the shelter knew he was this kinky, they’d be like ‘Choke me, Daddy.’
Annika:And are you still seeing these willing submissives?
Creighton:Why are you asking?
Annika:I don’t want to compete with girls who are already into your stuff.
Creighton:Stuff?
Annika:You know. At any rate, they need to go.
Creighton:Will you take their place as my plaything?
Annika:Aren’t I already?
Creighton:What happened today was a mere demonstration, a little taste of what I’m capable of. It’s by no means the entirety of my ‘singular tastes.’ You think you can handle me? Think again.
Well, shit.
If that was only a taste, then what else does he plan to do to me?
This is probably that moment where I should backpedal and abort whatever twisted feelings I have for the sadist.
