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That glorious day, we got introduced to Christian and Anastasia.
To say that the book became the most sought out item at the garrison would be an understatement. We read the book out loud by bonfires and in the bunkers, laughing and cheering and secretly having wet dreams about the story. We might not have remembered each other’s birthdays, but soon, we knew by heart parts of the book that very quickly acquired crinkled corners, sticky pages, and fingerprints of half of the garrison.
There are all shades of deprivation at war, and that romance was a window into a different world. A world that made us forget that we could be shot the next day. That our families and loved ones were far away and some of us didn’t have any. That our lives were cheap, but we signed up for it, and that was our job.
Cole Bergen was blown up a year later during a raid. We burned the book at a bonfire afterward, drinking to oblivion, cheering to Cole, laughing, joking, remembering, then sitting silently for the rest of the night and swallowing tears that never showed on our faces but burned our throats—something that becomes a habit in the service.
Yeah,Fifty Shadeswas a fairytale while reality for some of us was just not that bright.
Now, my roommate is Lucy Moor. She is the reality with a kind voice and contagious laughter.
And afilthy fucking mind.
I’m not a reader, but—
Lu, you are addictive.
She’s not a plotter, but her words make me hard.
Positive emotions, I remind myself.
Real-life application, my mind smirks.
I’ll second that, my dick agrees.
I’ll just read one more chapter.
For research.
Just one.
I take a deep breath and open my computer again.
12
JACE
I get up at six,as usual. Pushups, planks, and pull-ups, hanging from the door frame of the walk-in closet. Goldsling Towers has a gym, but I don’t want to get too comfortable here. Plus I’m used to a simple military routine.
There’s one exception now. I work out twice as hard, trying to sweat Lu’s spicy stories out of my body.
Her proximity tests my sanity. Every glance at her reminds me of her not-so-sweet writing, and I wonder if I can keep from quoting it by accident.
Like the following evening when I catch her in the foyer of the building as I come home.
Lu strides out of the elevator wearing high-heeled boots, a short polka-dot jumpsuit, and a blue faux fur coat, light enough for the middle of May.
“Wow,” I greet her, my heart swelling at the sight but also from the disappointment that she’ll be gone all night. “Venus in Fur, huh?”
Her jaw falls open, eyes widening. “Jace! Well-read, huh?”
She’s gaping at me, and I try to act cool.
The only reason I know the name of that book is because Roey once tried to educate me on the origins of S&M, a pure coincidence that makes Lu stare at me like I’m a perv. Or, maybe, an expert in old-school erotica.
When Lu is home, nothing matches. Polkadot sweatpants, t-shirts with cute animals or crazy art, tanks, oversized long sleeves that hang off one shoulder, leggings, or shorts. Short, short shorts…
Lu’s going-out clothes are perfectly matched and styled, including her nail polish, her hair flat-ironed, sometimes pulled up into a high ponytail.
