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We’re having breakfast outside on the terrace when he announces the news. “I want you to start looking for a house.”
I put down my coffee cup. “Me?”
“I never took to this place, and I have a feeling neither have you.”
“Not really.”
He grins. “It’s old and stuffy, right?”
“Right.”
“I want a place that’s ours, a place where we can make our own memories.”
The intensity of his declaration makes me shift in my seat. “What do you want?”
“Whatever will make you happy.”
“Really?”
“I’ll be spending an increasing amount of time at the office. You’ll be at the house more than me.”
Playing with my napkin, I digest the kindness of his offer. I can’t say he’s not trying. “Thank you.”
“It’s only normal.” He cups my hand, stilling my fiddling. Then he smiles, trying hard for this to seem like a normal conversation. “What does your dream house look like?”
“I don’t have one.”
“You’ve never dreamt about a place where you’d like to live and grow old?”
“No.”
“If you could have anything, what would you choose?”
I look at the distance where the grass polls are starting to dry. Winter will be here soon. “I always thought it’s nice to live on the water.”
“As in a boat?” he asks with surprise.
“As in on a shore, next to a river or dam.”
“There’s the Hartbeespoort Dam.”
“It’s far from your office.”
“Only an hour’s drive or so.”
“You’ll be stuck in peak hour traffic.”
He shrugs, as if the sacrifice won’t matter. “Call a few agents today. Take Brink with you if you go out to visit properties.”
I know what he’s doing. He’s giving me the choice in all the decisions he can, from what we eat to where we live, to compensate for the loss of the decisions I’m not allowed to make, the ones that need financial freedom and legal sanity.
“Wouldn’t that please you?” he asks gently.
“Of course.” I force a smile. “I’ll call today.”
Inexplicable emotions clog up my throat. His offer makes me both happy and sad. It makes me happy because he’s trying so hard, and sad because he has to try at all. If he granted me my basic human rights, he wouldn’t have to work so hard at making up for taking them away.
Leaning over, he brushes my hair behind my ear. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Lina.” A warning slips into his tone. “What have I said about nothing?”
Desperate to change the subject, I blurt out, “I’d like to visit the mine.”
“You would? Why?”
“I’ve been curious since Fouché mentioned the changes you’ve made, plus I’ve only seen photos.”
“I didn’t know you were interested.”
“Neither did I. I never used to be when Harold owned it.”
A smile warms his face. “A visit can be arranged. How about today?”
“Now?”
“Sure.”
“What about flights?”
“Anything is possible if you can charter a plane. I’ll give you a personal tour.” He motions at my empty plate. “Finished?”
When I nod, he starts clearing the table. In the kitchen, he loads the dishwasher while I wipe down the counters. To an outsider looking in, we’d appear like any normal married couple, but it’s a dangerous illusion. Damian has been too sweet with me. He’s been too gentle. He may have burned his paddles and whips, but he needs an outlet for his dark sexual cravings.
I haven’t realized how hard I’m gripping the counter until his arms fold around me from behind, and he whispers in my ear, “Relax, I know what you’re worried about.”
“You do?”
That darkness I both fear and crave slips into his voice. “I’m not going to hurt you, not unless you deserve it.”
“You want it.”
“You’re enough.”
I turn in his hold, staring at his beautiful face. My question is doubtful. “Am I?”
He kisses my lips. “Yes.”
“If I can’t give you what you need…”
His tone hardens. “I’m not letting you go, Lina.”
I place my palms on his chest. “That’s not what I meant.”
“No?” His piercing eyes hold a challenge. “Explain.”
“I don’t want you to…” This is hard to say. “I don’t want you to start looking around.”
His expression softens. The tension in his face evaporates. “You’re jealous,” he says as if it’s a wonderful thing.
My cheeks heat. “I’m not.”
He rests his forehead against mine. “That’s so fucking endearing.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“There’s no reason to be insecure. You’re the only woman I want.”
“Until you need violence.”
“It’s not about violence.”
“What then?”
“It’s about control.”
“You like to hurt me.”
“Only if it makes you wet.”
“It doesn’t.”
“We’ve already established that.”
“Well, not all of it.” A flush moves up my neck as I say it.
He raises an eyebrow. “Which parts did you enjoy?”
“The spanking, when it wasn’t too hard.”
“Mm.” He places his hands on either side of me on the counter, caging me in. “What else?”
“When you watched.”
His eyes darken, and his erection grows against my stomach. “I may need a reminder.”
“What, now?”
“You’re the one who brought it up,” he says with a devilish grin.
“The mine—”
He reaches for the buttons of my blouse. “Can wait.”
