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Or will it ruin everything altogether?
Rule #32: There is no such thing as little moments.
Eden
I’m a terrible Domme.
I didn’t use to be. I used to pride myself on being the best and doing everything by the book. But this man has me messing up left and right. It’s like I’m fighting with this inner voice that wants something different.
Maybe I’m tired. Maybe I’m taking on too much.
Or seeing him too much.
He comes every night now. Every. Night. And it’s still not enough. I don’t charge him anymore and haven’t slept with anyone else in months. I still have my clients and keep up the job, but the intimacy belongs to one person now.
He’s sleeping next to me, chest down on the mattress with his arms folded under his head. He looks like a god like this. So perfect with his olive skin, sculpted muscles, and flawless hair.
But it’s not about his looks. It never was. I used to despise good-looking men like Clay. Men who knew they were so attractive, they used it to wield power. And maybe he tried until he felt what it was like to submit.
Now he’s mine.
A feather in the palm of my hand. Delicate and fragile and soft.
I want to keep it.
Emotion builds in my throat as I force my eyes away from where he’s resting peacefully. This can’t be happening to me. Not once in the many years I’ve been doing this have I ever felt compelled to get so attached to the person I’m with.
Why now?
Why him?
He’s just a guy—a cocky, sweet, submissive, sexy, charming guy. I’ve worked with a hundred just like him.
It doesn’t make any sense. There is no discernible reason why my heart seems to flutter into my throat every time I look at him. Or why he just seems so perfect when I know he’s not.
All rational thought has seemingly gone out the window. Everything I think I should be doing, I can’t bring myself to do.
Cut him off.
Let him go.
Walk away.
Can’t, can’t, can’t.
Like right now, I should crawl out of this bed and put some distance between us. Instead, I settle myself flat against the bed, flush to his side, as I run my fingers through his hair, brushing the long brown strands out of his face.
He stirs from my touch, and I bite back a grin as he wakes up.
With a groan and a stretch, he stares at me. “How long was I out?” he asks with a rasp in his voice.
“About an hour,” I reply softly.
“Getting pegged really takes it out of you, doesn’t it?”
I chuckle, watching his cheeks turn red as he blushes.
“It’s an intense experience, being your first time and all.”
