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I sniffle. "I didn’t mean to. It’s just…you sound so lonely."
"I enjoy being on my own."
"Yet here you are." I gesture to the large hall which is now considerably fuller than when we came in.
"This is a way to connect to the only part of me I still recognize."
"Which part?"
'The one I knew I always had but which I refused to acknowledge all that time I was a priest. The one that resulted in my losing everything I once held dear."
I stiffen. "You mean—"
"I mean, you haven’t looked at her face and told me what you see yet," he interjects.
Of course, the moment it seems like he’s opening up, he has to change the topic. Which is good. I don’t want to get to know the man behind the facade. The man who’s emotionally wounded. The man who’s hurting and refuses to share it with anyone. The man who’s an enigma…
Which I want so badly to solve. I focus my attention on the woman who hasn’t moved from her perch on the floor. She’s been kneeling all this time on the wooden floor without a word of complaint. Her hands are clasped in front of her, her gaze lowered. The light is dim in the space, but there’s enough for me to take in her relaxed features. The slight upward turn of her lips. The man next to her runs his fingers through her hair, and she trembles. She licks her lips, and when he drags his knuckles over her cheek, her mouth opens. I’m not close enough to hear it, but I’m sure she’s panting. She’s even more aroused and she looks "blissful."
"She is."
Only when he replies, do I realize I said the word aloud.
"But he’s demeaning her, by making her kneel, and not paying any attention to her,” I protest.
"Is he?"
I bring my gaze back to his face and pout. "Of course, he is. She may seem happy, but looks can be deceiving."
"Everyone who is here is here by their own choice."
"But I—" I'm about to say I’m not, but he did give me a choice. And it was my decision to be here, too.
He nods.
"It doesn’t seem right. Why should she be chained? Why is he treating her like—"
"His possession?"
His rough voice forming that word turns the flesh between my thighs into molten lava. I begin to cross one leg over the other, but he shakes his head. "Don’t."
"Why not?"
"Because I want to smell your cunt."
12
Edward
"What did you say?" she gasps.
"I want to smell your—"
"I heard you," she says hastily, "But did you have to use the C-word?"
"Did it turn you on?"
Her pupils dilate. Her breathing hitches. She seems taken aback, but also, she obeyed me. She’s a natural submissive. Doesn’t mean she’s compliant. And the deepening azure of her blue eyes tells me she’s going to deny my statement. She’s feisty, likes to stand up for herself, and isn’t easily cowed. She’s curvy and perfectly formed, but only a fool would take that to mean she's malleable. This woman may not know what she wants yet, but she’ll stand up for herself. She’s diffident about her figure—but that’s only because she doesn’t realize how stunning she truly is.
