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This time, I squirm in my chair. “Yes,” I admit. “I was eighteen when we married.”
His face goes hard and something glitters in his eyes that makes my stomach cold.
“Did he fuck you when you were underage?” he asks.
I shake my head. “We waited.”
His jaw works. “So…he fucked you at midnight on your birthday?”
My cheeks heat and I draw myself up. “No. It was later.”
“That day?”
Defeated, I nod.
He clears his throat, the sound rumbling in his chest. “So you only ever slept with your husband?”
Without realizing it, I’m chewing the inside of my mouth hard enough to draw blood. It spreads over my tongue and jerks me back to reality. My face is so flushed it’s probably glowing.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Most likely your husband was just bad at going down on women,” Gerard says. “Before we cross it off, let me eat you out so we can take this off the hard limits list.”
My brows rise. “You’re confident.”
“Yes, I am,” he says.
His eyes drop to the second highlighted line and his brow arcs. “Let’s add anal to the soft limits list as well. I’m not willing to forgo it.”
My stomach swoops like I took a tumble. “If you have anal with me, I might die,” I say.
He laughs and his gaze lights up. “You won’t die. I can train you to take it.”
“I don’t want to be trained.”
He flips the page and sits back again. His gaze falls on me, thoughtful. “That’s too bad. You’ll have to train to be my submissive. We’ll have a month where we work together to figure out our limits, our likes, dislikes. At the end of it, we’ll write amendments to the contract. Then I’ll collar you.”
I feel my eyes widen. How is he saying these things so casually? He must be so deep in this lifestyle it’s second nature to him.
“What…do you mean?”
“If you want to be my submissive, redbird, you’ll wear a collar. During the day, when others are around, I’ll put a discreet collar on you. When we’re alone, you’ll wear a leather collar with an O-ring. You’ll sleep in it, play in it, and when you need to shower, you’ll come to me and I’ll remove it.”
I’m speechless, my mind whirling. What stands out most starkly aren’t his words, but the reaction my body has to them. There’s a vivid image in my brain of myself kneeling at his feet while he buckles a leather pet collar around my throat.
I swallow and between my thighs, my sore pussy tingles.
“I…I don’t know how I feel about that,” I whisper.
He leans across, his face intense. His hand slides under the waistband of my sweatpants. Before I can react, he’s pushing his fingers between my legs and swiping the tips over the seam of my pussy. When he draws his hand out, I see the glisten of my arousal.
“I think you know how you feel about me,” he says.
He licks his fingers, slowly. Like he’s savoring the taste of me. Never in my life has a man wanted to taste me and it’s a power trip to watch him.
“What do I taste like?” My voice is barely audible.
His eyes snap to mine. The air between us crackles.
