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“I’ll always love you,” Genevieve answered so quickly I barely finished my question. She didn’t even have to think about it.
“Do you hate me?” Her hand sought out mine. She squeezed tight and offered a small smile. “Do you hate what this makes me?”
“No,” she said. “Your darkness doesn’t scare me, Killian. And you do good things with it.”
“I try.” Fuck, I didn’t deserve this woman. Heavy emotion seized my chest, and I drew in a deep breath.
“Does this job have handcuffs too?” She fluttered her lashes at me, breaking the tension. I grinned and shook my head. This woman.
“Cuffs, zip ties, and an assortment of knives,” I replied. I watched how her pulse quickened under the delicate skin of her neck. That lusty look in those pretty golden eyes would get us in trouble. And for the way my dick thickened against my jeans, the brain downstairs had no problems with that. I cleared my throat, shifting uncomfortably. “You know, we should probably fucking talk about all of that.”
“Probably,” she agreed.
“I think it’s safe to say you and I can’t start over in that department.” Thank fuck for that. I was too horny to start back at the beginning. When she nodded, I continued, “But I’ve also abused my power over you as well, and that’s inexcusable.”
“I don’t think you have,” Genevieve said. I stared hard at her until she relented. “Okay, maybe a little.”
“And even a little is unacceptable,” I reminded her. It was, and it made me sick to my stomach. It was so easy to fall into the role in the heat of the moment, but after three years that wasn’t something I should’ve done to her. “There’s a fucking list of things I think we should do moving forward, and I want you to give me your ideas too. This can’t just be what I think and want, Genevieve. So, tell me, what do you want to do?”
She pursed her lips together as she thought about it, and I waited. I gave her all the time she needed, even if it left me fucking wanting. I wanted to know every thought cycling through her mind—to know how I could make it better.
“I want to date again,” she finally announced with a firm nod. I smiled. It wasn’t what I was expecting, but I liked it. “I want to date like we should’ve been able to date.”
“Okay.”
“But I want you to live at home with me,” she continued. As if I’d have it any other way. “And I want to go to your doctor appointments with you. At least at first. If that’s okay. I know you probably don’t want me there, but I don’t know anything about bipolar. I can find books and articles about it online, but I don’t know how to help you or make it easier for you—”
I dragged her mouth to mine in a fierce kiss, overcome by emotion. I wasn’t even sure what fucking emotion I was feeling, but it was something powerful and consuming. I felt her smile against my mouth.
“I’m not leaving you because you’re bipolar, Killian,” Genevieve whispered. “Or because you’re an alcoholic. Or even because you have darkness in you.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
“You’d get mad at me if I said that about myself to you,” she said, and I chuckled. She had me there. “I want to do a new collar ceremony at the club with new collars and new vows.”
“I can arrange that.” I’d enjoy arranging that.
“And maybe… never mind. We can talk about that later.”
“Say it now, Genevieve.”
“I just…” she hesitated, but I waited. I wasn’t letting up. If it was something she wanted, I wanted to hear it. “I think maybe… if everything goes okay that we… I think we should get remarried.”
“We’re not divorced, Genevieve,” I pointed out. “I burned the fucking papers I had drawn up, and I never signed the ones you sent me.”
“I know, but I don’t feel like our wedding counts anymore,” she said. “I feel like… I let my parents dictate our wedding a lot. I want… I want something that’s more me… more us. Something small and intimate.”
“Whatever you want,” I told her with a smile.
“What do you want?” Genevieve asked. “I’ve been doing all the talking. What do you want, Killian?”
“I have a list.”
“You said that.”
“We need to go to therapy.” That was easy enough to begin with. We’d gone before, so it wasn’t odd for me to bring it up again. From the little nod she gave, she agreed. “David thinks I should go to individual therapy, which honestly, I should. I can’t tell you what to do, but I think you should too. It helped last time, and there’s a lot more that we have to fucking unpack this time. It only makes sense.”
“Okay,” she replied.
