Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
“In trouble,” he finished for me, rearranging his dress shirt. “Where’s Max?”
“Home.” I cleared my throat.
“Very professional.”
“It’s not his fault. I’m sneaky. You left a note on your dresser with this address. I wanted to know what you were up to.”
“Why?” he shot out.
“Because you’re hiding a lot of secrets, and we share a roof.”
Surprisingly, he wasn’t outraged by my answer.
“So…this is what you do at night?” I gulped. My heart was still racing. Did I want it to be his first time trying this or his fiftieth? I couldn’t catch my breath.
“I’m a nocturnal creature.”
“You’re a monster, is what you are.” The allegation came out as a desperate bark. My whole body was caked in cold sweat and goosebumps.
His laugh, raw and rough, rang out through the starless night. A thin wire fence separated us from the industrial, funky part of Los Angeles people used as an outdoor sex spot. “Labeling something you’re afraid of as monstrous is the easy part. Understanding how they got that way is what takes true courage.”
“W—w—what you did there was—”
“Having sex with another consenting adult who shares the same fantasies and kinks as me. Nothing wrong with that. She was into it, so was I.”
More than anything else, I hated that I was into it. When I first thought I saw what he was doing to her…when I imagined him doing it to me…I didn’t hate it. I was scared, but I didn’t hate it. And that was awful to admit, even to myself.
“What got you into…uh…these fantasies?” I didn’t think I’d actually get a straight answer, but it was worth trying.
Ransom began making his way out of the alley, certain I would follow him. I did. He shoved his hands into his front pockets.
“Initially, just the sensation of it all. You don’t have to suffer trauma or abuse to enjoy kink, as long as you’re owning your and your consenting partner’s way.”
“And still?” I asked, knowing there was more.
He shrugged. “Childhood trauma, mainly. The idea of using violence freely, unabashedly. There’s safeness in this scenario. It requires trust and a level of protection. In a way, acting out a date-gone-horribly wrong is much safer than engaging in a real, random, Tinder hookup. It’s about the safety of the expectation. Here, we have rules. We have dos and don’ts. We have limits we do not cross. I find it much more respectful than screwing a random person without knowing what they’re into. What their boundaries are, their background.”
Without meaning to, he was kind of selling the idea for me. The prospect of telling someone in advance what I wanted and didn’t want, what I would and wouldn’t do… what they could and couldn’t do… I liked it. I liked it a lot. It didn’t seem so crazy when he explained it to me.
“Were you hurting her?” I gulped.
We were strolling toward the Nissan. It went without saying that he was my ride home. We would pick up the Prius tomorrow.
“Only the ways she wanted me to, but in terms of actually hurting her? Not really, no. Maybe a few light bruises here and there if she decided to ‘struggle harder’ to make it feel real.”
“Is she your…?”
“I do not have a BDSM partner. I prefer more casual hookups.”
“How often do you…?” I trailed off.
“That depends.” He scratched his chin. “But not often. You need to choose your partners carefully for this kind of thing. Mutual friends, people you know and trust.”
“Do you ever have like, just, regular…?”
I couldn’t believe he was answering all these questions. I had a hunch it had more to do with the fact that he didn’t want me to tell my parents and less about wanting to be open with me.
Or maybe it was because he could see my heart beating in my throat and he (thankfully) mistakenly thought I was still scared instead of sort of terrifyingly exhilarated.
“No,” he said flatly. “This is the only form of sexual relationship I’m seeking. I trust this stays between us.”
“Yeah,” I said finally. “Don’t worry about it.”
He unlocked the car automatically, jerking his chin forward for me to get into the passenger seat. “Good, because this discussion is over, and I’m about to rip Max a new one.”
The next couple days were spent in Los Angeles, preparing for the Dallas trip. I touched base with my contacts, while trailing after Brat. Even though she did not have her phone—not only because I was the one who ended up eradicating the wormed meat, but also because that phone was a bad influence—I allowed her to attend some social engagements, as long as they were indoors and I was around.
What could I say? Now that she knew about the darkest side of my life, she had some leverage on me.
She kept her old patterns, desperately clinging on to a reality that was no longer a part of her life. Goodie bags. Designer dresses. Cameras flashing. Brat didn’t even look like she was having fun. I wasn’t sure why she was doing this to herself. What I was sure of was that I didn’t care enough to ask. The lines between employee and employer had been blurred enough after her little snooping stint.