Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Once I get my coffee, I head to the bus stop in a daze. Each step reminds me of him, of how he owned my body so easily. My sex is still swollen from the orgasm he gave me.
Have you ever wondered what it’d be like to let go? Let someone else take over?
He read my deepest, darkest desires like they were written on my skin. I never thought I’d find someone who would see through my thick walls, but he did. What’s more surprising is I liked it.
I settle into a seat at the back of the crowded bus. I finish my coffee and reach into my bag for my sketchbook.
There’s a sprig of jasmine in my purse. I didn’t put it there. Did it fall in?
Or did someone drop it in as they brushed past me?
Who? Why?
I scan the people around me. I can sense their auras, burning bright and almost overwhelming me.
I exit the bus early, worn out from scanning people. There are too many people and too many voices crowding into my head.
Even now, I can smell the mystery dom’s cologne. I can’t shake the sense that he’s somewhere close. I can feel him watching. And he could be anyone. . .
I turn down a quieter street and almost run into a couple exiting their townhome. He’s in a navy blue work uniform, and she’s in a skirt suit. They pause and kiss right in front of me without noticing I’m right there, watching. They break apart and head separate ways but keep their hands clasped until the last second, laughing as their fingers slowly slide apart.
A wave of longing slams into me, so strong I can’t breathe. It’s like a fist squeezing my heart, and the pain makes my eyes water.
Desperately, I jack my arm behind my back and press on the marks from the dom. The ache in my heart recedes, replaced by something safer. Something I can handle.
This is why I need someone to wield a flogger in a way that I carry the bruises into the next day. To keep me from wondering what it would be like to be touched by someone who cared for me. To be treasured by them. To love and be loved in return.
What would it be like to be held by him?
This is exactly why I don’t allow anyone to touch me.
I charge across the street, ignoring the churning deep in my chest. I rush to get out of the way of a black town car that was rolling through a green light. My satchel bangs against my hip, and each step jars the marks on my back. I was stiff this morning but took only a single dose of pain meds, just enough to get me moving. The sting from the flogger has faded to a dull ache, but as I step onto the curb, I twist sharply so my back muscles scream and make the pain knife through me again.
If I’m lucky, the pain will wash every other craving away.
Ten minutes later, I’m staring at a dead body.
The crime scene is on the executive floor of a business suite, and the victim was a CEO. He looks small and fragile in death. His head is hanging down like he’s taking a nap. That is until you see the stain of his life’s blood spreading like a dark bib over his white button-down.
I wish I could go back home and crawl back in bed. Or better, head to Club Empire and hang around until I hear the smooth, deep tones of my mystery dom.
I slide a hand under my jacket and press the marks on my back, and the pain soothes me. It will ground me, stabilize me, allow me to get me through the day.
“Godsdamned rich bastard,” my new partner, Detective Tim Burgess, mutters.
“What?” I glance from the dead body to him and realize he’s reading a newspaper while we wait for the techs to clear the crime scene.
“Not him.” Burgess jerks his chin at the dead body, then reads the headline out loud, “Billionaire Rex Roy to host Miss Olympus Beauty Pageant.” He folds the newspaper and stuffs it in his pocket. “Lucky fuck.”
“Rex Roy?” I say. “I’ve heard that name.”
“He owns half the city. Rich bastard.”
I nod. I’m trying to be accommodating because I’ve never had a ‘partner’ before.
“Some guys have all the luck. Unlike this guy, whose luck ran out.” He nods at the victim.
Our victim had a corner office, one worthy of the CEO of the company that owns the whole old brick building. Instead of boring greige walls and corporate decor, there are flood-to-ceiling bookshelves made of polished mahogany wood and a thick Persian carpet on the floor. Leather-bound briefs and a crystal decanter filled with whiskey grace the bookshelves. Everything from the Mont Blanc pens to the view of New Romes’ financial district speaks of wealth and power.