Page 41 of Twisted Little Thing

So that’s what I do.

I roll over and shyly wrap my arms around his upper body. He welcomes me by putting his arm around me and placing his hand at the back of my head to gently position my face onto his chest.

I sigh in relief. There is no place I would rather be right now. I have never felt this safe. This feeling of belonging – it is unfamiliar and scary, but so fucking satisfying.

My conscience needs to shut up for just a few minutes. I want to enjoy this without questioning any of it for now. He feels great, he smells good, and he makes me feel like a god damn queen – even though he bit me.

"Thank you," I whisper.

I know I can only say it, because he cannot see my face right now. I am hidden in his soft pullover, feeling his muscles move with the rhythm of his breathing beneath the fabric. I close my eyes.

This feeling of transparency is eerie. He knows how I feel; I don't have to tell him. He can see all of it. That damn battle I am fighting. He wants me to feel like this, and he enjoys it.

But right now, he is not mocking me for it, expressing his triumph with a smug smile. I cannot see his face, but I know he is not deriding me.

He is comforting me.

His hand caresses the back of my head, stroking through the thick, wild strands of my hair that are rumpled from our play and my desperate fight.

"It's okay," he whispers.

I smile. Recovering in his arms is surprisingly easy. One could consider the painful bites to my neck and the multiple orgasms as vicious attacks to punish me.

But I took it. Oddly enough, they have led me to feel stronger and more accomplished, as if have earned some kind of reward, or completed the next step to a bigger achievement.

I release myself from his hug, creating some distance between us, and I look up at him. Just as I thought, there is no triumph, no boastful grin on his face that would make my insides boil with fury and shame. If anything, his faint smile conveys concern – and a little worry.

"Why did you come to the club that night?" I ask. "You said you have never been there before. Why that night? Change of pace?"

He shrugs. "Yes, in a way. It has been a while since I have been to a place like that with good music, cheap drinks, and real people."

"Real people?"

"You were right about some things you said that night," he explains. "Your prejudices may not be fair and narrow-minded in their own way, but they are not completely wrong."

He pauses, visibly enjoying the view as I smile triumphantly.

"Elaborate," I urge.

"The success I have had by doing the things I love has vaulted me into a world I never wanted to be a part of," he explains. "And you are right, there is a lot of superficiality, a lot of boring cocktail parties, an infinite amount of pointless small talk, and uninspiring people who drain my vital energy. They are like zombies, brain eaters, so empty themselves that they feed off of the energy and creativity of others to feel alive."

"And is it your energy they feed off?" I ask.

He laughs. "I know that must sound arrogant to you. But as you have already pointed out – correctly, I might add – I am pretty full of myself."

I smile. "Yes, you really are."

"In all honesty, I just wanted to dance," he adds. "I wanted to be surrounded by noise and a little filth and people who don't feel the need to impress me. I wanted to be in a place that’s alive and where no one knows who I am and what I do."

"I felt pretty stupid when I saw that article about you..."

"It only made me like you more," he says softly, admiringly, while gently caressing my cheek with the tip of his finger. "The fact that you had no idea who I was only added to my interest. And your sassy comments. God, I wanted to spank that bratty attitude out of you right then and there."

"Well," I say. "It's not like you really tried to blend in. You looked so out of place with your business suit pants. And I didn't see you dancing, either."

"Habit," he says, shrugging. "It's not easy to get out of it once you have been accustomed to it for so long. And besides, I don't like worn-out jeans and crappy t-shirts with juvenile logos. I never have. Wanting to be in a certain atmosphere and surrounded by certain people does not mean that you have to be and do everything they do to blend in. I have never been fond of following the crowd or needing to change to fit in and remain safe."

"Safe from what?" I teasingly ask.

"Safe from sassy little girls who dump their insecurities and prejudices on me, because they feel like they know everything there is to know by just looking at me," he replies.

"Insecurities, huh?"

"Yes, little girl," he says. "Whether you like it or not, you are an open book to me, revealing everything that is beautiful about you – including the things that are broken and need to be fixed. You will have to let me take care of those as well, if you really want to be my submissive."

I blush and feel strangely exposed. His words feel as if he just stripped me naked all over again.

"What do you –"?"

"Hush," he interrupts me. "For now, I need you to do something else for me."

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