Page 113 of Trying Sophie

I laughed cynically. “You’re telling me.”

“Whatever it is, I promise not to judge you. But like I said, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Coming from anyone else, her words might have sounded like a guilt trip, but I could hear the sincerity in her voice. If I told her about Natasha, she wouldn’t judge me. And if I chose not to tell her, she wouldn’t try to force me to either. She might be hurt that I’d held this part of me back, might think I didn’t trust her with something that had shaped me into the man I was today, but she wouldn’t ever say so. Which was what convinced me to tell her everything. Because I wanted her to know that I trusted her, that I wanted to share myself with her.

“Okay,” I answered. “I’ll tell you, but on one condition.”

She was quick to agree. “Anything.”

“You can’t interrupt me. I’ve never told anyone about what happened that night and if I’m going to tell you, I need to get it all out at once.”

“You have my word,” she answered. “But before you start, I just want to tell you I appreciate what you’re doing. I know how hard it can be to …” she trailed off, leaving the rest of her thought unspoken.

But she didn’t have to say it. I knew what she meant because it had been hard for her to tell me about Stephen too.

“I know you know, Soph. And like you trusted me with your story, your past, I trust you too.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

I took a deep breath and released it, ready to bare my shame.

“So anyhow,” I began again. “Natasha pretty much gave me the impression she was into the same things I was. After a quick taxi back to her place, I … well … once she was naked, she became bolder, saying stuff I’d only ever fantasized about.”

I swallowed and coughed nervously. I felt a heavy lump in my throat that threatened to suffocate me the longer I spoke.

“I mean, these weren’t things you could try with just anyone. The person had to know what they were getting into, had to be down with a little pain.”

I grimaced around the confession.

Sophie knew I liked things rough, but I’d kept most of my fantasies from her because … well, because I didn’t think she’d want me if she knew what I was really like. That she’d drop me like a hot potato if she knew there was something wrong with me.

In a flash, I pictured Sophie tied up in my bed with her eyes covered and mouth gagged, her ass cheeks red with my hand prints, and my cum cooling on her heated flesh. I blinked against the image and pushed the thoughts deep down where I hoped they’d stay hidden.

“It’s okay Declan. Fantasies by themselves aren’t bad.”

But they were bad because they made people do bad things, twisted girls like Natasha into something broken and perverse. And guys like me got off on that, used girls like her as our play things and then tossed them aside.

“They can be,” I answered through gritted teeth.

“I’m going to ask you a question and then I promise I won’t interrupt again.”

I paused a beat before answering. “Yeah, alright.” I could only imagine what was going to come out of her mouth.

“Do these fantasies of yours involve something morbid?”

“No,” I answered because … just fuck no.

“And are they morally reprehensible?”

Her voice held a touch of anxiety, like she was worried they might. She should be anxious, because yeah. The things I wanted to do to her were morally reprehensible.

“Yes,” I admitted on a pained whisper.

“You don’t … you said you didn’t hurt women.”

“I don’t,” I answered emphatically. “Not like you mean. Not like that.”

And then because there was nothing left to do but admit my deepest, darkest desires, I spilled my guts and told her everything.

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