Page 55 of Jax
The dry timing caught me off guard. I let out a sound, almost a laugh, more breath than voice. “You could say that.”
Bellamy tilted her head, amusement sparking brighter. “Not what you’d expect from someone under house arrest in witness protection.”
“No,” I said, shifting on the couch. “She’s like… glitter in human form. With unresolved issues and zero off-switch.”
She snorted. “More like a sexy golden retriever with trauma.”
That startled an actual laugh out of me. I shot her a sideways glance. “Jesus. That’s disturbingly accurate.”
“She grows on you,” Bellamy said, eyes flicking back to her Kindle. She turned the page with a lazy swipe, though I caught the way she watched me in her periphery, measuring the shape of my edges without testing them.
My gaze dropped to the device, brow furrowing. “Wait. I thought electronics weren’t allowed. No signals, no networked anything.”
“They’re not,” she said, tone warm, unapologetic. “This one’s stripped. No browser. No apps. Carrick rebuilt it from scratch. I begged. Repeatedly.”
Something in the casual way she said it made my chest tighten.
I frowned. “That sounds pretty controlling.”
She didn’t laugh or explain. Didn’t defend him. She lowered the Kindle to her lap, folded her hands, and met my gaze. Her eyes didn’t flash or harden. They steadied, not confrontational, just solid.
“Yeah,” she said. “It is.”
The word held a deeper truth than I’d expected. Not an excuse, but ownership.
She shifted slightly, the blanket slipping lower on her hips. One hand tucked beneath her thigh, the other rested on her knee, calm and deliberate. Her voice softened, not rehearsed, but sure.
“But it’s the kind of control I chose. I gave it to him. Not because I had to, or didn’t know how to survive on my own, but because I was tired of fighting the world with my teeth bared and my fists up. When I let Carrick take control; not of me, but of space, structure, and safety, I wasn’t giving up power. I was claiming peace.”
I held her gaze, a strange pressure blooming in the hollow of my chest. “You make it sound like giving up control is some kind of freedom.”
“It is,” she said without hesitation. “When you do iton purpose. When it’s negotiated, trusted, and earned. When it’s given, not taken.”
I blinked, trying to process that. I didn’t disagree, not exactly. But it was such a foreign concept, all this kinky stuff. I still wasn’t sure I’d wrapped my head around it.
“So…” I said, reaching for footing. “You and Carrick. You’re together? And it’s… kinky?”
Bellamy gave me a look like I’d asked if water was wet. “Oh, it’s very kinky.”
“And it’s not just him?”
She shook her head, smile deepening. “There’s not a guy in this house who isn’t kinky in some form. They’re all wired for it—power, control, connection. Each one just speaks it a little differently.”
I studied her face, the calm way she said it, like we were discussing favorite movies. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious. Some lean Dominant. A few are service tops. One’s a sadist. But none of them are dangerous, not in the way you think. They don’t use kink to take something. They use it to give. To connect. To build trust, especially where trust didn’t come easy.”
The room felt warmer. Closer. My fingers drifted to my arm, brushing over skin like I might find a bruise that wasn’t there. “I always thought kink was… abusive,” I admitted. “About power and control. About taking something. Humiliation. Degradation. Hurting people who didn’t know how to say no.”
Bellamy didn’t flinch. She didn’t correct me either. She let it land, let the air clear, then spoke, quiet and sure.
“Not here.”
Her voice was calm, like stone under water. “Here, it’s about choice. About surrendering because you want to. Trusting someone to hold you while you come undone. Letting go in a way that makes you feel seen, not erased.”
I turned toward her fully now, no longer pretending I wasn’t invested. “And it’s… safe?”
Bellamy nodded. “Always. Unless you ask them to make it unsafe.”
