Page 7 of His to Keep
Luke swallows a few times, like he’s trying to get control. “We would talk about what we wanted to do. Set limits. And then we’d have some fun.”
My eyes widen. “Limits?” I blurt out.
His entire face changes, something like rage shining from his eyes. “You don’t set limits with your dom?”
“I…” I swallow. In all the times I’ve been with Aden, we’ve never once discussed limits. There have been a few times when he’s suggested something—like sharing me with other men—and I’ve refused, but it was always made perfectly clear that he was going to try to convince me. Or just go ahead and do it anyhow, like he did tonight.
Luke runs a hand through his hair, eyes squeezing shut. “Jesus,” he mutters. When he finally looks back at me, the rage is still there, simmering under the surface. But there’s something else, too. Something that looks a lot like the hunger he displayed earlier.
“Stay with me this evening,” he finally says, voice a graveled whisper. “Let me show you how things are supposed to happen.”
He’s giving me a choice, something I never expected tonight. I know the smart thing would be to agree—staying here is the surest way to keep Aden from getting pissed at me.
But as I look at the man towering over me, I realize that my feelings have nothing to do with Aden. I don’t want to stay here just to keep out of trouble. I want to stay here because I want to be with Luke. I want to know more about the way “things are supposed to happen,” whatever that means. I want to know what those big, warm hands would feel like all over my body. I want to smell his intoxicating scent up close, feel his strong arms wrapped around me. I want him to keep looking at me with that hunger in his eyes.
“Okay,” I whisper, hardly believing that I’m doing this willingly, but not doubting my choice for even a second. “I want to stay.”
Luke
I’m going to need more alcohol, something stronger than beer this time. Something strong enough to take the edge off this rage coursing through me. I certainly can’t lay a finger on Rebecca when I feel like this.
A very big part of me wants to demand she give me her dom’s name so I can go downstairs and rip his head off. He’s obviously mistreated her. Her skittishness makes me feel sick. He clearly did nothing to ensure her comfort in The Draw. Fuck, they haven’t even discussed limits. He should be banned from the club for that shit.
The other part of me wants to do nothing more than stay in this room with her for the foreseeable future. There was something about the way she looked at me when she said she wanted to stay—a trust in her eyes I wasn’t expecting. I want toearnthat trust. I want to do everything within my power to show her that whatever poor imitation of domination she’s experienced thus far is much less than she deserves.
Staring down at those wide, trusting blue eyes, I can’t help thinking that her dom is insane. I’m not opposed to sharing—when all parties are consenting, of course. It can be a fun part of the lifestyle. But I can’t imagine ever wanting to share the woman in front of me. She’s a fucking goddess. She deserves to be wrapped up in silks and fine jewels and protected with every ounce of my strength.
But she’s not yours,I remind myself. The idea that I’m going to have to hand her back to some asshole tomorrow makes me want to punch holes in the wall.
Then again, she doesn’t seem all that emotionally attached to him. She rolled her eyes when I asked if their relationship was romantic. That’s not uncommon in this lifestyle. Plenty of doms and subs aren’t exclusive or romantically dating. Many only see each other in their hours here at the club. This asshole hasn’t seen fit to collar her. Maybe there’s a chance…
I know thinking like that is dangerous. I’m already way over my head with this girl. I don’t have reactions like this to women, especially women I’ve only just met. Maybe I’m just delirious from the jet lag.
But when my eyes meet hers again, I know that’s not true. There’s something about her, whether it makes any sense or not. And I know, as potentially dangerous as it might be, I’m going to do everything I can tonight to convince her to choose me instead.
“Tell me what you like to do,” I murmur, unable to keep the rough note from my voice.
She blinks at me a few times, her expression so innocent my chest clenches. What is it about her that awakens every one of my protective urges?
When she doesn’t appear capable of answering, I push. “Let’s start with tonight. We already established that you wouldn’t have chosen to enter into The Draw on your own. Was there anything about it that you did enjoy?”
She licks her lips, eyes trailing down over my figure, and I feel an absurd rush of pride. She likes what she sees.
“I didn’t mind, um, standing there,” she finally whispers, cheeks going scarlet. “On stage. In front of people.”
Interesting. So she liked the exhibitionist aspect, if nothing else. Maybe she’s not as innocent as she appears.
“And whatdidn’tyou like?” I press.
She’s quiet for a long moment before she answers, her gaze averted. “Not having a choice.”
Fuck. Fuckingfuck, I’m going to kill her dom. Unable to stop myself, I reach over and lift her chin, wanting to make sure I have her full attention. “You always have a choice, Rebecca. You hear me? If your dom isn’t giving you one, he’s the one with a problem.” I tighten my fingers on her chin. “With me, you always have a choice. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she whispers, eyes as wide as saucers as she stares up at me. She almost looks awed, and I’m again struck by a surge of anger. This shouldn’t be remarkable to her. This shit should be standard.
“The submissive has all the control in the relationship,” I continue, and her expression turns doubtful. “Or they should, at least. If the dom isn’t a fucking asshole.”
Fear crosses her face and I order myself to tone it down. She’s obviously afraid that she’s somehow going to get in trouble for what happens here tonight.
