Page 38 of Twisted Hearts

“That was incredibly stupid.”

“Well, if you’re going to be an insulting asshole—”

“Come here.”

I swallow, rooted in place, unable to move. Gavan’s eyes blaze.

“Come. Here.”

Fear explodes through my system. Not just fear. Excitement comes along with it. And a tingling shiver follows. Slowly, I walk over and around his desk until I’m standing right next to where he’s sitting.

“Thatstung,” he growls.

I arch a brow at him. “Oh, really? Which did I hurt more? Your fragile ego, or your poor balls—”

“Are you familiar with the termfree use.”

My pulse skips. Something wicked explodes in my core as my face turns a shade of crimson that I’m pretty sure gives my answer away.

I am.

“Free use” is a kink wherein one partner is “free to use” the other however, and almost more importantlywhenever,they choose to. I know this because there’s a small chance that it’s become my biggest secret fantasy over the last couple of years.

I don’t need a shrink to know that it’s probably at least partially due in part to what happened to me my senior year of high school. I probablydoneed a shrink to unpack the why of that whole trauma-kink connection, but I digress.

Suffice to say, it’s my darkest, most visited yet also most resisted fantasy. I don’t exactly watch alotof porn online or anything. But when I do?

It’s free use. Like, exclusively.

Dominant men coming up to their partners while they’re on the phone, or washing dishes, and just…doing whatever they want to that partner. Lifting her skirt and just going right into fucking her. Or using her mouth while he’s watching a movie. Or coming all over her face while she’s talking to a friend on the phone.

Yeah, it’s fucked up. It’s probably indicative of trauma running way deeper than I’m prepared to consider.

It’s also outrageously hot, at least to me.

Gavan’s eyes glint as the corners of his lips curve dangerously.

“Bad girl,” he growls quietly, which makes my core throb. “You do know, don’t you?”

I swallow, nodding my pulsing hot face so subtly it almost doesn’t move.

“That’s going to be our arrangement.”

My eyes bulge.

“What?”

“You, Eilish,” he murmurs darkly, “will be my free use little plaything. I’ll do whatever I wish to you, whenever I wish, and you’ll allow it without question.”

My jaw drops.

“No—”

“Alternatively, you can find me another one-of-a-kind, historically significant, one-hundred-and-twenty-four-million-dollar Fabergé egg commissioned by Tsarina Alexandra. Your pick.”

My entire body shivers. My pulse throbs heavily as my face heats.

“If…”

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