Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
I quit my three part-time jobs as an esthetician at different med-spas to help the guys with order fulfillment. And then once it became too much for all three of us to keep up with and they hired employees for that part of the business, it wasn’t long after that we were celebrating our first New Year’s Eve as members of Club Alias.
After which my world fell apart.
At the time, it almost felt like I was being punished, for gaining too much success and money all of a sudden, even though I’d worked so fucking hard for it. Like God lost track of time and checked in on me, then thought “Oh, things are going way too well for you right now. Too good to be true. Let me just sprinkle some drama into your perfect life to mix things up a little for my entertainment.”
Yeah.
Depression is super-fun—said no one with depression ever.
That little sprinkle of drama was enough to make me lose all interest in most things, but I kept up my façade in front of everyone, putting on an act that I “absolutely love being a homemaker and that’s totally the only reason I don’t go back to work.” They didn’t have to know that for most of the day, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t sleep, at least soundly, but I didn’t have the motivation to leave the cocoon of my weighted blanket and pillow-top mattress.
I had alarms set to let me know it was time I had to get up, tidy, cook dinner, and make it seem like I’d done some type of project all day. The panic of being found out was enough of a boost to make me slither out from under the fifteen-pound full body hug disguised as bedding. I had it timed perfectly to pull dinner out of the oven or off the stove right as the door to our apartment would open—and then soon after that, the front door to our new house—and the guys would be home from work.
And that’s when I really honed my acting skills. They were already pretty damn good from all the sexy role playing we’d done throughout the years, but it took much more effort to keep the mask in place in front of Bram too. He’s an observant one, that guy. I think someone has to excel at that skill in the first place in order to be considered a good Dominant with their sub, but I don’t allow myself to deep-dive into and dissect that thought. No, I just know his observation skills extend beyond most people’s, second only to Roman’s at reading me. It’s like those two are literally mind readers.
He asked me often during that time, and still does, if I was feeling all right. I know for a fact he could sense something off with me. But I also know for a fact he would never, ever be able to guess the cause of that offness.
Oh my God, if he’d known back then what happened on New Year’s Eve…. Hell, if he ever found out Roman had hurt me… I might actually fear for my husband’s safety. Bram is about the only man who’d stand a chance at taking him in a fight.
It’d be a toss-up—definitely not an easy gamble like when I invested my savings in their company—who would win in a match between those two. My husband is a bit shorter, smaller in stature than Bram, but he’s got this… darkness inside him that I know would be dangerous to anyone he meant to harm. This sort of bottled-up rage he could tap into at any moment and snap, becoming an unstoppable machine that wouldn’t be done until the other man was nothing but pulp coating his fists. I’m not ashamed to admit this part of who he is had a lot to do with what attracted me to him in the first place. It’s like there’s a beast inside him, and I’m the only one who can make it roll onto its back and show me its belly.
But where Roman keeps the fighter in him contained until it would eventually burst through if he ever needed it, like Banner turning into the Hulk, Bram is the complete opposite. He’s actually the complete opposite in most ways—at least as far as looks go. Blond where Roman is the darkest shade of brunette, blue-green eyes where my husband’s are nearly black they’re such a deep brown. His skin is fairer with his mostly German heritage, while Roman can get the sexiest fucking tan I’ve ever seen on a man, thanks to his Hispanic father. But when it comes to imagining Bram in a fight, it’s not hard to picture at all. It’s not all bottled up under the surface like Roman keeps his. No, Bram is built like a medieval warrior. Maybe a Viking, but it feels wrong to think of him that way, since that’s what Dr. Walker’s wife calls Doc as his Dominant name, and I try to think of Bram as a Dominant as infrequently as possible.