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)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SAVANNAH
It’s crazy to me, the correlation between having something to look forward to, the anticipation of wanting to please my Dom—and not just one but two—and the motivation that suddenly energizes me enough to take care of myself. While Roman didn’t give me any type of order for what I should wear, what I should do with my appearance, anything like that, I’ve woken up each day for the past two weeks at 7:00 a.m., immediately hopped in the shower, took my time washing, shaving, and polishing myself until I shined.
The way I used to before going out on a date with my future husband.
The way I used to before each visit to the club, when I knew it wouldn’t be just Roman’s eyes on me and didn’t want to make him look bad—when I had the energy to care. Every day for fourteen days straight, I’ve gotten out of the shower, brushed my wet locks with 100 strokes, before meticulously drying and styling it just for fun. Just because somehow it made me feel good, when before it seemed like too much work to even take it down from the knotted rat’s nest on top of my head each day.
I’ve taken the time to choose a cute outfit even when I didn’t plan to leave the house, and throughout this whole daily process—from the moment I stepped into the shower until I was fully clothed and striking an Instagram-worthy pose when my look was complete—I snapped my husband pictures, sending each one to him. Eventually, around the start of the second week, I even started sending them without worrying about editing them to make me look “perfect,” not even so much as a filter.
And with every single photo I sent him, I received a response much more meaningful than single words or silly emojis. I was no longer the thirty-something who felt seventy-something. I was the thirty-something who didn’t mind feeling exactly her age with all the wisdom that came with those years, but with renewed energy and the excitement of someone much, much younger.
Today, though, there’s an undercurrent of nervousness, a sizzle of anxiety carbonating the blood in my veins. Because last night, Rome went to Club Alias on his own. Not in secret or anything salacious—well, more salacious than one thinks of when it comes to a BDSM club—but because he had narrowed down who he believes would be the perfect person to fill the role we need.
The perfect Dom who would follow the scenario we had taken days—hours upon hours together—to write, pouring over every detail of what the scene should and should not involve. My safe word would of course be known by everyone involved, and I know for a fact that Rome would choose someone who would abide by that absolute law in the BDSM community.
He’d been speaking to the person he chose, purposely through texting on his personal cell phone so I wouldn’t succumb to the urge to peak when my curiosity might get the best of me. This was my own request, knowing myself well enough that if I were to give in to that urge, I might overthink everything to the point of talking myself out of something I know now I’m not just giving in to in order to make my Dom happy, but because it’s a fantasy I want to fulfill for myself.
Taking that quiz was mind-altering. Reading a role-playing scenario that would include all of my most soul-deep kinks, taking my fantasies to a level I never even pondered making a reality, it totally tipped the scales of everything Roman and I have been through. I suddenly understood exactly what he was feeling, having this dark desire and not knowing what the hell to do with it. So you just internalize it, keep it this hot little secret image you think about when you’re pleasuring yourself on your own, maybe even calling it up to the forefront of your mind to give you that final little push you need to get you over the edge when you’re struggling to come for your partner.
As many years as I’ve lived in this dynamic with my husband, I never once heard of anyone acting this out in real life. I had never even spoken this fantasy out loud to a single soul—not even Doc! But I’m sure somewhere in all those notes he writes, there’s a scribble of his handwriting with a big ole circle around it, calling out my fetish but waiting to bring it to light when I’d need it in the future. But that time had never come in one of our sessions throughout the years, so instead, I was left to bring it out into the light on my own.
To be absolutely sure I wasn’t jumping into something I shouldn’t, like maybe my decision-making skills weren’t to be trusted after such an emotional roller coaster ride, I had a session with the good doctor yesterday, before Roman could meet the other Dom face-to-face and finalize things last night. It didn’t even take the full hour to be given the all-clear. In fact, he praised my ability to be honest about my desires and that the solution I had come up with to make both my husband’s and my fantasies a reality was perfect. He assured me that anyone chosen from Club Alias would be safe to play with, but to make doubly sure everything was as safe, sane, and consenting as possible, he would have a tele-session with Roman to talk everything through. He’d speak to him about who Roman chose without involving me, since that was the agreement my Dom and I had made.