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)
But now that this strange man stands before me—classically All-American good-looking, easily pictured as a star NFL player—the thought of cutting and pasting him into the role we need him for… it’s like that damn system of mine refuses to work when I right-click, instead giving me the spinning wheel of death before it shuts down completely.
I barely hear what he says after my greeting, an unnecessary level of revulsion crawling up my arm when he shakes my hand. It’s incongruent with what the nice-looking Dom deserves from my overdramatic instincts to not allow men to touch what belongs to my husband. Especially when said husband is the one who has brought this man into our home to do exponentially more than just shake my damn hand.
Roman’s deep voice next to me is like a gunshot at the beginning of a race, amplifying my need to make a break for it. “We’ll take these to the table for you. We have lots to discuss.”
I nod, unable to meet his eyes. Instead, they land on the bag of trash leaned up against the silver lidded can I didn’t have time to take out to the garbage. It was too full to shove all the Japanese takeout containers into, so I had no choice but to quickly switch out the bags. I use it as an excuse to get some much-needed air.
“Okay. I’m just going to run this out to the rolling can so it doesn’t start to smell. I’ll be back in a sec,” I tell Roman, Thomas already halfway to the table with the dish of dumplings.
My husband gives me a knowing look but nods. He sees right through my excuse but allows me the moment of solitude to be able to collect myself after the shock of who he chose. “Take your time,” he replies, and then he presses a kiss to my forehead before reaching down to pull the trash bag up off the floor by its tied yellow strings.
I take the bag without meeting his eyes, because I know it’s going to take every ounce of intestinal fortitude to bring my ass back inside once I step out that door. The only reason I’ll be able to at all is that I won’t do anything to make Roman look bad, especially in front of another Dom.
I pull the door leading into the garage shut behind me before pressing the button that makes the bay door clang open. I carry the bag out into the evening air, that perfect temperature between hot and cold that comes this time of year in the South. I take a deep breath now that my lungs seem to be able to work properly again.
What the hell am I going to do?
I’ve gone through all the steps to make this happen and be content with living with the experience in my memory for the rest of my life. Right down to Doc’s professional seal of approval.
I trust Roman’s decision. That’s why I put that aspect of this scene into his hands alone. The scenario was written down, every detail highly descriptive, leaving no stone unturned as far as limits and other dos and don’ts. If this is the Dom my husband has chosen, then I should be perfectly fine with the man. I know I’ll be safe to give myself over to him and the game we’ll play. And in turn, I’ll be fulfilling Roman’s deepest desire, pleasing my Dom and making him so happy and proud of me.
So why does everything inside me scream for me to run?
“Savvy girl,” comes a deep voice close to my back, and I do scream then, out loud as I spin around, and right into my best friend’s face.
“Bram! What the fuck! You scared the shit out of me, you ass,” I scold, swatting at him.
He laughs as he jumps out of my reach, hands in his pockets. “What are you doing out here?” His chin nudges toward the bag, and I lift an eyebrow in a “duh” expression.
“Taking the trash out. It’s what us grown-ups do when the cans inside are full,” I snark, lifting the plastic lid attached to the big outdoor bin, dropping the tied-up bag inside, and letting the lid fall closed.
“Weird. I thought everyone has a sweet little sub who’s eager to please to do that for them.” He smirks, and I roll my eyes.
“I am that sweet little sub in this household,” I murmur, looking over his shoulder and up at my beautiful home.
My beautiful home that’s suddenly been infested with a stranger who thinks he’s going to get to have sex with me.
“What is it, Savvy?” he asks, his voice gentle and pulling my eyes back to his.
I have the urge to tell him absolutely everything, not only about this scene of mine and the desire Roman has, but every detail of the past year. For the past decade, we’ve confided everything in our best friend, shared every single one of our ups and downs with him, alongside him. And I know I was the one who told Roman from the start that I didn’t want Bram to know what happened, but I suddenly feel like the embarrassment would be worth it to face, just so he could make me feel better about it all when it’s all out.