Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“Basically, my brain feels fried most of the time, and I get worked up over nothing,” I explained. “Because I don’t have that factor that grounds me. If that makes sense. So, in short, yeah, I can see why you and Chris would want me to talk to someone, but at the same time, I know how to fix it. I know what’s wrong. Just like some people feel like they can’t find happiness without getting married, without having kids, without expressing their identity, I can’t find that calm without a Dom.”
The furrow between his brows deepened, and he followed my lead when I left my gloves and jacket on the hanger by the door.
“Take Kate, for instance,” I went on. She was one of the women Yaya had taken in. “She worked her way up from nothing, but something was always missing. Until she met Dave. That’s kind of where I’m at, only Kate achieved way more in her career. I’m getting by on dead-end jobs.”
The furrow between Wade’s brows deepened, and he leaned back against the counter. “I didn’t know D/s was that essential to you.”
I wished it weren’t.
“I’ve tried vanilla relationships, and it’s just not the same.” I went to the kitchen to pour him a cup of coffee. “I’m not saying it has to be a twenty-four-seven lifestyle with a bunch of protocol. I’m not that heavy into it. Just a…”
“A grounding factor,” he murmured, accepting the mug.
“Exactly.” I nodded. “Also, asking a vanilla boyfriend for a beating or being forced to do things in general rarely goes over well.”
He coughed into the mug.
Had I said too much?
Honestly, I wished I’d admitted this to him before, because the topic was much easier than discussing my broken brain.
He had hesitation written all over him. “Are you a masochist?”
“Bigly,” I said. Although, that wasn’t necessarily correct. “Maybe more of a primal prey. It’s the adrenaline for me more than pain. Pain is the tool.”
His mouth twitched with a hint of humor, and he took a sip of his coffee. “You make good coffee.”
I beamed at him. “Thank you.”
He took another sip, then glanced out the window for a moment. He was studying the angry clouds rolling in, it looked like.
“Being forced, huh?” He didn’t face me.
“Yeah.”
“So…” He scratched his forehead. “You’re a submissive into consensual non-con.”
I might as well spell it out with the last one too. “And a Middle.”
“I see.”
I hoped I hadn’t made things awkward now.
He cleared his throat and shifted his gaze to the kitchen. “I’m gonna mull over what you said earlier, about the need for D/s. In the meantime, we should get started on dinner, and I’m gonna feed the dogs and take them out once more before I bring them in here.”
“Okay—I can cook,” I offered. “We could use the rest of the bread and make sandwiches.”
He flashed me a quick smile. “That sounds great.”
The edges of the storm reached us around eight o’clock that night.
The winds were so loud, at the same time as everything was incredibly peaceful in here.
It took half an hour for the ground outside to be blanketed in snow.
The dogs were sprawled out on the floor, Atlas and Cat by the door, and Tundra and Prince by the fireplace.
I was cozied up on my half of the sectional, with blankets, cocoa, and zero freaking anger in my body. It was the weirdest feeling. I felt lighter, unburdened, but also…melancholic in a way. Because I realized I needed more of this in my life, and I had no way of obtaining it. Nobody listened to me like Wade did. No ex had been as patient with me.
I’d felt misunderstood most of my life, and at some point, it simply became easier to push people away than to try to explain to them.
Unfortunately—if I were completely honest—I hadn’t been fair to the Winters family, since I’d arrived to them angry. Even at nine years old, I’d had it with the accusations and assumptions about me. And I didn’t know how to undo my reactions to their wanting to help me.
These days, Quinlan was Dad because he’d more than earned the title, but I hadn’t told him the truth. I hadn’t been honest about why I’d failed in school, why I’d left basic training, and why I couldn’t keep a job. I’d taken his last name without committing to the family properly.
The Winters family was one of strong and proud traditions—but also with a lot of tragedy. Yaya’s older brothers—and their wives—had been murdered a few years apart. Arthur, the eldest son, was Quin’s father. Ares was Wade and Chris’s. Their little sister had died too.
For years, Yaya had kept the family together with those traditions. Supper every Sunday was practically law. Cooking was supposed to be an activity that brought people together, she always said. Strength was also important. Being able to defend yourself. And helping out. Helping was a huge deal. Being there for each other, offering aid to anyone who needed it in a community.