Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 95046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
"And you," she says, pointing at him. "You're a mantis shrimp."
I have no idea what that is.
Jino tilts his head. "A what?"
"Mantis. Shrimp." She enunciates each syllable like she's teaching vocabulary to kindergarteners. "They're these tiny ocean creatures that look harmless—kinda pretty, actually, with their rainbow shells—but they have the fastest punch in the animal kingdom. Like, faster than a bullet. They can literally boil the water around their claws when they strike."
She's gesturing wildly now, fully committed to this metaphor.
"They also have sixteen color receptors in their eyes. Humans have three. Dogs have two. Mantis shrimp have sixteen." She pauses for dramatic effect. "Which means they see colors we can't even imagine. They perceive reality on a completely different level than everyone else."
Jino hasn't moved, but I notice the smile creeping up his face.
"That's you," Emmaleen continues. "You see everything. Every micro-expression. Every hesitation. Every single tiny deviation from protocol that I think I'm getting away with." She laughs, but there's genuine exasperation underneath.
She crosses her arms.
"Also, mantis shrimp are solitary. They live alone in their little burrows and only come out to hunt or mate. Very territorial. Very particular about their space." She looks pointedly at Jino. "Sound familiar?"
Lorcan is trying not to smile.
I'm cataloging this entire breakdown for later.
The accuracy of her assessment hits.
She sees us. Actually sees us—not the suits, not the power, not the carefully constructed personas we wear like armor.
And she's choosing to stay anyway.
"This is my gift to Emmaleen," I say, once again looking at Lorcan. "She needs romance. Softness. She needs to talk books with someone. And do I look like a man who reads that hack, Declan Cross? Fiction? It's beneath me and I'm not going to apologize for it."
I sigh. It's good natured, this offer. And genuine too.
But it's a little sad that I have to admit this shortfall. Because I could, possibly, try harder. I could… change.
But even if I did that, I'll never be Lorcan.
And she deserves a Lorcan in her life.
"If Emmaleen is willing," I continue, still talking to Lorcan, "to sacrifice her autonomy to please me, should I not be wiling to sacrifice my ego to please her?"
When I look over at Emmaleen, I find her on the verge of tears. "My king."
"You do," I tell her. "You deserve the whole world. I'll do anything to make sure you get it."
"So it's settled." Jino says. "But just so we're clear, if you play with breath, I'm there." He points at me. "That includes every fucking blow job."
I nod. "Agreed." then I look at Lorcan, waiting for his decision.
He takes a breath, looking at Emmaleen. "You're OK with this? If I bend ya over in the Prie-dieu, makin' ya recite prayers to my cock?"
"They're not really prayers to your cock, my Saint. They're a homage to your protection. But yes. Your weird kink lights me up."
It hits me now, just how far I've come since I met this crazy woman in the yellow cardigan.
She started as a game. A toy. A plaything.
But only minutes into the arrangement, she'd already won.
She stopped being a game the moment she rambled about Mercury retrograde affecting Starbucks' seasonal menu and I actually wanted to hear where the tangent was going.
She gave herself to me completely. Committed to everything I asked of her from day one.
I've killed for her once, and I'll do it again if I have to.
I'll burn this entire fucking world down to keep her safe.
I'll let my cousin edge her into subspace if it eases the cravings she has for submission.
I'll hand her over to the capable hands of my best friend it if means she gets to have a real romance.
And I'll chain that monster inside me to a fucking wall if it means I get to keep her forever, entwine it in all eight of my tentacles.
From predator to guardian.
From weapon to shield.
I chose love.
My chains, my choice.
Epilogue
On Saturday mornings, Emmaleen Rourke shows up to my carriage house on the new Providence estate grounds as herself.
She doesn't have any rules to follow, doesn't need permission to speak, and is allowed to make as many mistakes as she wants.
Because on Saturday mornings, we're… well, I'm really sure what we are.
I'd say friends. But I'm teaching her how to deep throat a cock so one day Giovanni will let her blow him so…
More than friends?
I stand shirtless at my front window looking out onto the snow-covered grounds, tracking her as she runs down the sidewalk towards me. She's wearing a long yellow coat that trails out behind her—defiant and bright against the gloomy morning sky, like a daffodil, daring winter to put out her light.
I'm wincing, watching the placement of her feet, mentally telling her to slow down. She slips on the ice, does a comical windmill motion with her arms, mouth open wide, then recovers a stride later, never changing her speed.