Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
My whole body stills the moment before an orgasm sweeps in like another shocking tidal wave of pleasure.
Until Domhnall roughly spanks my pussy, both driving me higher and delaying what now feels deliciously inevitable but out of reach since his hands don’t come back to my clit.
“Please, Sir!” I beg.
“Oh, I like it when you beg.” He grunts. “You squeeze me so fucking good. That’s right. Arch your head back. Fuck, I can feel your juices running down my balls.” He grunts repeatedly this time like he’s about to lose his shit. “Oh my god you’re fucking dripping. You wanna come?”
“Yes, yes, please,” I beg, my entire body shaking with need, trembling on the edge.
“I’m so goddamn deep inside you. We’re gonna count to three, and you’re gonna come. Three. That’s it. That’s it. Fucking look me in the eye, my precious good girl. Two. Look at me. One.”
I look at him right as his face distorts, veins clear in his throat as he clenches his jaw, obviously fighting as hard as I have been to hold this orgasm at bay.
“Come for me, Mads,” he commands, his voice rough with exertion. He begins to strum wetly at my clit as he fucks me furiously.
The use of her name should jar me back to reality, should remind me of the game I’m playing, but I’m too far gone. I come with a scream, my body convulsing around him, waves of pleasure crashing over me with such intensity that for a moment, I think I might actually pass out.
Domhnall follows me over the edge, his rhythm faltering as he spills inside me with a guttural groan that sounds like it’s been torn from his very soul.
We collapse together, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his breath hot against my neck. For long moments, we stay like that, joined, our breathing gradually slowing, our hearts finding a steadier rhythm.
Finally, he withdraws, both the vibrator and himself. I wince at the emptiness, at the soreness that’s already settling into my muscles. He unties my wrists with gentle hands, massaging the marks left by the ropes, pressing soft kisses to each wrist.
“You okay?” he asks, and there’s a tenderness in his voice now, a carefulness that hadn’t been there before.
I nod, not trusting my voice yet. I’m more than okay.
I’m still here.
Still Anna.
I didn’t switch, and he didn’t exactly take it easy on me.
He pulls me against his chest, his arms wrapping around me, protective and possessive at once. “You were amazing,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple. “So responsive. So perfect.”
I should tell him now. I should confess that I’m not who he thinks I am. But I’m greedy for these moments of unguarded intimacy and for this side of him I’ve never been allowed to see.
So instead, I curl into him, letting my head rest on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “I love you,” I whisper, and I mean it with every fiber of my being.
His arms tighten around me, and he presses another kiss to my hair. “I love you too, Mads,” he says, and though I know the name is wrong, the love in his voice is real.
That’s enough for now. Tomorrow, we’ll talk. Tomorrow, I’ll tell him everything—how I stayed present, how I didn’t switch, how this might be the beginning of real healing.
Tomorrow.
But for tonight, I’ll let myself have this—the afterglow, the closeness, the knowledge that I am whole and present in my own body, my own love story.
I am Anna, and I am finally, finally free.
TWENTY
February
DOMHNALL
I pull into the garage, exhausted from back-to-back meetings that stretched well past five. The house is quiet as I kill the engine, and Anna's car is missing from its usual spot. It's good she's out—I feel like she's barely left the house over the last couple of months. Still, I hope she's home soon. I've come to look forward to our dinners together and an occasional glass of wine on the patio if the weather holds.
I chuckle to myself as I walk into the house. Who knew Domhnall Callaghan could become so domesticated? This new life is so far from my old one, sometimes it feels like maybe, just maybe, someday I'll be able to forget—
On your knees, dog!
I grimace, my hand squeezing into a fist. Other days, not so much.
But then a smell from the kitchen draws me out of the dark memories. I follow my nose to the kitchen, and my clenched fist releases.
There she is. My Anna—my salvation—humming softly as she stirs something on the stove that smells divine. Her hair is piled loosely on top of her head, a few tendrils escaping to frame her face. She's wearing one of my old T-shirts that hangs to mid-thigh. She's so fucking beautiful it hurts my chest. I still don't think she comprehends what it means for her to be here for me to come home to every day. Or how she's transformed my whole feckin' life.