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)
“Yessir.” I smiled back and scratched my elbow absently. I loved the look of approval in his hazel-green eyes. When Wade was happy, every feature of him screamed warmth. Our hair color was the same brown, but his stayed sun-kissed a while longer than mine did.
“Attaboy.” He ruffled my hair, and I gave him a shove that made him chuckle. “Looks like the sweet baby brother of the family finally poked his head out.”
“Shut up.”
Don’t shut up. Even though we weren’t related, or even technically foster brothers, I felt included when those terms were used. Yaya had called us brothers from the moment I’d joined the family.
Wade grinned but said nothing, and he glanced back at the couch. “I don’t mind sleeping out here, though.”
I shook my head. “You got that old hip of yours.”
That earned me a scowl. “It sounds cooler when you at least mention the shrapnel.”
There was nothing cool about that. I’d lost my shit the day we’d found out he had been injured in battle. Thankfully, his last tour. Once he’d rotated home, he’d left the service to go back to pursue his goals in the medical field.
A sharp wind trying to push through the cabin caught our focus, and we peered up at the ceiling.
“We’re safe here, right?” I had to ask.
“Without a doubt,” he said firmly. “But we’ll let the dogs sleep inside tonight. I can’t guarantee the shed and the carport won’t get damaged. I’ll secure the vehicles closer to the cabin too.”
For the rest of that day, I helped Wade with storm preparations and desperately wished I had some music to drown out the warnings going off in my head.
Don’t get too close.
You remember the last time you let your guard down. You ended up moving to Dallas.
Don’t fucking act like a sub around him.
Stupid, stupid!
“Don’t you miss music?” I huffed and puffed as I carried in more firewood.
The woodshed behind the cabin had so much, but it needed to get indoors so it could dry properly.
“I do,” he conceded. “But it’s good to take a break from all that from time to time. We don’t even notice how much information we force our brains to process when we’re surrounded by social media, movies, TV shows, music, phone calls, meetings—hell, just walking down the street.”
I chewed on my lip. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but it made sense. I got overwhelmed fairly easily, and I could have the biggest headaches at the end of the day. But I wanted to exclude music from that list!
“That’s one of the reasons I wanted to get you up here,” he admitted. “I checked your Facebook for a few weeks before you were arrested, and it worried me. You seemed lost—all while you were constantly out and about doing things. Parties, bar nights, kink events, arguing online, switching jobs—” He turned to me as we reached the porch steps. “You went through three jobs in five weeks. How’s that even possible?”
Well, crappity crap.
I squinted up at him and played things off with a shrug. “Rent’s due every month. If someone gets fired, they gotta find a new job.”
He smiled wryly.
I didn’t like this conversation anymore.
I hurried up the steps and got the door open with a twist and a shoulder-check.
Also, good thing I wasn’t much for posting photos online. I mean, Wade and I were fairly open about having kink in common; we could speak about it in general terms, but it was best to draw the line there. Rationally, I understood this. No matter how curious I sometimes got about his experiences and preferences.
I knew he was a Dom, and he definitely had Daddy tendencies, but that was about it.
In turn, he knew I was submissive—and that I hadn’t gotten the chance to explore submission in a proper relationship. I’d complained about it once or twice—that it was difficult to find someone for long-term dynamics.
After kicking off my boots, I went over to the fireplace with my hopefully last pile of wood. We had enough to last us several days now.
Speaking of kink, I did have a question for him. Something I’d been mulling over for months, if not longer.
“May I ask you a kink-related question?”
His eyes flicked with a bit of surprise, but he nodded, nonetheless. “Of course.”
Okay, so I had to phrase myself carefully here. “It goes without saying that BDSM shouldn’t be used as therapy,” I said. “But don’t you think a certain lifestyle can sort of replace the need to talk to someone professionally, as you put it?” I removed the gloves I’d borrowed and shrugged out of my jacket. “For instance, the whole reason I feel out of sorts—or the biggest reason anyway—is because I lack the structure I would get in a D/s dynamic.”
He nodded slowly, brows furrowed. “I’m listening.”