Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Carter lifted his gaze, and when it crashed into mine, it was like we were the only two people in the world.
“To laugh first is easier than waiting to be humiliated. To pretend I don’t care is easier than letting it matter. Because if it matters — if I actually try, actually want something — and I still fail?” He shook his head. “Then it means they were right about me all along.”
My chest ached as I watched him, as I did my best to hold space for what he was trusting me to hold for him. Subtly, somewhere in the back of my mind, there was a voice whispering that I should shut this down, that I should tell him I don’t need to know anything else.
But I threw a pillow over that voice and muffled it completely because I wanted to know. I felt honored that he was telling me.
And I felt a burning desire to help him more than ever.
That was something not many understood about The Lifestyle; how consensual, kinky sex could be freeing and could heal wounds so deep no amount of therapy can touch them. It’s not just about getting off — it could be about facing fears and overcoming insecurities, or reclaiming power and control, or releasing control and learning to relax.
His final words hung there, fragile in the air between us.
When I didn’t respond right away, he dropped his gaze to the fire again.
“You’re not going to say anything?”
I swallowed. “I’m thinking.”
His lips twitched, almost a smile. “Dangerous.”
“Only when it’s about contracts or cock rings,” I teased gently, then let the moment settle. “Thank you. For telling me.”
He gave a half nod, but I could see the tension still lived in his shoulders.
“You know,” I added, reaching for my third martini, “there’s a big difference between being bad at something and never being given the chance to be good at it.”
He blinked, looking at me like he was trying to decide if he believed me.
“You’re not broken, Carter. You’re just untrained.”
He smirked. “That supposed to be sexy?”
“It’s supposed to be honest.” I ate my olive, tapping the skewer against my lip a moment. “And while we’re on that honesty kick, yes… it is sexy. I find it incredibly hot, actually.”
“Okay,” he said, sitting up with flat lips. “You don’t have to patronize me now.”
“I’m not. Your corny lines make me laugh, which is a rarity. I like corny. And I like teaching you. I like the thought of molding you to be my own little pleasure provider. I like how eager you are and how well you listen. And I can tell you that just by the first two times we’ve been together, that coach doesn’t know shit about you. You’re more than capable, Rook. And you’re passing this class with flying colors already.”
“Is this praise kink foreplay? Because it’s working.”
I smiled. “Do you have plans on Friday?”
“We travel home from the Winnipeg game that morning, but I should be free that night. Why?”
“Because I think it’s time for your next lesson. And you better catch a nap on that plane ride home...” I tilted my martini to my lips with a wicked grin. “We’re turning up the heat.”
Mistress Livia
Carter
Friday came faster than I imagined, my week jam packed with travel and games. We were still locked into the playoff race, fighting for our spot and for our lives, and every second counted. We took a loss at home against Columbus but managed to secure a win in Winnipeg. Back and forth, we teetered on the edge of clenching or having our season end before we were ready.
I had to be locked in, and I was.
I was quicker in the face-off circle, reading plays faster, keeping my head on a swivel. My minutes were up, my line was clicking, and I was finally playing like I belonged — not just as a role filler, but as a fucking problem for the other team. My teammates were trusting me more. Coach, too. Vince even tossed me a chirp after one game about how I’d been “possessed” on the forecheck. I took it as the highest form of praise.
But off the ice, I was still working through what I’d told Livia on our practice date.
Bringing up all the history with Coach Leduc had nearly made me throw up. It was like dragging a corpse out of a locked trunk in the back of my mind, one I’d shoved in there years ago and told myself I was fine leaving buried. Except the fucker still smelled and there was no ignoring him, no matter how I tried.
Doctor Arman was right. I shouldn’t have assumed I’d know what Livia’s reaction would be, which wasn’t much at all. She’d just… listened. She’d heard me out and she hadn’t tried to comfort me or tell me I had to let it all go.