Page 30 of Salt Kiss
I stand in the middle of the suite’s living room, daring myself to say the words, to justfucking do italready.
“I know what Strassburg did when he worked for you,” I say, hoping I sound level and confident and not like I’m terrified of all the potential outcomes of the next few minutes—not like I’m terrified even of the outcome that Idowant. “I mean...on top of his regular duties.”
Mark is still, watching me with eyes gone atramentous in the dark.
“You know.” It’s not spoken like a question.
I forge ahead. “I know he was your submissive. I know you had sex with him.” I try to think of all the things I wanted to explain, make clear. “I know it wasn’t romantic or anything, more of an arrangement, and I—”
It’s so hard to talk when he’s watching me. When he’s motionless, sharp-eyed, like a chess player waiting for an opponent to walk themselves into their own trap.
“I want to do that,” I finish. There’s a tremble in the wordwantthat I hope he didn’t hear. “I want to do what Strassburg did. With you.”
Mark’s hand drops from his wrist, the cuff link still fastened, and I catch the small flex in his jaw before his expression becomes neutral once more. “Let me make sure I understand. You’re offering yourself for me to fuck.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
Of all the questions, I didn’t expect that one.
“Because—because I think it would be good. For you. To have that.” My answer is punctuated by short, shallow inhales; Mark is walking toward me now, his eyebrow lifted.
“You think it would be good for me,” he repeats. He stops just a foot away, and I can smell that subtle, haunting scent of him. Rain and heat and lingering electricity. “And that’s why you want to do this.”
“Yes, sir.”
He draws in a breath. Waits. “No,” he says finally.
Humiliation slides in my veins like a cold, thick gel. “No?” I ask in a faint voice.
“No,” he confirms. “We’re not doing that.”
“But—”
Even in the city-lit glow of the otherwise darkened room, I see his eyes flash. “I’ve given my answer, Tristan.”
“Because you don’t want to?” I can’t help but ask. It’s needy of me, insecure and miserable of me, but I have to know. I have to know if I’m not enough for him even to use.
A bitter laugh escapes his mouth and he turns away. “Strassburg offered because he already knew he was a submissive, and it was just as convenient for him as it was for me. He needed to be topped and didn’t have time outside of being my bodyguard to make it happen. It was mutually beneficial.”
My misery is in charge now, making me speak when I should be apologizing, retreating, escaping to my room to shove my face against my hands and let my sheer, worthlessunwantabilityovertake me.
“You didn’t answer my question” is what the misery says, and Mark looks at me.
“Yes, I want to,” Mark says. Bluntly.
My stomach lifts, drops.
“I want to shove you to your knees and fuck your pretty face whenever I feel like it,” he goes on. “I want to slide into your tight hole and stroke there until I come. I’ve thought of almost nothing else since the wedding.”
My mouth is wet. “Oh,” I say.
“But.” Mark looks away. “I can’t fuck someone without my needing to—well. Sex with me is rarely nice, let’s put it that way. I will—I’ll have to—”
There’s a tightness to his jaw now. It’s the most emotion I’ve ever seen from him, including at his sister’s wedding.
“You saw Evander kneeling that night, and it bothered you,” he says. “Strassburg saw people kneeling and was eager for the moment he could do it himself. I can only be the man I am, not someone easier, and so this is my one gesture toward goodness. I won’t fuck someone unless I know they want it. All of it.”
