Page 44 of The Real Mason
“Yes!” I blurt.
He made me different too. Made me do things I’d never even considered, never thought about. I barely recognize the person I became under his strong hands and superhuman will.
It terrifies me.
“How?” he asks.
“You know,” I sputter, gesturing wildly. I can’t voice any of this. “Don’t make this complicated.”
“I see.” His voice takes on that edge, and my heart quickens. “So you can’t explain the difference.”
Confused and scared, I retaliate. “The Mason I knew didn’t like to inflict pain.”
His expression darkens, and he sits forward, eyes narrowing.
To my horror, my core heats.
Dear God, there’s a part of me that wants this so bad—what he’s shown me, what he’s given me.
“The Anna I knew,” he says in a low rumble, “didn’t come from being in pain. Isn’t that mutual, equal discovery?”
I lower my gaze to my lap, ashamed. Part of me wants to believe he tricked me somehow, because it abdicates my responsibility, But I can’t hide from the truth. I loved it. Deflated, I twist my napkin.
Silence. The seconds tick by, punctuated only by the sound of the clock hanging over his refrigerator.
Tick, tick, tick.Like a bomb about to detonate.
“How am I different, Anna?” he prompts after several minutes of thick tension.
I shrug. “Before you were always cordial, such a gentleman. Asking for my thoughts and opinions. But last night, there was none of that. You took what you wanted.”
“True,” he says, sitting back. “Let me ask you this; did you feel disrespected?”
I shake my head. Never. Even as impossible as it sounds, given the lewdness of the acts we engaged in.
“Was there ever a time you didn’t feel safe? Or that you felt I didn’t have your best interests at heart?”
I bite the inside of my cheek and shake my head again, shredding my napkin.
“But it’s still different,” he says. Not a question.
“Yes,” I whisper. “How does it actually work in real life?”
“I have no desire to turn you into a 24/7 slave girl, if that’s your concern.”
That thought had hovered in the corner of my mind. I touch my temple. “I can’t see it.”
“We haven’t defined it, so I can’t imagine you could. We’d talk, explore our options, and then figure it out. Together. As a couple.” He takes a sip of coffee, and his mouth twists into a sardonic smile. “Just like any other couple.”
Why does he have to say all the right things?
I need so badly to believe this is normal, that we can be normal. But I can’t quite manage to buy it. It’s too different, too foreign to what I’ve believed my whole life. The unknowns are too great.
I sigh. “You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”
His grip tightens around his coffee mug, turning his knuckles white. “No. I’m not going to tell you it’s all about me forcing you to my will. It’s not.”
His voice and the fierceness of his expression make my heart lurch in fear and hope, confusing me even more.
