Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
A long sigh escapes. She frustrates me. And this frustration leads to mistakes.
See. This is why I can’t keep her. She unsettles my perfectly organized world. Rips it to shreds with a few well-chosen words. Flips the tables, scattering my thoughts and desires in all directions.
She’s not good for me.
And what’s not good for me is even worse for her.
She is, in fact, a fucking thorn in the side of our mutual long-term survival.
Adrenaline courses through my blood, the peace that was beginning to settle, once again scattered. There’s no rest now. Not with that poem running through my head. Not with my mistakes gnawing away at the edges of my confidence.
Have I royally fucked up?
Have I miscalculated so badly that this game will backfire?
Unknown. Yet. There’s still time. It was day one. We were finding our footing, that’s all. Today will be smoother and—
On the monitor, Emmaleen sits up in bed.
I lean in. What the fuck? Did something wake her?
The bedroom door opens. It's Jino.
What the hell is he doing?
I increase the volume, catching his words mid-sentence: "—bathe. You didn't dress."
I watch with amusement as something snaps inside Emmaleen and suddenly, words are spewing out of her mouth like a scene from The Exorcist. She verbally berates Jino, calling him Master in a mocking way. Asserting her own self agency.
Jino barely contains his smile.
I don't even try. Classic Little Miss Take right here.
After a full minute of verbal vomiting, her little outburst has burned itself out. I expect shame, silence, obedience. Instead, I watch her retreat. She flinches when Jino takes her hand—tries to pull away—but he doesn’t let her. He grips her tight. Firm, measured, commanding. The kind of touch reserved for something you own.
“Come,” I hear him say, pulling her across the room.
I narrow my eyes. What’s happening?
“Relax,” he murmurs, softer now. He's filling the bath. The camera angle doesn’t miss a thing: the water turning on, steam curling into the air, his hand gesturing toward the tub as if it were his right to order her body anywhere. She hesitates, then obeys. Steps in. She’s shivering, shaking, exposed, but when he lays a hand on her arm—gentle, deliberate—her shoulders drop.
I blink, unsure I'm seeing this correctly. Jino—my cousin, my consigliere—is running bathwater for my submissive after I explicitly ordered her to self soothe.
Never mind that it was my job and I didn’t do it. I ordered her to self soothe.
"Aftercare," Jino explains, pouring water over my sub’s body like it belongs to him. "It's mandatory after such a difficult day."
He has no right. I zoom in on Emmaleen's face as she processes what he's telling her. It's confusion, then… is that relief?
"Giovanni didn't put you to bed properly," Jino continues. He reaches for the bar of industrial soap. "Or you would be clean and dressed."
The muscles in my jaw clench so hard I feel my teeth might crack. Didn't put her to bed properly? He dares to critique my decisions in front of her?
I watch, paralyzed with disbelief, as Jino's fucking hands—bare fucking hands—slick with soap, begin to glide over skin that doesn't belong to him. Over breasts that aren't his to touch. Between thighs where his hands have no right to be.
His movements aren't clinical. They're attentive. Deliberate. The kind of touch designed to leave an impression.
The kind of touch reserved for a king.
The audio catches her breathing change—quickening, then catching. Her body responding to him. To his hands. To his attention.
"It's okay," Jino says, his voice much too gentle. "It's normal."
Normal?
He's betraying me and he has the nerve to tell her this is normal?
"I'm not supposed to be touching you like this," he continues, outright caressing her seductively now, and I nearly come undone. I nearly rip the whole bank of monitors off the wall and throw them across the room. "But this is what Giovanni gets when he ignores basic protocols."
His thumbs slide over her nipples, making them rise up into tight peaks. Emmaleen grunts, like she's biting back a whimper of pleasure.
"If Giovanni is too caught up in his own head to deliver your well-earned aftercare," Jino continues, twisting the fucking knife in my back as he slides his fingers between her legs, "then I'll handle it myself."
What. The fuck. Is happening here?
I rewind. Play it again. Her small gasp when his fingers brush between her legs. The way her head falls back slightly. The fucking surrender in her posture.
My cousin is seducing my fucking sub!
It's… unheard of. A complete betrayal of my trust.
"Keep your eyes closed," Jino whispers to Emmaleen. "Just experience the sensations."
He doesn't even bother pretending now. He is fully arousing my sub on purpose. He pleasures her between her legs. He massages her large, firm breasts. He makes her bite her lip, and blush, and moan, and whimper and I cannot believe what I’m fucking seeing.