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)
He blinks. "A what?"
"A Venn diagram. You know, the circles? The overlapping things?" I'm gesturing now, hands tracing invisible shapes in the air between us. "Giovanni is all punishment and control and 'bow to me or else.' You're all structure and boundaries and 'let me teach you how to sing.' And in the middle—" I slap my palms together. "In the middle is me. The overlap. The place where both of you make sense."
Jino's expression suggests I've just explained quantum physics using interpretive dance.
"I'm not high," I tell him. "I'm not locked in subspace. I know exactly what I'm saying."
"Do you."
It's not a question. It's a challenge.
Fine. Let's do this.
I sit up, pulling the nightgown down to cover myself because apparently, we're having a BFF heart-to-heart now and I should at least pretend to have dignity.
"Giovanni wants to break me," I say slowly, carefully. "Every night, he wants to takes me apart. The crop, the clamps, the collar—it's all designed to shatter whatever's left of my defenses. And you know what? I want that. I need that."
Jino's jaw tightens.
"But you," I continue, "you want to put me back together. Every morning, you want to show me that submission doesn't mean erasure. That I can be owned without being destroyed. That pleasure exists without requiring blood sacrifice first."
"Emmaleen—"
"No, listen." I lean forward. "You're the reason I survive Giovanni. And Giovanni is the reason I appreciate you. It's a perfect circle. You give me what Giovanni needs to see in me. Giovanni gives you what you need to fix in me. We're all getting exactly what we want."
The silence that follows is so thick I could spread it on toast.
Then Jino says, very quietly, "Giovanni will hate this."
"Will he?" I tilt my head. "Or will he hate that he loves it?"
Jino's eyes narrow. "What are you talking about?"
"I wasn't too deep in subspace to miss his confessions." The memory surfaces—Giovanni's voice, soft and broken, whispering things he thought I couldn't hear. "He wants to be the monster. He needs to be the monster. And I want to love his monster. Let him be who he is, Jino. Let us all be who we are."
I stand up, rip the nightgown off, and drop it to the floor. Naked. Again. Because apparently that's just my default setting now.
"Tempt me into failure," I tell him.
He doesn't move.
So I do.
I kneel down on the tiny bed, closing the distance between us.
My fingers find his belt. The leather is soft, expensive. The buckle makes a satisfying clink as I work it open.
Button. Zipper.
My hands are steady. No trembling. No hesitation.
This is me choosing. Not complying, not submitting.
Choosing.
I pause, fingers hooked in the waistband of his boxer briefs.
"I should be punished for this," I whisper. "Shouldn't I?"
Jino's breathing has changed. Faster. Deeper.
His eyes are black.
"Shouldn't I, Master?"
The word does something to him. I watch it happen—the shift from Jino-the-concerned-friend to Jino-the-Dom. The hardening of his expression. The way his shoulders settle back. Authority, snapping into place like armor.
"Yes." His voice is gravel. "You should."
"Then do it."
He moves so fast I barely register it.
One second, I'm kneeling. The next I'm face-down on the mattress, the vinyl cool against my flushed skin.
I giggle.
I can't help it. It bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest—not hysteria, not nerves. Just... happiness. Pure, uncomplicated joy at the absurdity of being exactly where I want to be.
Also, it'll piss him off. And I want him pissed. I want him to be himself. My Master.
"Something funny?" His weight settles across my lower legs, pinning me.
"Just thinking about my life choices." I press my face into the mattress. "You know, the usual. Homeless shelter to sex dungeon pipeline. Real bootstraps narrative."
His hands land on my ass. Firm. Possessive.
Then they stop.
I know what he's seeing. The welts. Giovanni's artwork, still hot and raised across my skin.
The silence stretches.
"Touch them, Jino."
I shouldn't command him. That's not how this works. Subs don't give orders.
But he's not treating me like a sub right now. He's treating me like his... friend. His broken bird. His project.
And that's not who I want to be.
"Touch my welts," I say again, clearer this time. "Care for them, if you're worried. Isn't that your job? Aftercare?"
A pause. Then—
His lips press against the first welt.
Soft. Reverent.
I bite my lip so hard I taste copper.
He kisses the second one. The third. Tracing each mark with his mouth like he's reading braille, learning the story of Giovanni's violence written on my skin.
"They're hot," he murmurs against my flesh.
"They're perfect."
Another kiss. Lower this time.
"They hurt," he says.
"They remind me." My voice is muffled by the mattress. "They remind me how good it felt when Giovanni stood over me. When he cleared my demerits. When he owned me completely."
Jino's breath ghosts across my skin.
Then his hands move. Spreading my legs. "Is this what you want?" His voice is rough. "My tongue? My fingers? Everything Giovanni won't give you?"