Page 99 of Immortal Bastard (The Order of Vampires)

“I’ll do whatever I have to do.”

“But…” She believed him, and her pacifist nature ensured he’d get his way. “I don’t like being told who I can and can’t speak to.”

“You asked to venture outside of the house. That comes with rules. You can either accept my conditions or take the prospect off the table.”

She was definitely being hustled. “Fine. But I don’t like you very much right now.”

She flinched when a feather-light caress ghosted over her throat, tickling. Her hand rushed to her neck and the playful sensation stopped. “That’s not normal.”

“Neither are we.”

She drew in a long breath. “Fine. I accept your condition.”

“Good. Now for my next negotiation.”

“Oh, boy.” She couldn’t imagine what he might request next. She waved her fingers egging him on. “Let’s hear it.”

“No more swearing. That goes for in your head or spoken aloud.”

She gaped at him. “That’s how I talk.”

“Practice self-control.”

“That’s impossible.” She groaned. “I have none.”

He chuckled. “Then I’ll assist you. There are ways to reinforce positive behavior just as there are deterrents to keep us from repeating bad habits.”

She shifted in her seat, cocking her head curiously. “Such as?”

He splayed his fingers wide and flattened his palm on the table. “Would you like a demonstration?”

“What do you mean?”

“Stand up, bend your body over the table, and I’ll show you.”

She drew back, comprehending his meaning as he sent a wave of sensation rolling over her ass and flexed his hand. “I’ll pass.” She couldn’t decide if he was playfully suggesting a little slap and tickle or pushing more of his heavy-handed patriarchal bullshit.

“Are you sure? Demonstrations can be quite motivating.”

“I’m all set.”

“Are you rejecting my terms?”

“I’ll do my best with the no-swearing thing, but I can’t make any promises.” This was going to be fucking impossible.

“Then I’ll make one. I promise to give you a little grace and time, but there will be consequences, pintura. Your language can be atrocious, and a little self-control never hurt anyone.”

Self-control might not hurt, but spanking did. “You don’t discipline a partner.”

“Not a well-behaved one.”

She scoffed. Suddenly he had jokes. “Christian, I’m not going to let you spank me.”

“Keep your language clean and it won’t be an issue.”

She gaped at him. He was really serious. “This isn’t the middle ages.”

“I’m aware.”

“Are you?”

He drew in a calm breath. “Delilah, ‘discipline yields the peaceable fruit of righteousness.”

“Christian,” she said dryly. “Don’t quote scripture at me.”

“I want this,” he said point blank, showing no inclination to budge or bend.

An exasperated breath huffed out of her. Tempted to see how far he’d go if she broke his rules, she considered letting an F-bomb drop, but what if he really was serious and it hurt? Forget that.

It was already starting to work.

Was it really her language or was her language just a vehicle to get him off on some Amish discipline kink? He said he could never truly hurt her, so it was a bit of a catch twenty-two.

“Fine. I’ll try not to swear.”

“Good. I’m pleased with how our negotiations are going.”

She supposed he would be, being that he got sex and spankings with a side of no talking to boys or cursing. How had he managed all of that while she only got chaperoned field trips around the farm? It was time to go for the jugular. “My turn. I want to visit my shop.”

“No.”

“Do you know another word? What the hel—eck? Why not?”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re different now. Your body has needs. The more you starve yourself, the less self-control you’ll have. You could injure someone unintentionally. And you still haven’t learned the basics of compulsion. It’s too great of a risk to you and to others. It’s my duty to protect you, so the answer is no.”

“You could go with me.”

“Of course, I would. But it’s still out of the question.”

“You’re not negotiating with me. You have all these conditions and demands, but you won’t compromise if it’s something you don’t want. How is that fair?”

He hesitated then suggested, “I’ll reconsider in two weeks. If I feel you still aren’t ready, then my answer will remain no.”

“And what criteria qualifies me as ready?”

“Trust, for one. Right now, I don’t trust you.”

“At least we have that in common,” she grumbled. “I still feel like you’re getting more out of this deal than I am.”

“You asked for no biting. I agreed. You asked for freedom on the farm. I granted your request within reason.”

“But you added conditions. I didn’t limit you when you asked for fucking—shit! Sorry. Screwing. Can I say screwing?”

He sighed. “The preferred phrase is intimacy.”

She rolled her eyes. Like anyone called it that. What was next, her flowering vagina and her heaving bosom? Dear God, she was rotting away in a bad romance. Lady Gaga could write a lyrical masterpiece on this one.

“Ask me for something realistic, pintura, and I’ll be more than happy to grant you it.”