Page 76 of Reckoning

I shut my eyes, focusing on his voice, on the gentle feel of his hands as they cup my face.

And slowly, so slowly, I come back to myself. I master myself.

“I’m sorry.” I whisper. “I should have been better. I should have controlled myself…”

“Don’t you dare apologise.” He growls.

I can’t quite look at him. It feels like my shame is erupting all over my skin. I shudder, wrapping my arms around myself as if it’s simply the cold that’s affecting me and not something far more nefarious.

“Tell me, Sofia, was Otto your first?”

I gulp, shaking my head. I guess now that I’m technically ‘his’ he has a right to know. A right to all my past, all my nasty little secrets. “No.” I whisper. “But he thought I was a virgin. That’s why he did what he did, he said it was to punish me, because I’d pretended to be pure when really I was nothing but a whore.”

My words turn to sobs at that admittance. Maybe if I hadn’t have played him the way I did he wouldn’t have abused me so much.

“You being a virgin had nothing to do with it.” Koen states. “He wanted to shame you because you were a Montague and because he’s a sick, sadistic fuck. Add the fact that if you died he’d inherit all your money and that sealed the deal.”

I frown at his words. Was that really it? All this time I’d convinced myself that I was responsible -what’s the phrase he kept saying, play with fire and you get burnt? Well, I’d certainly done that. I led him on, I tricked him and played a part because that was what Roman needed. And yet Koen is saying something else entirely.

He watches me as if he can understand my thoughts and then something else strikes me, something I’ve been more than aware of but have been too cowardly to face.

“You held up your end.” I say. “Aren’t you going to take your fee?”

His eyes narrow but he doesn’t move. He just stares at me.

But I need him to do this. I need to cross this line now, to rip the band-aid off and turn this fear into something that feels good. I grab my top, slowly pulling it up, only he yanks it back down quickly.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He snaps.

“This was our agreement.” I whisper. “You get to fuck me.”

“Not like this.” He growls. “I said it would be at my pace.”

I blink in confusion? Am I that disgusting that he needs to mentally prepare for it? Why would he then have agreed in the first place?

“Sofia,” He murmurs, “You’re mine now, and I’m going to take my time stripping you back, enjoying you, but most importantly, I want you to enjoy it to.”

“Why?”

He lets out a huff like he’s about to divulge some great secret. “I get my pleasure from other people’s pleasure.” He states.

My eyes widen, I shift, not sure if I’m trying to get away or just that I need to see his face. “What?”

“The term for it is a ‘Pleasure Dom’.”

I try not to squirm at the image that pops into my head. “What does that mean?”

“You want specifics?”

“Yes.” I reply, though I’m not sure I’m ready to hear the words he speaks.

“It’s about control. I enjoy making my partner come when I want. I enjoy forcing them to come, over and over, to teasing them, edging them until they’re begging me for release.”

My heart thumps so loudly in my chest. “Forcing?” I whisper.

“It’s consensual.” He says quickly. “There are safe words, hard limits. I don’t do anything my partner doesn’t want.”

“But you force orgasms?” I state. How the fuck does that even work?