Jackson’s mouth pulls up in a faint grin. “Who knows what could happen if you keep at it. I’d have to read the whole book, of course, but I think there’s potential. It’d be a fucking waste to let you become a statistician. Besides, there are too many guys in those classes. I can’t have them gawking at you.”
The whole book. The only way he’s reading that is if I take things all the way with him. But now the slight guilt of feeling like I could be using him feels more real. Can I really live with myself if I do this? I just wish it didn’t have to be all or nothing with him. He hasn’t said as much, but I feel as though he’s only keeping me around because he hopes I’ll sign the contract. And if I do that, what’s to stop him from throwing me aside like he did Karen?
He’s like a predator. He’s trying to capture me, but the moment I sign myself over to him, what’s stopping him from getting bored?
“Well,” I say, feeling like I need space more than anything right now. I need room to breathe. Room away from his distracting presence where I can piece my thoughts together. “I really appreciate you taking the time to read over my work. I should be going though.”
“No,” he says.
I smile, thinking he’s joking for a moment until I see the look on his face. He’s not joking. He may be bound to the bed for now, but those blue eyes of his carry all the command and power he needs.
“Lock the door.”
“What about the nurses?” I ask.
“Brianne, I’ll explain this to you now. Beyond this point, I won’t mention any of it again unless you ask. Do you understand?”
I frown, not sure I do, but I nod anyway.
“If you’re going to be involved with me, I need to know that you can be trained. I need to know that you can obey. I assume you already know this, considering the website you contacted me through, but I’m a man with very particular tastes. I want you to know exactly what I expect before we take this any further. Is that clear?”
I nod again. My heart pounds and my chest heaves, but I need to hear what he has to say. This has all been hanging over our heads since we met for lunch last week, since he blindfolded me and commanded me to follow his instructions, and now it’s coming out. I feel terrified and relieved at the same time.
“I’ll also need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement. If you’re not familiar, it essentially means everything that happens between us is completely confidential.”
I nod as the full meaning sinks in. Confidential, as in, not to be immortalized into a work of fiction. I’m guessing if I change the names it would be okay, but I’m also fairly certain Jackson might read my book at this point, and there’s no way he wouldn’t pick up on the similarities.
Just when I was starting to convince myself I wasn’t being a total sleaze for getting writing material as a bonus out of this. . .
“BDSM is not what most people think,” he continues. “It’s not a catch-all. Everything is consensual. The lack of control is an illusion. It’s a tool used to heighten the pleasure you feel. If you enter into this with me, if you sign the contract, we would begin to build a relationship unlike any you’ve been in before. I would be your dominant and you would be my submissive. The limits of your pleasure would only be bound by how much you trust me. Trust is key. Is this making sense?”
“I think so,” I say.
“Good. Some dominants have strong inclinations toward certain… flavors of BDSM. In those cases, it’s extremely important for them to find a submissive with the same tastes. I’m not like them. There’s only one thing I want. One thing I crave above all else.
“What is that?” I ask, voice sounding small and weak.
“Your submission. Your pleasure. I want you to learn to give yourself over to me so completely and so fully that I can bring you to climax with nothing but the sound of my voice.”
A chill runs across my skin. I’ve already felt the power of his voice and somehow I don’t doubt that he could bring it that far.
“If you sign the contract, I will push your limits. I will expose you to things you may have never even thought of trying or dreamed that you would enjoy. I may push the boundaries of your comfort, but I can promise you one thing. Every single thing I do is for you and your pleasure. My own needs are secondary.”
He pauses, and I realize he’s done. He’s asking me a question. He’s letting me know I need to decide. I need to commit to this contract or I need to leave.
“Can I read it first?” I ask. “The contract?”
“Of course. I could have it sent to you and you could have as much time as you need to read it. Within reason,” he adds.
“I’ll look at it,” I say.
“Excellent. Now do as you were told and lock the door, Princess.”
I almost laugh, but I quickly realize he isn’t kidding. “I haven’t signed the contract though,” I say.
“The contract goes two ways. I’m bound by it as well as you. I think I deserve to see what I’m committing to, don’t you?”
To see? What does he mean, exactly? I open my mouth to speak, but don’t trust what might come out. I lick my lips slowly, then nod my head.
“Good. Now lock the door. Don’t make me ask again.”
I move to do as I’m told, locking the door and feeling a slight pang of fear set in as the bolt clicks into place.
“Take your top off,” he says.
“What?” I ask. The most exposed I’ve ever been in front of a guy is a swimsuit. Well, that and the time I let Brad Parker unbutton my shirt after a football game in high school, but it was dark and he probably couldn’t see anything. Here in this hospital room with the unforgiving bright lights overhead, I’d feel so… exposed.
“Take your top off,” he says again, voice low and dangerous.
My fingertips graze my thighs as I clutch the bottom of my shirt. I close my eyes, wondering where the hell I’ll find the strength to do this. I try as hard as I can to become the writer again, to take a step back and write the story for someone else.
His voice is like steel, and she obeys.
I imagine the line typed on my document, picturing the vertical bar blinking patiently after the period, waiting for me to add more.
I lift the shirt over my head, stripping the cardigan with it and letting it fall to the floor with a soft woosh. The air vent blows directly on my back, making my skin prickle immediately with goose bumps.
Jackson’s mouth curves in the slightest hint of a smirk. There’s no humor in the expression though, only satisfaction, hunger, and desire.
I wait, chest heaving as I stand before him in nothing but my bra and leggings.
“Make that pile of clothes on the floor taller, Princess. Pants or bra. Your choice.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. I feel like it’s a test. He wants to know if it’s worth binding himself to me with the contract. Does he want me to prove I’m bold? Does he just want to see if my body meets his standards?
I decide taking my bra off would be the bolder of the two choices. I slowly move my hands behind my back to unhook it, but pause. I can’t do it. Not here. Not yet. Not like this. I instead drop my fingers to my waistband and slide out of my leggings, adding them to the pile on the ground.