released a sigh that was ripe with all the frustration I felt.
"I don't think I've ever shared how I became the way I am." He turned his head slightly, like he could sense my confusion. "How I came to terms with my...needs,” he clarified.
Authority, lust, ferocity—those were all things that seemed to flow from him so naturally. I never even thought to ask why or when. I couldn't picture him as anything other than dominant. Sure of what his needs were and assertive enough to ensure that those needs were taken care of.
I took a step toward him, wrapping my arms around myself. "I'm here, if you want to talk about it."
He let out a rueful laugh that made my heart ache for him. "Well, I don't want to talk about it, but living in the shadows, contracts, it's why we're here now, isn't it?" He wasn't expecting an answer, and he didn't wait for me to give him one. "And if there's one person in this world that I want to know that story, that deserves to know, it's you." He faced me and even from the shadows I saw how heavy the weight of this was. "Come to bed."
I wasted no time heeding that command, even though I knew we weren't about to pick up where we left off before Rachel decided to share her twisted version of reality. We climbed into bed, tangled up in each other, face to face.
My hair was all over the place and my face was a snotty, tear drenched mess, but Jacob just swept my curls behind my ear and gazed adoringly at me before he pressed his lips against my forehead. The moments passed slowly, every second frozen and filled with tension. I knew he felt safe with me, that there was only love and acceptance in my arms, but I had a feeling that back then, he felt anything but.
"I was never Romeo. I had zero interest in romancing with poetry and flowers and promises,” he began. “I had a reputation around campus. Hooking up with me was called the ‘Whitmore Experience'."
His jaw twitched and I traced the line of it with my fingers, knowing that he may have worn that badge with pride once, but now, it was something he was far from proud of.
"The Whitmore Experience was basically one night of fucking. No one slept over. No one got to experience it more than once. Maybe twice." He paused and propped his chin on his palm, watching me intently like he was expecting me to tell him that it was too much.
I leaned in and pressed my lips against his, keeping my eyes open so he could see I wasn’t going anywhere. There were no skeletons or secrets from his past that were too much for me to bear.
"Then I met this freshman," he pressed on, his voice low and measured. "To be honest, I don't even remember her name. What I remember is that she didn't just lay there like the others. She didn't just take what I gave her. She told me to hold her down." His nostrils flared. "She told me to hurt her...so I did. I pinched her nipples until she screeched. Choked her, fucked her with complete abandon."
I didn't realize that I was biting my bottom lip until he reached out and stroked the only part that I wasn't tearing into savagely. I let go and heat rushed to my cheeks.
"I don't want you to censor your story for me," I assured him. He didn't look convinced and I didn't blame him. All signs pointed to me not being a huge fan of the direction of this story.
I propped my chin on my palm too, trying to wrangle the conflicting emotions that were squaring off inside me. I was only human. I knew rationally that Jacob was no virgin and had been with other women, but there was a part of me that couldn't stand being reminded of that fact. And yet, I knew that this story was important, and he wasn't sharing it to reminisce about the good ol' days. He was sharing it to give me perspective about why he was drawn to the world of BDSM.
"It's okay," I nodded. "I can handle it."
He scrubbed a hand across his face and I couldn't help but clutch this moment. He wasn't guarded. He didn't have the mask on. His shit was far from together. This was
"I don't think I've ever shared how I became the way I am." He turned his head slightly, like he could sense my confusion. "How I came to terms with my...needs,” he clarified.
Authority, lust, ferocity—those were all things that seemed to flow from him so naturally. I never even thought to ask why or when. I couldn't picture him as anything other than dominant. Sure of what his needs were and assertive enough to ensure that those needs were taken care of.
I took a step toward him, wrapping my arms around myself. "I'm here, if you want to talk about it."
He let out a rueful laugh that made my heart ache for him. "Well, I don't want to talk about it, but living in the shadows, contracts, it's why we're here now, isn't it?" He wasn't expecting an answer, and he didn't wait for me to give him one. "And if there's one person in this world that I want to know that story, that deserves to know, it's you." He faced me and even from the shadows I saw how heavy the weight of this was. "Come to bed."
I wasted no time heeding that command, even though I knew we weren't about to pick up where we left off before Rachel decided to share her twisted version of reality. We climbed into bed, tangled up in each other, face to face.
My hair was all over the place and my face was a snotty, tear drenched mess, but Jacob just swept my curls behind my ear and gazed adoringly at me before he pressed his lips against my forehead. The moments passed slowly, every second frozen and filled with tension. I knew he felt safe with me, that there was only love and acceptance in my arms, but I had a feeling that back then, he felt anything but.
"I was never Romeo. I had zero interest in romancing with poetry and flowers and promises,” he began. “I had a reputation around campus. Hooking up with me was called the ‘Whitmore Experience'."
His jaw twitched and I traced the line of it with my fingers, knowing that he may have worn that badge with pride once, but now, it was something he was far from proud of.
"The Whitmore Experience was basically one night of fucking. No one slept over. No one got to experience it more than once. Maybe twice." He paused and propped his chin on his palm, watching me intently like he was expecting me to tell him that it was too much.
I leaned in and pressed my lips against his, keeping my eyes open so he could see I wasn’t going anywhere. There were no skeletons or secrets from his past that were too much for me to bear.
"Then I met this freshman," he pressed on, his voice low and measured. "To be honest, I don't even remember her name. What I remember is that she didn't just lay there like the others. She didn't just take what I gave her. She told me to hold her down." His nostrils flared. "She told me to hurt her...so I did. I pinched her nipples until she screeched. Choked her, fucked her with complete abandon."
I didn't realize that I was biting my bottom lip until he reached out and stroked the only part that I wasn't tearing into savagely. I let go and heat rushed to my cheeks.
"I don't want you to censor your story for me," I assured him. He didn't look convinced and I didn't blame him. All signs pointed to me not being a huge fan of the direction of this story.
I propped my chin on my palm too, trying to wrangle the conflicting emotions that were squaring off inside me. I was only human. I knew rationally that Jacob was no virgin and had been with other women, but there was a part of me that couldn't stand being reminded of that fact. And yet, I knew that this story was important, and he wasn't sharing it to reminisce about the good ol' days. He was sharing it to give me perspective about why he was drawn to the world of BDSM.
"It's okay," I nodded. "I can handle it."
He scrubbed a hand across his face and I couldn't help but clutch this moment. He wasn't guarded. He didn't have the mask on. His shit was far from together. This was
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