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The sex I had with Mark was middle class and middle of the road. If we stayed together, we'd have to spice things up, but the few times he'd tried tying me up I'd been iffy about it. Sometimes I was all for it and other times I nearly bit his head off.
Which meant to me that it was him and not the act. Or at least how I reacted to him on any given day.
There should never be a day when I wanted to bite his head off.
The sex I'd had with Jesse had usually been fast, loud, painful and dangerous and I'd loved it. I might have loved him. Damn, my father would have skipped the mental hospital and sent me straight to an old-fashioned, honest to God (pun intended) convent if he ever knew about Jesse.
And Cole?
Best not to think about that while I was trying to make a somewhat less well informed decision.
Or maybe that was exactly what I needed to consider.
There were all the other details. I'd chafed under Vincent's control but that was Vincent – he was violent, stupid, dangerous, horrible, and another list of words that wouldn't go far enough to stating how much I hated him.
But Cole. Cole –
Wasn't different at all, I admitted, nearly laughing at myself in surprise. Cole was controlling. He was a sexual sadist. The way he played his games, he always won. But then, he was the billionaire. Of course he always won.
There had only been a few times we’d had sex. Mostly it was him disciplining me, correcting me, punishing me … the words were causing a chain reaction in me as one part of my body after the next lit up and started to burn.
He was physically attractive, his hair usually long and swept back, his cheekbones and jaw prominent. His eyes were deep and very dark, his nose a straight arrow, and his mouth – it wasn't just that smile, the one that said Oh, I could fuck you up and you'd love it – wanna see? It was also the muscle, the chest, the intellect, the mouth on him, not the kissing one but the way he talked.
He was hot and he fucked like a dream and there was no time, not even once, not even after the first time he did a double ladder on my ass and thighs, going up to a count of fifty and back down again with two canes. I hadn't thought it possible to take so much pain and I had hated him the entire time it happened.
But.
But I'd stayed.
My father thought I was insane, if he didn't simply see the hospital as a great dumping ground for the daughter who no longer made him proud.
But my father didn't matter. My father had sold me out. Back up and look at me for a change, outside all the males in my life: Jesse, Mark, my father, Cole.
Cole hurt me and I stayed. He humiliated me and I stayed.
He opened the door to let me out and I stayed.
That meant something. Right? And the first time I'd been there, back when I "Had a choice" (I still had a choice, I wasn't the one who thought I didn't).
I'd fought him every step of the way on the Master/slave, Dominant/sub stuff. I hadn't signed up for that. I hadn't signed up for anything, that asshole Samuels had sold me. But I didn't leave when he beat me for disobeying. Sometimes I even knelt when told and didn't go where he said I couldn't.
Without knowing it, without setting out to do it, I'd made my decision.
I'd been sitting on the edge of my bed and when I finally emerged out of my own thoughts I realized I was staring directly across the cell at the door to the main house.
It was open. Not just unlocked but physically open. Cole had left it open when he went through. It was an invitation or a tease.
Or it was simply to allow me to make the decision without being coerced in any way.
It was also the way to get to him. No way of knowing where he'd gone but the hour was running out. Probably he was in the main house. He didn't play the kind of games where he'd go for a run or leave the compound after giving me an hour to get back to him with an answer.
I started for the door, nothing more in mind than finding him, when he came through it himself. He was backlit by the bright Nevada sun and for a minute I was dazzled at the black of his silhouette and the bright of the outside sun, and then I saw he had stopped moving.
He'd said I had to come to him and yet he'd come to me. It looked like that had just hit him.
He stood utterly still, watching me.
I started toward him. This was my thing. My part to play, my decision to relay. Halfway across the cell I realized this was wrong. There needed to be a gesture. There had to be some way he wouldn't mistake what I was saying. What my decision had been.
