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“Good.”
His praise washed over me, awakening something deep and feral in my bones.
“What do you want me to do to you?”
“Anything,” I rasped.
He shook his head. “No. Not anything. Tell me what you like. What do you want to try?”
Anything? Everything? It’d been a long time since I’d been in a situation where I didn’t know exactly what to do. “I can’t think straight. I’ve never done this before. I’ve never…”
“Okay. We’ll test the waters. Close your eyes.”
I closed them. All of the other sensations around me intensified. The scent of his cologne, the way he held my chin, the pounding in my chest.
A reckless heart with a taste for destruction. I was finally indulging a part of me I had always ignored.
I was pretty sure Salt looked exactly like the kind of man my mother imagined would cast a spell on me and whisk me off to hell.
“Take a deep breath,” he instructed.
I did as he asked. I filled my lungs, holding my breath for a few moments before exhaling slowly. My nerves relaxed.
“What do you imagine me doing to you?”
My throat constricted. I imagined him forcing me to take his cock. I couldn’t say that aloud though, could I? That would be zero to sixty, and I wasn’t sure?—
“Pepper,” he whispered. I heard him lean over, his hand sliding to my throat.
My pussy responded, weeping for him. Desperate for him. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this kind of want. It wasn’t something Jeff had ever sparked.
Salt didn’t squeeze my neck, instead just letting his grip rest there, a necklace of comfort.
“Answer me, baby girl.”
Tears prickled. “I want you to force me to take you. I want to fight you. I want you to make me. I want to screamnoover and over while every other part of me screamsyes. There’s something wrong with me. I don’t know why I’m like this. You probably think I’m terrible.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said gently. “That’s called CNC. Consensual-non-consent. Have you heard of it?”
I shook my head, my cheeks flaming. For as long as I could remember, I’d had fantasies like that. And for the first time, I’d spoken them aloud, and instead of being shamed the way I expected, I was embraced.
His thumb brushed back and forth along my neck. “Open your eyes.”
I did, but everything was blurry for a moment. I blinked tears away, seeing him.
Only Salt.
“Keep telling me,” he urged.
“I imagine being tied up,” I said. “I imagine being blindfolded. Spanked. Bruised. It’s all I think about when I touch myself.”
“How often do you touch yourself?”
“Every night. Every morning. Too much, probably. It was a problem when I was married.”
He nodded, understanding shining in his face. “When you were married, did you ever tell him these things?”
“I tried.”
