He glares at me, "I don’t want your pity."
"Oh, I am not pitying you." I swipe my hair over my shoulder. "All I’m saying is that a physical beating like that when you are a child—"
"I was almost a teenager."
"A child," I say firmly. "Something like that scars you for life, and not just physically." I twist my fingers together. "No wonder you need to tie up a woman to get off."
"See, that’s where you are mistaken." He turns off the highway. "I was born this way, Sparks. This cruel streak is a part of me. It’s what made me resilient enough to withstand what those bastards put me through."
"So, you’re saying the very trait that makes you an asshole is the one that’s helped you survive thus far?"
He tilts his head.
"So, you don’t think your need to tie women up before you fuck them is…unusual?"
"Oh, it’s different, all right. And it doesn’t take a psychologist to tell me that, clearly, my losing control because of being tied up, is the reason I like to tie up my partners."
"It helps you feel in control?"
"It’s the only way I can let go." He slows down at a crossing, then turns right. “I have no doubt that my experience drew me to Kinbaku. It’s very tactile, very sensual, more so than other forms of foreplay."
"And here I thought you'd do anything to avoid intimacy." I mutter.
"Who said anything about intimacy?" He smirks, "It's how I prefer to experience pleasure." His eyelids grow hooded, "when I have a woman tied up and splayed open for my delectation, when I know that I am in charge and all it takes is a look," his lips part, "a flick of my fingers on her nipple," his lowers his gaze to my breasts, "the swipe of my tongue up her cunt, to have her writhing and groaning and falling apart under me and asking for more."
"Right." I squeeze my thighs together. Why am I wet again? Because he’s revealed the rationale behind his choice of kink…because he’s finally shared some of his secrets with me? Or is it because I want him to tie me up again? Heat suffuses my cheeks and I glance out of the window.
We turn into a driveway and I take in the well-maintained lawn, the profusion of flowers that line the flower-beds. My heart begins to thud again. I wipe my damp palms on my thighs. I can do this. I don’t need to be nervous. It’s only fulfilling my part of the bargain, meeting up with the family of my currently-fake-but-soon-to-be-real husband. I swallow as he eases the car to a stop.
My pulse rate ratchets up. I clutch at my handbag, then glance straight ahead through the windshield.
He reaches over and takes my left palm in between his large hands. "Hey, it’s going to be okay."
"You’re so clueless, you know that?" I snarl under my breath. "Of course, it will be okay. After I’ve been given the third degree, no doubt."
"It’s not going to be that bad."
"Right," I draw in a breath, "speaking of, what story are we going to give them about us?"
"How about the truth?" He quirks an eyebrow.
"You’re joking, right?"
"Why not?" He raises his shoulders, "We met a year ago, in LA, before you came to London and we reconnected. Why would that not be okay?"
I frown, "You know that's not what I am referring to."
"If it's our agreement you're worried about, then relax, we don’t have to bring it up at all."
"Fine, easy for you to say." I mutter, "It's not your in-laws that you are going to visit."
He rubs his thumb across my wrist and goosebumps pop on my skin. "I’m sure you’ll do great."
I swallow; my throat dries.Christ, pull it together. You are about to meet his family.It won’t do to entertain carnal thoughts about the man while you do so, right?
He peers into my face, "I promise, it will be fine."
"Fine." I blink at him.
