“Yes, Sir,” I say, adding the title in hopes that it will please him. His immediate softening tells me it does.
He runs a hand through my hair, and I rest my head on his chest as he continues.
“Would you wear a collar for me?” The question has sparks racing down my spine and to my core.
“I’ve– I’ve never thought about it,” I answer honestly.
“Does the thought of wearing one excite you? Of seeing it in the mirror every morning and knowing you’re mine. Completely and utterly belonging to me.”
My hand travels to my neck, as if it can feel the phantom collar. The idea makes me hot all over.
“Yes,” I finally breathe out. “I think I’d like that.”
And it's at this moment that I realize, I think I’m going to like a lot of what Asher has in mind for me.
26
GRACE
For the first time in nearly seven months, I write.
After guzzling down a coffee from Lisette and eating nothing but a single piece of toast this morning, I sat down at my desk, looking out at the magnificent view of the city from Asher's guest–my–bedroom and opened a blank document.
I pulled up the notes app on my phone, going over the list I’ve been keeping since Kacey’s suggestion to use this year for inspiration. I’ve jotted things down over the last couple of months, ideas for a contemporary romance, but last night sparked a whole new idea, and my fingers are itching to write it.
I start at the beginning, and before I know it, the words are flowing.
I try to convince myself that this story is different, not based on my current experiences, but I realize that's a lie as soon as the main character ventures into a BDSM club and meets a dominant who wants to teach her about kink.
Okay, so maybe I'm writing a fictionalized version of my current reality… but at least I'm writing. So I decide not to question it and keep going.
Time is lost to me as my fingers dance along the keyboard. I've always described writing as an addiction. That when you get lost in it, drawn into this other world and the words come to you easily, it's like a high. A drug that hits so nicely. But that perfect high is far and few between. When the words don't come and the task becomes painful, you keep doing it, keep going back, because one of these times, you'll get that magical feeling again. And that high feels so worth it.
At some point, Lisette brings me a sandwich that I scarf down, leaving crumbs on the keyboard before I go back to writing. She comes back later with water, and when I ask for coffee, she frowns at me and tells me to drink the water.Bossy, I think, like Asher. And then I write the first sex scene.
My historical romance didn't have spice quite like this. That was soft and sweet. Gentle caresses, light kisses. What I write is darker, edgier. I take a break in the afternoon, only to watchFifty Shades of Greyon my laptop, not wanting Lisette to see my "research."
And then I put that research to work by re-opening my document and writing two more chapters. I realize I've written more in a single day than I ever have before, and I'm beaming with pride when Asher knocks on my door that evening.
It's only when he walks in that I realize my neck and shoulders ache and my wrist has a shooting pain.
Asher looks at me curiously when I open the door, eyes glancing around the room and landing on my laptop for a brief moment. He's wearing his suit pants and the top few buttons of his shirt are undone. He must have taken off his jacket somewhere along the way to my room and lost his tie.
"Lisette says you didn't leave your room all day." There's concern in his tone, a frown on his face.
I'm suddenly aware of my appearance. Luckily, I at least showered this morning, so I'm not dirty… but I did proceed toput back on another pair of sleep shorts, a ratty old t-shirt, and a robe that's hanging open. I write best in pajamas, and that's what I planned on doing today. My hair is tied up in a messy knot, my face unmade.
"I was writing."
“Do you normally lose track of time and forget to leave your room when you write?”
I twist my fingers in my hair, feeling slightly scolded. “I started something new, and I was just really focused, I guess.”
He takes a step farther into my room, walking toward the laptop.
"Wait." I reach out, grabbing the sleeve of his dress shirt. "You can't just— It's not ready."
Asher studies me and then looks back over to my laptop. When his gaze comes back to mine, his lips lift into a slight grin.
