“New Orleans.”
“You transported me across state lines?” I don’t know shit about kidnapping laws, but surely that ups the charges.
“You sound surprised, which is surprising in and of itself.”
I am, but I’m not sure why. This man has drugged me. Kidnapped me. Held me against my will. And had some doctor perform God only knows what kind of exam on me while I was unconscious.
“You’re rather good at pointing out my crimes against you, but you’ve quite a few of your own against me, Mr. Broussard.”
He stops eating. “You will no longer address me as Mr. Broussard. You will refer to me as Tristan in front of casual acquaintances. You will call me Sir when it’s just you and me. And in the bedroom, you will address me as Master.”
Laughter spews from my mouth. “Like hell I will.”
He’s unsmiling.
“Are you shittin’ me?”
He lowers his fork and wipes his mouth with his napkin. “No, Miss Grant. I am notshittin’ you.” His handsome face becomes marred by repulsion. “And you will not use crass language like that again. It’s incredibly unbecoming for such a beautiful woman.”
I’m amazed by the way that he can scold and compliment me within the same sentence.
“You really don’t know me because if you did, you’d be very aware that I’m not calling you Sir or Master or Dom or boss or any other label implying that you have control over me. Because… you… don’t.”
He leans back in his chair and stares at my face, his eyes locked on mine. Unblinking. I stare back with wide eyes. I will not be intimidated by him. “You are going to be so much fun to break.”
“You can try.” My voice oozes with confidence.
There’s a smirk just below the surface threatening to spring forward. “I ordered you to wear one of your black dresses with your hair down and minimal makeup. And you did it without question or argument. Seems to me that I got exactly what I wanted without even trying.”
Legit point.
“I don’t understand why you want me; I don’t know anything about being a submissive.”
My knowledge on the subject is very general and probably not even accurate. I’ve never even read one of those romance books about it.
“I know that it probably comes as a surprise, but I don’t want my submissive to know anything about being a submissive. I want to be the one to teach her everything. It’s very important to me that I am her first Dom.” One of his brows lifts. “I very much want to be your first Dom.”
This doesn’t make sense to me. “Shouldn’t a sub have the desire to be submissive?”
“That desire will grow over time. You’ll want to make me happy, and eventually you’ll do whatever it takes to ensure that.”
I don’t see myself ever having a desire to please him while degrading myself.
“I can see from your expression that you don’t believe me. But you’ll see. It’ll happen.”
You can force someone into submission, but you can’t force the desire to be submissive. “I’m not the person who you want me to be. I’m never going to want to be dominated by you.”
“You feel that way now because you’ve not given it a chance. I promise you that we’ll have a good laugh about this conversation six months from now.”
Six months? He’s out of his damn mind if he thinks that I’m going to be here with him six months from now.
“You’re an intelligent man, so I can’t help but wonder: why is it that you can’t see how fucked up this is?”
His resting hand on the table becomes a tight fist. “Don’t…judge… my… lifestyle… and call it fucked up when you know nothing about it.”
There’s that angry side of him again. The one that frightens me. But not enough to backpedal or apologize. I simply hold steady with my glare, dishing to him the same one that he’s giving me.
“Your language. That is at the top of my priority list.”
