Page 81 of Sins of Arrogance

I had a friend at board­ing school who got an IUD and was in so much pain for a week af­ter she could barely walk. An­other friend told me her older sis­ter warned her to take pain re­liev­ers be­fore get­ting her first pap smear.

I’m scared of how much the pro­ce­dures are go­ing to hurt, but what’s the point of telling any­one that?

Even mamo would just tell me to buck up. She says us Irish women are tough and we have to stay that way.

I don’t feel tough. Maybe be­cause I’m Amer­i­can-Irish? Maybe I’m just weak.

I still have night­mares about the night Aunt Char­ity died and I hate go­ing any­where in pub­lic with my grand­fa­ther be­cause we could be tar­geted again.

When I told my dad, he said not to be a cry­baby. That I had to set an ex­am­ple for my younger sis­ter and cousin. When I told mamo, she told me I’m too strong to let fear rule me.

Mick’s phone chimes and I pull away. “You bet­ter get that.”

He’s an­swer­ing as I step back into the bath­room to put my pa­ja­mas on.

He frowns when I come out. “I have to go.”

I nod and head for my side of the bed. The cuffs are gone from the head­board and I’m glad. I don’t want to see them.

Chap­ter 22: Bound by Trust, Not Just Leather

KARA

Mick didn’t use the cuffs the next time we touched in­ti­mately. Or the time af­ter that. He kept his sleep pants on though, even though he stripped me bare.

I show­ered af­ter­ward both times, wash­ing his scent off me even though it wasn’t as strong as when he rubbed his cum into my skin.

But the next time he wanted sex, he had the cuffs.

Seven Years Ago

Some­thing wakes me. A sound? Move­ment near the bed brings me out of my dreams. He doesn’t turn on the light, but I know he’s there.

“Mick?” I ask sleep­ily.

“You’re awake.” His voice is flat, emo­tion­less as his weight makes the mat­tress dip.

I scoot into a sit­ting po­si­tion and turn on the night­light fea­ture on the wall sconce on my side of the bed. Its dim il­lu­mi­na­tion re­veals my naked hus­band kneel­ing on the bed, the black cuffs dan­gling from one hand.

The sight of them trig­gers sen­sory mem­o­ries, both good and bad.

Shak­ing my head, I scoot away from him.

He reaches for me, grab­bing my shoul­der. “Stop, Kara. You’re go­ing to fall off.”

Mick stares at me like I’m act­ing strange.

I stare at the cuffs. “Red.”

“Why are you safe word­ing?” His fin­gers grip my shoul­ders more tightly, like he thinks I’m go­ing to run away.

“I don’t want to do that any­more.” It’s not true.

I want to be bound by him and touched by him. I want him to come on me with that wild, nearly out-of-con­trol look he gets, but I don’t want to be ig­nored by him.

The best part of wear­ing the cuffs is be­ing the cen­ter of Mick’s fo­cus. The way he looks at me like he’s not think­ing about any­thing or any­one else.

No one looks at me like that.