Page 111 of Bleed with Me

The party. My song. The kiss.

My head snapped to the right.

Dorian.

He slept on his stomach, dark hair falling over his forehead, softening the sharp edges of his face. Without his usual sarcastic grin or infuriating confidence, he looked younger, peaceful, and dangerously beautiful.

A ridiculous amount of affection hit me all at once. My fingers itched to touch him, so I did. I brushed a loose strand of hair away from his face and shamelessly admired my husband for a moment longer.

It was unfair how handsome he was. Not in the polished magazine-cover way people usually admired. Whether it was a tiny bump on his nose or the scar on his temple, I didn’t know. But it was that kind of beauty that only grew worse the longer I stared.

Faintly tracing his plump lower lip with my index finger, I couldn’t fight the urge to kiss him. Tenderly, I pecked his delicious mouth, trying not to wake him, but immediately, another memory from last night resurfaced.

You’re my wife. Dorian’s possessive, commanding words rang in my ears. Say my name.

My eyes narrowed.

The bastard spanked me!

It was confusing enough that I liked it, but the audacity.

Carefully, I slipped from his hold and stood beside the bed for a long moment, staring at him. So handsome. So peaceful. Completely oblivious to the fact that he’d become far too comfortable around me.

Why not destroy that peace?

A smile spread across my face, the one Grandpa used to call “problematic.” However, balance had been disrupted. Corrections were required.

Glancing around the bedroom, my gaze landed on the silk robe hanging over a nearby chair. An expensive leather belt looped through his discarded trousers was a valuable addition too. A plan formed instantly.

For the next few minutes, I checked the space under the bed, the drawers, the half-empty walk-in closet, and the bathroom for tools to restore balance in my relationship. And what I found was very useful.

The seven-inch silicone vibrator was the crown jewel of the collection, but it certainly wasn’t the only one. My eyebrows climbed higher with every discovery. A bottle of lubricant sat tucked away in the bedside table, accompanied by a pair of metal clamps still in their unopened packaging. A pair of leather gloves with a whip hung in the closet’s furthest corner.

Well. This was unexpected.

Dorian Zhumagulov spent years cultivating the image of a responsible surgeon and painfully overworked saint. Meanwhile, his bedroom was quietly exposing him as a liar.

A grin stretched across my face. The man had secrets. Very interesting secrets.

Clutching my findings to my chest, I glanced toward the bed where he continued sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware that I was conducting a further investigation into his private life.

My poor baby.

Not only was balance about to be restored, but I had just acquired several new reasons to enjoy the process.

Ten minutes later, I'd attached Dorian’s wrists to the headboard. I took a step back and admired my work. It was perfect. He remained unconscious, sweetly clueless that his peaceful morning had been violently rescheduled.

Settling on the edge of the mattress, I reached out and gently brushed my fingers through his dark hair.

“Dorian,” I whispered. He shifted slightly, his lips twitching, but didn’t wake.

My smile widened.

“Baby.” I grazed my fingers down his cheek. “You should really wake up. Or you’ll miss all the fun.”

His heavy eyelids slowly lifted. For a second, he glanced at me like I was a dream, but then the realization dawned on him.

“What the…” He pulled on the restraints.