Page 43 of Safe Word

As he lingered like that, his gaze holding mine a second too long, I could almost see the next question forming on his lips. His eyes glinted with curiosity, daring me to admit the truth: did the scene come from my twisted imagination – or from experience?

The air changed, and my breath caught as his lips parted slightly, as if he might actually risk the ask. But then, mercifully, he pulled away, his expression hardening as he turned back to the screen.

He cleared his throat sharply, breaking the charged silence.

‘I’ll sort out the rest,’ he said, his tone brisk, though the rasp in his voice belied the unease. ‘Can you take a look at that other folder for me? I was working on it last night. It’s another book I’ve just started.’

His words came at me as if from a distance. The rush of blood to my ears drowned out any rational thought. The heat of the moment hadn’t faded and didn’t seem like it was going to.

I inclined my head, my fingers brushing against the keyboard as I forced myself to focus. ‘Sure,’ I said, my voice softer than intended.

I navigated to the workspace folders, the glow of the screen a welcome distraction.

Inconspicuously, I stole a glance at him. The monitor held his full attention, his jaw tight, his posture rigid.

Gentlemanly restraint – or sheer force of will? I couldn’t tell. Either way, Cain D’Angelo was a surprise through and through. And I was grateful. This was his sanctuary, his workplace, and I’d seen how much reverence he held for it. Vinnie, his business partner, as well.

That reverence extended to this moment, to this space.

But the tension remained, crackling like a live wire, ready to ignite with the smallest spark.

Or maybe it was all just in my head.

NINE

I’d never been chained before. Not in play or punishment. The idea had never even occurred to me – submission wasn’t in my nature. Control was. Precision. But she’d locked the cuff around me with a terrified kind of devotion, and something in me… shifted. Realigned. I was surprised. At how still I’d gone. At how my dick had stayed hard despite the restraints. Or maybe because of them.

I should’ve ended it. I didn’t know why I hadn’t.

No—

I did. I’d wanted her to learn. She had been hungry for it. So I had let her. I’d offered myself up like a lamb for slaughter.

And that choice sat heavy in my gut. Mainly because I couldn’t give it a name, couldn’t label it.

She’d looked up at me like I was the only god she’d ever knelt for.

Maybe that was the truth of it. I hadn’t submitted. I’d only wanted to see how far she’d go when she thought I was hers to take.

I pushed the night aside and sank into my chair, relishing the cool leather. But it was a poor substitute for control.

Across the screen lay Paula’s ten-thousand-word work of art.

She was writing well into the night. I’d stayed up longer than intended, watching her type, fascinated and entranced by the creative chaos unfolding across the shared workspace. She’d written feverishly, only to delete entire paragraphs, chasing something deeper, darker.

And then I saw my likeness crawling over the page. Not the name, but the mouth, the smile – the way the character looked at the other one as if she were a secret he wanted to own.

The rational shard of my mind knew I was imagining it, but the fractured remainder screamed louder. And something wicked unfurled inside me.

The characters had been deep in it – Chloe shackled to a bed, Damien between her thighs with a mouth full of promises and teeth marking her skin. He’d spanked her until her cries blurred with moans, and then kissed the bruises away.

I couldn’t help wondering if that was what she really wanted.

No, I thought to myself, it was just projection.

But I had still drunk my beer and stared at the screen long after that – at the lines pooling over the page – waiting for it to happen again.

It didn’t.