want to escape his mouth. We kissed long after the jet left the ground, and only a patch of turbulence severed our lips, though he didn’t release me.
“Let’s talk,” he rasped against my cleavage.
I could hardly breathe or think, and he wanted to talk? I inched away and studied his expression, looking for a clue as to what he was thinking. “You want to talk? Now?” My head spun—from his kiss, from his rapid mood-shift.
“Yes. Talk. We haven’t done much of that.”
No, we hadn’t. He’d always distanced himself. He gently pushed me from his lap and patted the seat beside him. I sat, expecting him to dominate the conversation, to drill me with questions he demanded answers to, much like he had over breakfast during my first weekend with him. “What do you want to talk about?”
“You.” He ran his hand along the back of the couch and played with my hair. “Why did you marry him?”
The question hit me in the gut. “Do we really have to talk about this?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, but as long as you promise to be open with me. Conversation is a two way street.”
“Fine.”
“I got pregnant. I was young, and I thought marrying him was the right thing to do.”
“Did you know he was abusive beforehand?”
“No. I mean, he was possessive, and I knew he angered easily. But he’d never hurt me before.”
“Did you love him?”
I rubbed the silky hem of my dress between two fingers. “At one time, maybe I did.” Raising my eyes to his, I asked, “Have you ever been in love?”
“No.” His reply was too quick.
I raised a brow. “Not even a little? Most people fall in love at least once in their lifetime.”
“Maybe I was waiting for the right woman.” His gaze, hot and suggestive, pinned me to the seat.
I refused to back down. “So there was no one . . .?”
“Once, a long time ago.” He said it like it was ancient history—as if this part of his past didn’t mean anything, but I was certain it did mean something. I sensed that whatever happened was a factor in what had made him so deranged. Normal people didn’t enjoy inflicting pain on others in the manner he did. Even the normally kinky people knew where to draw the line. Gage didn’t.
“So what happened?”
“This isn’t open for discussion, Kayla.”
“We had an agreement. You promised to be open with me.”
“I’m modifying that agreement now. Drop it.”
I crossed my arms. “No.”
“Are you purposely trying to make me angry? Maybe you like punishment more than you’ve let on.”
“I like a lot of things, Gage, but pain isn’t one of them. I’m asking because I want to know you. Don’t you think I deserve that much, after everything you’ve done to me?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “You deserve everything.” He turned his face toward the blackness outside the small window, contemplation shadowing his features. “She was my high school sweetheart.” Several moments of thick silence passed, as if he thought those six words explained everything.
“Was she . . . was she your slave?”
His mouth twitched. “I never had a slave before you. She was the opposite of you. I’d whip her and she’d beg me to do it harder. She loved it.”
Sounded like they were made for each other. “So what happened?”
“She was fucking someone else.”
Okay . . . so he’d had his heart broken. Not exactly the precipice I’d been looking for to clue me in on why he was such a sadistic bastard. “And there’s been no one since?” I found that hard to believe. I knew he’d had an immeasurable amount of women, but surely he’d had at least a couple of relationships.
“No.”
“So she cheated on you, broke your heart, and you what? Decided to go the rest of your life hating women?”
“She died.” He glared at me, and I felt every facet of that hostile gaze. “I told you to drop it.”
The fear came back then, creeping up my spine, tingling along my skin and reminding me that Gage wasn’t a
“Let’s talk,” he rasped against my cleavage.
I could hardly breathe or think, and he wanted to talk? I inched away and studied his expression, looking for a clue as to what he was thinking. “You want to talk? Now?” My head spun—from his kiss, from his rapid mood-shift.
“Yes. Talk. We haven’t done much of that.”
No, we hadn’t. He’d always distanced himself. He gently pushed me from his lap and patted the seat beside him. I sat, expecting him to dominate the conversation, to drill me with questions he demanded answers to, much like he had over breakfast during my first weekend with him. “What do you want to talk about?”
“You.” He ran his hand along the back of the couch and played with my hair. “Why did you marry him?”
The question hit me in the gut. “Do we really have to talk about this?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, but as long as you promise to be open with me. Conversation is a two way street.”
“Fine.”
“I got pregnant. I was young, and I thought marrying him was the right thing to do.”
“Did you know he was abusive beforehand?”
“No. I mean, he was possessive, and I knew he angered easily. But he’d never hurt me before.”
“Did you love him?”
I rubbed the silky hem of my dress between two fingers. “At one time, maybe I did.” Raising my eyes to his, I asked, “Have you ever been in love?”
“No.” His reply was too quick.
I raised a brow. “Not even a little? Most people fall in love at least once in their lifetime.”
“Maybe I was waiting for the right woman.” His gaze, hot and suggestive, pinned me to the seat.
I refused to back down. “So there was no one . . .?”
“Once, a long time ago.” He said it like it was ancient history—as if this part of his past didn’t mean anything, but I was certain it did mean something. I sensed that whatever happened was a factor in what had made him so deranged. Normal people didn’t enjoy inflicting pain on others in the manner he did. Even the normally kinky people knew where to draw the line. Gage didn’t.
“So what happened?”
“This isn’t open for discussion, Kayla.”
“We had an agreement. You promised to be open with me.”
“I’m modifying that agreement now. Drop it.”
I crossed my arms. “No.”
“Are you purposely trying to make me angry? Maybe you like punishment more than you’ve let on.”
“I like a lot of things, Gage, but pain isn’t one of them. I’m asking because I want to know you. Don’t you think I deserve that much, after everything you’ve done to me?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “You deserve everything.” He turned his face toward the blackness outside the small window, contemplation shadowing his features. “She was my high school sweetheart.” Several moments of thick silence passed, as if he thought those six words explained everything.
“Was she . . . was she your slave?”
His mouth twitched. “I never had a slave before you. She was the opposite of you. I’d whip her and she’d beg me to do it harder. She loved it.”
Sounded like they were made for each other. “So what happened?”
“She was fucking someone else.”
Okay . . . so he’d had his heart broken. Not exactly the precipice I’d been looking for to clue me in on why he was such a sadistic bastard. “And there’s been no one since?” I found that hard to believe. I knew he’d had an immeasurable amount of women, but surely he’d had at least a couple of relationships.
“No.”
“So she cheated on you, broke your heart, and you what? Decided to go the rest of your life hating women?”
“She died.” He glared at me, and I felt every facet of that hostile gaze. “I told you to drop it.”
The fear came back then, creeping up my spine, tingling along my skin and reminding me that Gage wasn’t a
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