Trust Me (Rough Love #3) Read Online Free PDF Page B

too.

CHAPTER THREE
    Submission
    T he housekeeper made breakfast during the week, served promptly at seven. I showed up to the table to find Price bent over his tablet, and a folded piece of paper tucked beside a chocolate truffle at my plate.
    He looked up and studied me, and murmured “Good morning.”
    “Good morning,” I returned in a mostly steady voice.
    A half hour ago I’d had his cock in my mouth, hard morning wood driving deep in my throat to remind me of my place, or more accurately, his ownership. Afterward he’d unlocked me from the chastity belt—that felt like ownership too—and told me to clean up and put on my clothes for work. Vera, the housekeeper, knew none of this. She only came by in the mornings to cook and straighten up, and make sure the kitchen was stocked with all of Price’s favorite foods.
    God, I was tired today, and sore. My feelings seemed to mill on the surface and my nerves felt stripped. Vera bustled in from the kitchen bearing omelets, fruit, kefir, and a plate of lightly buttered toast.
    Price thanked her while I reached for the piece of paper and unfolded it, and held it in my lap. His dark, bold handwriting had become my compass point, my map, and sometimes my life jacket when I thought I might drown.
    The sound of you, a mournful wailing,
    A million Sirens, a goddess crooning
    In perfect, magnificent surrender
    I looked up at him as Vera left, feeling shy. “Thank you,” I said.
    “You’re welcome.”
    I thought the poetry he wrote was a thousand times better than the poetry he used to give me, written by someone else. His words were as powerful as his architecture and design, to me anyway. They were as powerful as the way he touched me and controlled me, and fucked me every night. I stole glances at him as he started to eat, wondering for the millionth time how I’d gotten here, how I’d ended up in this strange, fraught relationship.
    “How did you sleep?” he asked.
    “Not very well. I missed you.”
    I noted the slight purse of his lips. “I missed you too. Now it’s time to set a new goal.” He put down his fork, wiped his mouth with the napkin in his lap, and looked at me. “You have two weeks from the time we return from Paris to find your first client. I want you to try harder this time, so we don’t have to fucking do this again.”
    “Yes, Sir.”
    “One client will lead to another client, which will lead to another client, and so on. It’s hard work, but I know you can do it. You’re strong.”
    I loved when he called me strong. Somehow, he’d gotten it in his head that I was this scrappy little fighter, although I didn’t see that in myself. I was trying to see it, for him.
    Vera came in with hot coffee and we fell silent. When she left, I pushed my phone across the table to him. “Andrew and I texted last night.”
    Price didn’t allow me to talk to men on my phone outside of work, period, and when I texted with men, even Andrew, I had to show him our conversations. It was a creepy rule, rooted in his need for control. Did you think I was joking? he’d snapped, the first time he asked for my phone. Do you understand what it means to belong to me?
    We’d had a lot of those conversations in the first few days, when he’d piled rule after rule on top of me and told me I had no say in how he ran our relationship. He was in charge, I was not, and he let me know it from the start. He’d warned me, hadn’t he? He’d left me, twice, because he felt he’d be a bad influence on me, too controlling and overbearing. I’d begged him to return and control me.
    So that’s what this was, me sitting here with a sore, hurting ass while Price scanned last night’s text conversation with my gay best friend. Of course, I’d had to warn Andrew that his texts might be read, full privacy disclosure. I tried to make it sound fun and kinky, that Price insisted on having my passwords and occasionally checking my texts as a power exchange thing. “So be careful