Page 140 of Reverie
I bark out a laugh-cry, tapping to reply to his message. I really, really could use Kitty by my side right now, but August…he needed him more. There’s very little I wouldn’t do for August.
August, who is now legally my child.
I love you too, August.
“What refreshments can I get you, miss?” I blink away from August’s message and face the flight attendant. It’s the same one from my last time on this plane, Jami, and with Hunter away, she wears a detached, professional expression. But she has onetoo many buttons undone on her top, and her skirt is definitely not regulation length.
Huh.
“A sweet tea, please,” I say, giving her a personable smile that I don’t feel. My iPad pings, but I don’t check the notification.
“Are you sure you don’t want unsweet tea?” Jami asks, pasting on a bright smile.
I arch an eyebrow. “No, I’m sure I’d like a sweet tea. Thank you.” Bitch.
Jami flicks her glance down to my ring finger, purses her mouth, and then returns her gaze back to me.
“I’ll be right back with your refreshments,” she says. She spins on her heels, and I narrow my eyes at the slit in her skirt that stops just below her ass.
Several emotions whirl in my stomach, and my knee starts to pop up and down in nervous energy.
I realize I’m biting my ring finger when the taste of blood registers on my tongue.
How fitting.
I lower my hand. I won’t let my jealousy or my anxiety control me right now.
After all, what do I have to be jealous about? I’m the one with his baby and his last name.
Except he’s tried to exile you to live across the globe not even seventy-two hours ago, and he’s dropped you like a hot potato for the last half-month.
My hand goes back to my mouth and my leg shakes in double time.
This isn’t about me. Hunter clearly has some shit he’s dealing with—or, I guess more accurately,isn’tdealing with. The educated professional in me wants to give him a heaping dose of grace. He hasn’t had the emotional and mental support that I’ve had to heal from the past. But there’s a lot of darkness withinhim, and while I know he wants to shield me from it…I can’t help but want to dive in headfirst.
Not because I crave his darkness, but because I crave him.
To distract myself, I return to the iPad, preparing to download an audiobook to listen to. But the notification at the top of the screen makes my blood turn to ice.
Abuse and betrayal: Former lovers expose Hunter Brigham's cruelty
What the actual fuck?
I open the article, noting that it’s from a top news source and not a gossip magazine.
My heart sinks to my stomach.
…French model and ex-girlfriend to Hunter Brigham, Gisele Delacroix, goes on the record saying, “Hunter craves control. He needs it like he needs air. So, with his submissives, he’s not a loving, careful Dom. He’s the definition of a sadist and a violent abuser.”
The muscles in my chest freeze, compressing my lungs as I take in the words.
Seeing the words Dominant and submissive next to Hunter’s name doesn’t surprise me. Even though I was inexperienced when it came to sex before him, I haven’t been living under a rock. I know what BDSM is. Not only have I studied it in my coursework, but I’ve learned about it in all the places one would learn such things.
Plus, I’ve readFifty Shades of Grey,even if the book is a horrible representation of D/s relationships.
I wouldn’t call Hunter a Dom. At least, he’s never Dommed me…I don’t think. The things we’ve done together carry an edge of his dominance, even when he’s trying to be sweet and gentle.
Hunter Brigham is always in control: of my orgasms, my movements, and himself.