Page 1 of Break Me
1
EMMA
“Will you tie me up and spank me sometime?” I blurt the words out of the blue. I’ve been working up the nerve to ask Trevor this for months. Now seems like the right time. We’re at a new bar, seeking new adventures in a new country on a different continent. And I’ve had three drinks to build some liquid courage.
Trevor sets his beer down and gives me a confused look.
Unease crawls under my skin, and I look down to see my fingers fumbling with the coaster.
“Emma, look at me when you speak,” he says with an edge of irritation. He hates it when I get all embarrassed and meek. “And stop fidgeting.” He swats my hand away, and I gather them both in my lap, clutching them tightly as I take a deep breath and straighten my spine, looking him straight in the eye.
“I want you to tie me up, during sex,” I say with all the clarity I can muster and probably a bit too much volume.
Trevor’s mouth pulls down in disgust. “Tie you up? No! Are you crazy?”
He turns to the girl on his other side, who he was talking to earlier, striking up a new conversation.
I down the rest of my mojito as I fight the flare of shame that threatens to ruin my night and drag me into wavering uncertainty. The urge to stare at the tabletop and shrink in on myself becomes pressing. But that would only make things worse when Trevor would notice and say something like,Pull it together, Emma. We’re in public. Don’t embarrass me.So I search the room, desperate for something else to hold my attention.
My eyes land on the man sitting a few tables away. He sticks out like a sore thumb with his sleek silk shirt and devastatingly good looks that radiate power and affluence. He’s leaning back in his chair, exuding an effortless confidence that borders on arrogance, as he nurses a glass of amber liquor. And watches me.
His unapologetic stare is almost shocking, and my eyes flicker down to break contact. Realizing my slip, I force my spine to remain straight and look back up. But it’s impossible to keep steady under those eyes. They’re insistent and unwavering, demanding respect and maybe fear. A bit like Trevor, only without the impatient irritation. And ten times as intense.
I turn my gaze away, but something propels me to look back. Some magnetic energy.
Aiming a charming smile at me, he points at his glass and nods toward me.
I brush my hair behind my ear and look from his glass to mine, then to Trevor’s. Trevor will have a fit if I accept a drink from another man, so I shake my head, though a bit flattered. And disconcerted. The stranger must have noticed I’m already taken, and nothing good comes from men who go after someone’s girlfriend.
I force my attention away and back to my failed attempt at convincing Trevor to explore some new things in the bedroom. I can’t accept defeat. I’ve been researching this BDSM thing for weeks, and I know I’m not sick for wanting to try it out. Lots of people use it to spice up their sex lives. So I beckon his attention with a hand on his arm when his conversation comes to a natural pause.
Irritation tightens his jaw as he turns to me.
“I’ve been doing a lot of reading, and it’s quite normal to explore a little kink,” I say. “I think it would be good for us to try something new. We could just start with some ropes—you tying me up a little.”
“Yeah, and let’s go score some crack in the back alley while we’re at it. Seriously, Emma. That’s just sick.”
The girl beside Trevor leans in, curious to find out what all the fuss is about.
Trevor points his thumb at me. “Get this, my girlfriend wants me to tie her up and spank her.”
The girl laughs, and I stiffen beside him, staring down at the table as he turns away from me. A lump forms in my throat, and I do everything I can to suppress it. But I can’t control it. Tears well in my eyes, and I shoot out of the booth. My eyes fall on the man who offered me a drink as I dash across the floor. He’s still watching, having probably seen the whole humiliating thing unfold. Shame coils tight in my belly, and the tears are dripping from my eyes when I slam the door to the ladies’ room and press the heels of my hands to the counter.
I sniffle a few times, wiping my palms across my cheeks repeatedly as I try to rein in the tears. I hate how weak I feel when my emotions are about to get the better of me like this.
The door opens, and I keep my head down, my sniffles quiet, as someone enters. Expecting a woman to take the booth behind me, I jump at the sound of a smooth male voice with a sharp Russian accent. “Why are you with that guy?”
“What?” Whipping my head to the side, I see the rich man in the silk shirt leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Your boyfriend. He’s an ass. Why are you with him?” His accent lends a deep and foreboding sound to his words, yet each vowel and syllable is enunciated with precision, lending an equally intimidating and impressive effect to his words.
Taken aback, I simply stare at him. He seems genuinely concerned. But then I remember how inappropriate this is. “That’s none of your business.”
He shrugs. “You’re clearly not happy with him. Haven’t been for a while by the looks of it. So I’m simply wondering, what makes you stay?”
I shake my head, not knowing how to respond to his audacity, not having a good answer to his question.
“Is it his dominance? His arrogance?” he asks, and when I just keep staring, he adds, “You know, that’s not real dominance. Real dominance is power, and power comes from within. He may not show it, but that guy is as weak and insecure as they come.”