Page 40 of Broken & Bound

“I can’t let that response go. I understand where it stems from, but the last portion was unnecessary,” I said calmly.

I meant every word, too. Clearly we had some additional work to do in this area, but name-calling wasn’t something I wasn’t going to tolerate. I slid my hand back, threading through her hair at the nape of her neck. I closed my grip.

“In our world, what is rule number one?” I tugged, and the sweetest moan erupted from her beautiful lips.

Her pink little tongue emerged. “I…um…”

“It’s not that difficult. Kinsley still needs a reminder every once in a while.”

I squeezed a fraction more. “Say it with me,” I crooned, our eyes locked.

“Rule number,” I started it out. “one, don’t insult…” we said in unison.

“Your Dom,” she finished.

I released her hair and clapped. The moment lingered between us, and her chest rose and fell with each breath. She’d finished the sentence easily enough. The words didn’t tumble out of her mouth or come out with a sneer added.

But that was where the problem sat. Leaning back, I studied her—the lesson shelved for the most part. Everything in me wanted to keep this moment light. Let her have her wish to avoid it until later. I debated once more whether we could circle back to this when things weren’t so charged.

The moment someone places their trust in your hands, your wants become secondary to your responsibilities.

We couldn’t. Not responsibly, anyway. It wasn’t safe. With everything she’d gone through, I would be remiss to gloss over this. If we stepped into this dynamic—even if it was done in small pieces—it had to be with eyes wide open.

On both ends.

It was time to stop avoiding it. My heart raced, and a smidgen of fear crept in. What if she didn’t want this? While I didn’t want to pressure, I needed an answer. Needed to know where she stood before we took another step.

How the hell had I gotten here, on my knees, uncertain of everything except the way he made me feel? Something about seeing him so composed, without a hint of impatience or anger, reassured me.

The intensity with which he watched me had me shaking. I kept my head bowed and mouth closed. I’d always figured I would hate a man dominating me and that I could never partake in the lifestyle, but with Pasha, it wasn’t as frightening.

I swallowed hard, trying to push down the storm rising inside me. Why had I called him a name anyway? That was stupid. He wasn’t a jackass or an asshole. Not by any means. He didn’t deserve to be disrespected like that.

“Look at me,” he said, quieter now.

My heart clenched like a fist, tight and trembling. But I lifted my eyes to his.

“What does the word 'Dom’ mean to you?”

The answer should have come easily. However, not surprisingly, it didn’t. My mouth opened. Then closed. I looked away first, my gaze drifting toward the far wall as I searched for words that suddenly wouldn’t form.

Of course, Pasha noticed immediately. Without saying a word, he shifted backward on the couch. The movement was subtle but intentional. He widened the space between us, resting his forearms across his thighs.

He didn’t rush to fill the silence, just gave me room to think. Another thing I both loved and hated about him. He did have a level of patience that was absurdly irritating. The posture should have made him seem less imposing. Instead, it drew my attention to him even more.

The broad line of his shoulders. The rise and fall of his chest made the ink come alive. The lion breathed with him. There was a soft look of concern in his expression. And yet, I remained silent as ever.

“Isabella, this doesn’t work if we’re not clear on what we’re stepping into.” His gaze held mine. “I’m not interested in repeating old patterns,” he added.

My head jerked up at the words. I knew what he meant. Hannah. About all the assumptions he’d made early on. All about the things he was too afraid to tell her or express.

And all those unsaid things led to disagreements and the subsequent fights. I’d seen it on one too many occasions to pretend otherwise. And he deserved better than that. So why couldn’t I just answer him?

I was sending mixed signals which, if I was truthful with myself, was even worse. At least he flat out knew where she had stood. The conviction behind that reality stole the air from my lungs.

The silence between us felt sacred, somehow. This beautiful man was offering me the one thing I’d spent years fighting to reclaim. The freedom to choose. Problem was, now it was up to me to do so.

Either way. We’d reached the point of no return. The ball was in my court. And no one else was equipped to make this decision for me.