Read Online Training Her Curves - Geneva (A BBW Billionaire Domination and Submission Romance) by Christa Wick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christa Wick
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know you can stop this at any time, yes?"
I scratched out a "yes" as I nodded.
"But only with a safe word. Have you thought of one?"
I couldn't imagine using a safe word, of cutting off this part of him, of admitting he was more than I could endure.
He continued stroking my cheek, the earlier, inflexible gloss gone from his eyes. "I can't give you one, you won't remember."
Sapphire came to mind, but I knew that was absolutely the wrong word to use. I would be throwing his past lovers in his face and resurrecting all my insecurities. I wouldn't use Gladiolus either because that was part of our past and this room was our future.
"Take your time," he said patiently. "It has to be something you'll remember, which usually requires it to be meaningful."
"Yes," I agreed. What did it predict for our relationship that the only meaningful words I could conjure were wrapped in pain? I blinked and started another damn flood down my cheeks. I loved him. I wanted to be with him. I wanted to experience this part of his life, so why couldn't I come up with a memorable, relevant safe word so we could proceed?
"Magpie," I murmured then repeated more forcefully. "Yes, magpie."
His gaze went soft, then the tip of his tongue rolled briefly against his bottom lip as his nostrils flared. My chest tightened at the subtle, but powerful play of emotion across his face. We both had childhood memories of the bird. Mine were good, his were more than mixed, some of them heartbreaking.
My first meeting with Dylan, that long ago interview that seemed like a lifetime had passed since, I had noticed the small figurines and imagery around his office. Most people wouldn't have noticed them at all -- some because they were trying to power stare a concession out of the CEO, others because they didn't want to seem flighty by looking around. They were in the Big Boss's office, after all, a momentous occasion for anyone outside the inner circle of privilege.
Those who did look around might have noticed a lot of birds in one form or another -- some black and white; some black and white and blue; some red and blue; a crested one with pale green and red and gray wearing a black eye mask that ran on each side from the back of its head to the dark orange of its beak. But only a handful would have realized they were all from one subgroup of the crow family.
You sure like magpies...Why?
I hadn't even possessed the maturity to blush when I interrupted whatever question Dylan had been asking at that moment. His answer had intrigued me.
Having a lot of them and liking them don't have to be inclusive, Miss Dekker.
I had laughed, my blush finally forming as I nodded and babbled on.
Don't trust your secrets to magpies -- is that what you mean?
I explained that was what my grandfather had always said to me right before giving my nose an affectionate tweak when I talked too much as a child. We spent the rest of the interview discussing the bird and all its variations. Any expert on how to successfully interview for a job would have given me an F minus, minus, but I had left the room floating on air, tightly clutching that first small kernel of a crush to my chest.
It was shortly before my second Christmas in the executive suite when I truly started to understand Dylan's relationship with the bird after a conversation I had with Riona over what Dylan might like as a gift. His father, she told me, hadn't offered affectionate nose tweaks. And it wasn't just talking that would earn the "magpie" insult. Gestures, expressions -- they were all means of communicating and the old man expected his children to keep their opinions and feelings inside them. Most of all, he expected Dylan, the crown prince of the Kehoe Dynasty, to be inscrutable.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "Was that the wrong word to chose?"
He shook his head, the gray irises turning watery. He bent down, his lips hovering over mine.
"It's perfect," he answered. "You're perfect, love."
Oh, god, was this
I scratched out a "yes" as I nodded.
"But only with a safe word. Have you thought of one?"
I couldn't imagine using a safe word, of cutting off this part of him, of admitting he was more than I could endure.
He continued stroking my cheek, the earlier, inflexible gloss gone from his eyes. "I can't give you one, you won't remember."
Sapphire came to mind, but I knew that was absolutely the wrong word to use. I would be throwing his past lovers in his face and resurrecting all my insecurities. I wouldn't use Gladiolus either because that was part of our past and this room was our future.
"Take your time," he said patiently. "It has to be something you'll remember, which usually requires it to be meaningful."
"Yes," I agreed. What did it predict for our relationship that the only meaningful words I could conjure were wrapped in pain? I blinked and started another damn flood down my cheeks. I loved him. I wanted to be with him. I wanted to experience this part of his life, so why couldn't I come up with a memorable, relevant safe word so we could proceed?
"Magpie," I murmured then repeated more forcefully. "Yes, magpie."
His gaze went soft, then the tip of his tongue rolled briefly against his bottom lip as his nostrils flared. My chest tightened at the subtle, but powerful play of emotion across his face. We both had childhood memories of the bird. Mine were good, his were more than mixed, some of them heartbreaking.
My first meeting with Dylan, that long ago interview that seemed like a lifetime had passed since, I had noticed the small figurines and imagery around his office. Most people wouldn't have noticed them at all -- some because they were trying to power stare a concession out of the CEO, others because they didn't want to seem flighty by looking around. They were in the Big Boss's office, after all, a momentous occasion for anyone outside the inner circle of privilege.
Those who did look around might have noticed a lot of birds in one form or another -- some black and white; some black and white and blue; some red and blue; a crested one with pale green and red and gray wearing a black eye mask that ran on each side from the back of its head to the dark orange of its beak. But only a handful would have realized they were all from one subgroup of the crow family.
You sure like magpies...Why?
I hadn't even possessed the maturity to blush when I interrupted whatever question Dylan had been asking at that moment. His answer had intrigued me.
Having a lot of them and liking them don't have to be inclusive, Miss Dekker.
I had laughed, my blush finally forming as I nodded and babbled on.
Don't trust your secrets to magpies -- is that what you mean?
I explained that was what my grandfather had always said to me right before giving my nose an affectionate tweak when I talked too much as a child. We spent the rest of the interview discussing the bird and all its variations. Any expert on how to successfully interview for a job would have given me an F minus, minus, but I had left the room floating on air, tightly clutching that first small kernel of a crush to my chest.
It was shortly before my second Christmas in the executive suite when I truly started to understand Dylan's relationship with the bird after a conversation I had with Riona over what Dylan might like as a gift. His father, she told me, hadn't offered affectionate nose tweaks. And it wasn't just talking that would earn the "magpie" insult. Gestures, expressions -- they were all means of communicating and the old man expected his children to keep their opinions and feelings inside them. Most of all, he expected Dylan, the crown prince of the Kehoe Dynasty, to be inscrutable.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "Was that the wrong word to chose?"
He shook his head, the gray irises turning watery. He bent down, his lips hovering over mine.
"It's perfect," he answered. "You're perfect, love."
Oh, god, was this
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