Chapter 4
“Lizzie, you need to make sure to use the good tableware.”
Frowning, I look over the edge of my Kindle and stare at Reik.
He acts as though I’ve never hosted a family dinner before.
I do this every year, multiple times a year in fact, and every single time it’s the same.
Do this, do that, make sure it’s perfect, Mother will be judging.
I sigh and wait for the rest of his instructions to spew out of his lips.
“Are you listening to me?”
I jerk with a start. “Yes, of course I am.”
No, I am in fact not listening to him. My eyes are glued to the Kindle, skimming across the screen as the male main character grabs the female one and plunders her until she cums so hard she passes out.
Does that really happen?
Because I want to find out.
Biting my lip, I read even more, already feeling my pussy grow damp at just the thought of it.
It’d be wonderful, passionate, scary as hell, all at the same time.
And I’d never have to make sure that I put out the spotless china that is only used three times a year either.
Everything would be about me and my pleasure.
My heart races, and I have to shift on the chair just to try to get comfortable because fuck I just want someone to touch me like that.
Not Reik. Definitely not him. But someone, anyone, who would have enough control and power to make sure that my pleasure came first, that my desires were fulfilled.
“Lizzie!”
I startle. Looking over toward the den, Reik stares at me with a judgmentally concerned look in his gaze.
“I need you to focus right now, not be reading another one of your stupid books.”
“I’m paying attention.” I bite my lip. Oh, if I had a partner like the man in this book, I’d get spanked into submission for lying. And it’d be glorious.
“Mother will be here the night before and staying in the hotel she normally books at. Everyone else will come around noon.”
“Right.” It was the same stock and pony show every year for the last seven years of our marriage, so why would he think I couldn’t handle it now? Then again, he does chastise me every holiday dinner for not doing it right. “I’ll start cooking Wednesday. Okay?”
Reik narrows his gaze at me and shakes his head as he walks away, mumbling, “Useless” under his breath.
I sigh and look back at my book.
This isn’t cutting it.
I wonder…
Dragging myself out of the living room and up the stairs toward the office at the end of the hall, the one I’ve claimed as mine even though I don’t work anymore, I slide into the seat and turn on the computer.
Surely there’s something online that can help me with this.
It doesn’t take me long to set up a clean search, one that won’t be traceable.
I’m so used to hiding these things, and even though I’ve been out of the tech world for ages, I still keep up with it.
Just in case…
I roll my eyes at myself as I nervously tap on the keyboard and listen for Reik’s footsteps in case he comes to find me. Who am I kidding? He’s not going to come in here. He doesn’t bother me unless he wants something.
Now. What to search?
Closing my eyes, I center myself and think. I want to be whisked away from here. No, not whisked. That’s too nice of a word. I want to be hog-tied, beaten, and kidnapped. I want to not know that it’s coming, and to be tossed into the back of a van with nothing but cold metal. Naked.
I have to hold my breath to keep the moan in.
Yes, this is exactly what I want.
Searching for porn is easy. I’ve done that before.
And while it was a nice, quick fix, it clearly didn’t scratch the full itch.
I need something better than watching a few hopefully well-paid and ethically hired people as they fuck in a completely consensual moment that’s made up to look completely non-consensual.
The books are better in that way.
I can use my imagination to really think about whether or not it’s me.
But I don’t just want to use my imagination anymore.
I need to know if I’m the only one out there who thinks about this.
I can’t be, right? I mean, there are literally thousands of books written in the dark romance genre every year. So I can’t be.
Searching away, I click through website after website until I stumble upon one that looks like it might be exactly what I want. I click on it, holding my breath. The background is dark, why wouldn’t it be, but it’s simply a chat room. No pictures. No videos allowed.
Intrigued, I scroll through a few of the pages and check them out. There are pages that are blocked off unless you join, which makes sense, but the ones I can see are exactly what I want. Posts like…
Rape me.
Whip me until I bleed.
Make me your pet for the day.
That last one holds zero interest for me, but to each their own. I hit the first one, and I skim through the comments, the careful setup of fantasies and locations, what the OP wants done to them explicitly. But it still feels all too planned out—too manufactured.
Sighing heavily, I sit back in the chair and tap my fingers on the edge of the desk. This isn’t it.
I have to dive deeper.