“I wish you’d have told me it was him. I would have kicked his ass a lot sooner. I really would have liked to take him to the police station in pieces along with his stupid fucking confession, but I know that’s not what you want and probably not what you need.”
I swallow hard and glance down at my lap. I don’t even know how to feel about him invading my privacy, but I imagine it wasn’t that difficult since I passed out on his bed, his liquor all over me, and the note left out for anyone to see. I wonder how much he knows about me fucking Greer over. Will he hate me for that like I hate myself?
“The part that worries me more than anything else?” He hesitates. “Look here, Denver.” I look up, waiting to see judgment. “You are blaming yourself for his actions. You said before you got what you deserved, and that’s just not true. No matter what you did to him, you did not deserve that. Do you understand me?”
“Is he all right?”
Ransom’s jaw clenches hard, and he bites out, “Yes. Probably needs a few stitches. He’s lucky that’s it.”
I release a shaky breath. Greer deserved to have his ass kicked, but I still hate the fact that he’s in pain because of me. I caused him enough of that to last a lifetime.
“Don’t think I missed your evasion. You’re getting reckless,” he tells me. “I don’t like it. Trying to seduce others for meaningless sex, going out alone, even if it’s just with the rodeoers, bad shit can happen if you’re not paying attention, as I know you are aware. Drinking, passing out.” He pauses, his look foreboding. “You’ve got an itchy trigger finger, and it happens to be resting on the self-destruct button right now. I need you to step away from the fucking button, Denver.”
It’s funny how he says it, but I don’t laugh because it’s true. It’s a pattern. After Blake tried to rape me, my mother and father refused to love me enough to help me, and Greer turned me down, I was ready to blast through life at full speed, taking everything and everyone in my wake. Greer finally offered himself up and ended up being my only casualty. I was working on forgiving myself for that because I know I didn’t intend on hurting him and my head was, or is, so twisted.
He clears his throat, interrupting my reverie. I focus my attention back on him. “What does a horse that’s gotten out of control need, Denver?”
My face reddens. He is not comparing me to a wild horse. He gives me a stilted grin, like he knows exactly where my thoughts have gone. I stir a little in my seat, not answering even though I know what he wants me to say.
“Say it,” he orders, his grin widening. I pinch my lips together and some things start to fall into place where he’s concerned. I think about the way he talks to me. The way people respect him. I picture the way he stared down on that girl the other night. Oh my God.
“A firm hand,” I whisper. I sound turned on. I am turned on. My face is burning, as is my throat. Guzzling a gallon of water right now would not quench my thirst. This thirst is something else entirely.
“A firm hand,” he confirms. “Discipline.” Taking a deep breath, he sits up a little straighter, braces his elbows on his knees, and rests his chin against his folded hands. His pale green eyes sear me before his words do. “I like to be in control, Denver. And it’s what you need—me to take control over you in a nice, safe way that makes you feel secure and treasured.”
Yep, it’s just what was running through my head.
He’s not just bossy.
He is domineering
He is dominating.
“How many shades are you?” I find myself whispering.
His brow wrinkles in confusion. “What does that mean?”
As I recall my stolen moments with those books, my face reddens, and I bite my lip, succumbing to that action just like that female lead always does. How fitting. “I, uh, read some books this summer just before I came to college. They were my aunt’s. Everyone was talking about them, so I thought I’d see what the fuss was all about,” I rush out, like that explains everything.
“And?”
I straighten my spine and toss my hair over my shoulders like this is a conversation I’m prepared to undergo, like I do this on a routine basis. And I decide to fuck with him. “You’re into BDSM,” I say haughtily. If he knows the acronym, then I know there’ll be no more dancing around the topic.
He throws his head back in laughter. “How do you even—?” He bridges his nose with his thumb and forefinger before running his hand over his buzzed hair. He tries again to ask me the question but ends up laughing again. I cross my arms and wait patiently.
Chapter Thirty-five
Ransom
I DON’T EVEN know what to say to that. Girls around here just don’t know about this kind of stuff. It’s like we’re caught in a time warp. And if people do know about it, they damn sure don’t discuss it openly. It’s why I had to figure out everything about myself on the fucking Internet. I take a deep breath and shake my head before relaxing back onto the couch. I didn’t want to have this conversation with her so soon, but I fear if I don’t she’ll do something she can’t bounce back from. I knew this girl was going to give me a run for my money. I knew she’d challenge me in every conceivable way. But, of all the ways I imagined our conversation going, this version never crossed my mind.
“I’m sorry. Can you ask me the question again?” I ask with a straight face.
She squares her shoulders. “There was no question. I stated that you are into BDSM.”
And so it begins. “You know what that means?”
“Yes, I had to Google a lot when I read those books,” she punctuates that thought with a shiver. My curiosity is piqued, but we’ll get to what about them made her shiver, later.
“What kind of books were they?” I ask, evading the question so that I can get more of a feel for what’s running through her head.
“The romantically kinky kind,” she murmurs, absently picking at the seam on the couch.
There are romance novels about BDSM? Well, that’s handy. “Ah … well, if it was in a romance novel, I’m sure some … liberties were taken.”
She grins, and her eyes find mine, shedding her moment of self-consciousness. “That may be, but they were enlightening ... and intriguing.”
I wonder if she knows exactly how telling that comment is. I don’t really know how much to tell her. Honestly, I don’t know how much of it I’m into. But, I have a good idea what I want to start with. I decide to use the initials to determine what exactly she thinks she knows. “Well, I’m into the D for sure.” Her eyes widen, and I’d bet money if I touched her, her pulse would be racing. “And the lighter side of the B.”
She nods for a minute, taking that in. She doesn’t disappoint. “So you want to tie me up and boss me around?”
“Something like that,” I hedge. A pretty picture of her bare, tied, wanting and waiting, to my bed flashes before my eyes. I harden instantly.
“Would you want to …” She struggles again, her face flushing pink, her nails biting into her palms, and I wonder where her thoughts are headed. I don’t have to wonder long. Flipping her hair over her shoulder and steeling herself, she starts again, “Would you want to spank me?” she asks, her voice firm.
My eyes flare with surprise. Will she ever do the expected? “Do you want me to spank you?” I ask, feeling more turned on now than I’ve ever felt before in my life.
She licks her lips and runs her bright eyes over me, and I don’t miss the little shifting movement she makes. “It depends on whether it’s for pleasure or pain.”
Holy shit! “Just because the one is there doesn’t mean the other isn’t, you know?” I tease.
She nods slowly. “Well, would you?” she prompts, undeterred.
My teeth run over my bottom lip as I pretend to consider it. She shifts again. I savor her squirming. I nod slowly before saying, “Yes.”
I hear her breath catch and watch her hands tremble. “Why? Why do you want that?”
“It’s what turns me on,” I adm
it. “And before you get all judgmental on me, I know the thought of me telling you what to do and restraining you turns you on as well. It’s written all over you this very second—your pulse is racing, your cheeks are flushed, your pupils are dilated—you’re turned on.” I hesitate, waiting to see if she’ll protest or flee. Her eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn’t call me fucking crazy and she doesn’t head for the door.
I need her to know that I’m not a freak and that side of our relationship would not be common knowledge. “I’m trusting you with this information. Only two other people are privy to it. And I trust them with my life. You wouldn’t have to worry about people gossiping about that on top of everything else. If anything, being with me would stop all that talk.”
“So you want me to be your …” She leaves that hanging in the air between us.
I want you to be my everything. I’ve wanted that from the get-go, but since she’d been violated, I was trying to give her time to heal. I know saying any of that will send her running, so I put the ball back in her court for now. “What do you want to be?”
She glances back down and studies her hands for a moment. “I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship,” she says, her tone regretful.
“You remember what I said about touching you while you were with other guys?” She nods. “If you agree to … explore this with me, no other guys. I won’t share you.”
Her eyes find mine again, and she demands, “What about you?”
“What about me?”
Her mouth drops slightly. “Every time I see you, you’re with a different girl.”
“Denver, I haven’t been with anyone since we met at that very first party.” She raises her eyebrows slowly. “Other than that lapse in judgment the other night,” I concede. I’m still kicking my own ass for that one. “But I didn’t have sex with that girl.”
A hurt look washes over her features. “She was naked, Ransom.”
“Was I?”
She bites her lip and shakes her head no.
“Like I said, I didn’t have sex with her.”
She accuses, “I’ve seen you—the different girls from the parties, the Baby Buckle Bunnies—”
“Baby Buckle Bunnies?” I chuckle.
She throws her head back and snickers. “It’s what I call the groupies who follow the college circuit and not the pro. You know, ‘cause they’re Buckle Bunnies in training?”
I can’t help but grin because that’s exactly what they are, which is exactly why I’d never touch one, but she doesn’t know about my rules … yet. “It is very fitting. But just because you saw me talking with those girls doesn’t mean I was with them. I’m not lying to you. And think about it, I have no reason to lie, even if I had been that was before you.” I pause to bring this conversation back into focus. “If you do this with me, I’m yours. Only yours.”
A look of disbelief mars her features. “Why me? I mean, we’ve only shared a couple of kisses—” I give her a look, and she blushes and adds, “—incredible, unforgettable kisses. But I heard you’ve never been with the same girl twice, so why are you willing to change that for me?”
That’s a loaded question. I never thought I’d meet my equal this early in my life. Then, after I was already in deep, I found out about her reputation, and that sent me into a tailspin that had me pushing her away. Bottom line, none of that mattered. I still wanted her, still want her. Why her? Because she’s everything I need, and more than I ever hoped for. But she can never be truly mine until she believes in herself. And I want to fix her. Not just for me, but also for her. It kills me to see her hurting. My eyes trail over her, sitting there brave and strong in so many ways, yet vulnerable in others.
“What we’ve shared has meant a lot more than a couple of kisses, and you know it,” I whisper before I clear my throat. Her nod is barely noticeable. “I see something in you, Denver. I want you to believe in yourself like I believe in you. And trust is what it boils down to—you trust no one, not even yourself, and I’m thinking not many people have given you a reason to do that. But I’m asking you to trust me so that I can show you how to trust yourself. Our ‘arrangement’ will make you stronger. And I want it to be just you and me.”
Her eyes bulge. “You think I’m weak?”
Is that the only thread she finds offensive? “Hell, no. The exact opposite actually, or I wouldn’t call you ‘little fighter.’ You have weaknesses, yes, but you’re also one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.” She quirks a brow at me, like I’m full of shit. “Remember your philosophy on winning over unworthy opponents?” She nods slowly, and I can see her gears turning. “Where’s the fun in dominating a weak partner?” I’m so hard I could pound nails right now. I had no idea we’d end up talking this openly, but it’s such a fucking turn on.
“So you want to break me because I would be a challenge.”
I laugh lightly because … well, yes and no. “I don’t want to break you exactly. It’s more than that. Yes, I’ll be in control, but only so far as you’ll let me. So, you’ll be able to let go, knowing you’re safe and protected, but you won’t be blocking me out.” I shrug. “Ultimately, you’ll have all the control. And you’ll learn to exercise control in your own life, even within your risks. It’s all about striking a balance.”
I wait to let her digest the simplest version of what I’m proposing. She licks her lips again. She seems to relax a little and pulls her legs under her on the couch, draping an arm along the back. “I don’t think I’m submissive, Ransom. I don’t think I have a submissive bone in my body actually.”
Mirroring her position, my fingertips graze hers. “Here’s what I see. I see a young woman who has the weight of the world on her shoulders, with control of things she should’ve never had control over at such a young age. A woman who is clever, competitive, beautiful, talented … a woman who’s lost control over her personal life and is about to piss away all the good she’s got going for her,” I hesitate before bringing up her “addiction,” as she calls it. “You tell me you’ve been seeking to numb your pain with sex, and that’s no way to live. It’s killing you inside, Denver. I see that deadness working its way out, destroying all that good in its path. That’s what I see.
“I also see a man who’s been looking for a woman like you. I see a man who’s already fallen for you in every conceivable way, who wants to give you what you need most in this world. Something you don’t even realize you need …”
She swallows hard again. Her chest rises and falls with quick breaths. Her eyes glow with understanding and intrigue. I know she hears the truth in my words. Will she admit it aloud?
“What do I need, Ransom?” she asks finally.
Anticipation gets the better of me, and my grin’s as naughty as they come. “An awakening.”
_____________________
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed this wild, sometimes heart-wrenching, ride and you continue the journey with these characters and me.
What began as a standalone, in my head, morphed into more of a saga as I got to know these characters. As I began to explore what drove Greer, the more I realized how fascinating his and Denver’s past was, and I had to show it to you rather than merely reference it. Once that unfolded, there was no way I could do Greer, Denver, and Ransom’s complicated, intense future justice in the same book.
What does Greer have to say for himself? Is it over between them? Denver’s forgiven him, but can we? How will Denver overcome her self-hatred and self-destructive compulsions? Will Denver say yes to Ransom? How on earth did this bull-riding badass become a “Baby Dom”? All these questions and more shall be in answered in Freed, coming April 2014. See, not a long wait at all.
Hearing from my readers, makes my day. And I have been known to gush over them from time to time. Message me at Lynetta Halat on Facebook or email at [email protected] Wanna make me ridiculously happy? Pretty please, leave an honest, respectful review. Watch me get real fired up when you
sign up for the mailing list. I promise not to SPAM you, only new release information, free scenes, and interesting stuff like that.
Thank you for reading!
Love,
Lynetta
A Note from the Author
The date rape that occurs within this novel is obviously fictional, but date rape, as it is portrayed here, is not and happens much more than we realize. The research that Denver reads about are facts and statistics that I discovered about this topic while gathering information for my book. The way in which Denver is choosing to deal with this—silence and working it out on her own—may not be the most responsible way or the best course of action. Please see RAINN for help, support, and the facts.
About the Author
Since the dawn of time, Lynetta Halat has lived to read and has written innumerable stories and plays. A lover of good books, bad boys, and kickass heroines, she'd always dreamt of penning books that people could connect with and remember. She also has a secret penchant for wringing the emotions out of unsuspecting readers, and she collects reader's tears in much the same way that wine connoisseurs collect their favorite vintage.
Her first novel, Every Rose, was the perfect catalyst to launch her into the world of publishing, effectively burrowing her way into the hearts and minds of readers throughout the world. Everything I've Never Had was her follow-up adult romance novel. Now, she has penned Used, a New Adult Romance that she hopes sinks its teeth into you and doesn't let go.
Her love of the English language prompted her to pursue a Master's degree in English from Old Dominion University in Virginia, where she also minored in snark and interpretive dance. She lives somewhere along the Mississippi Gulf Coast with her adorable husband, two amazing sons, and two loveable dogs. When she's not writing riveting stories, she likes to focus on her macramé art and her scouring of eBay, where she buys locks of hair from her favorite rock stars, most especially Bret Michaels and Dave Grohl.
Used (Unlovable, #1) (Unlovable Series) Page 30
