Authors: Sibylla Matilde
“It’s beautiful,” I finally whispered.
His lips pressed against the curve of my neck as his hands slid over my body to cover mine. But his eyes never left my reflection as he guided our fingertips over my skin. Every caress warmed me and kindled a deep visceral sense of belonging inside me.
Slowly, I turned in his arms, sliding my hands up his chest to frame his face. His eyes spoke volumes, conveying possession and pride, a little bit of concern. I pulled at him slightly guiding his lips to mine for a soft kiss
.
Kian slowly
led me back to bed, nudging me softly to lay down below him. With a tender expression, he gazed down at my nakedness while his fingertips reverently trailed across my body, following the faint lines from the bindings, pressing more firmly at each indentation from the rough, twisted cord.
I leaned up to kiss him lightly.
“Thank you.” My voice was barely audible against his lips as I wrapped my arms around his neck, drawing my entire naked body up against his. Feeding off his strength and warmth.
Feeding off his love.
“For the purple rope?” he asked with a smile. “That was all my pleasure, baby.”
I shook my head.
“For loving me.”
“How could I not?” he whispered as he softly kissed
me back.
Brynn
I’m still a wreck. A veritable fucked up mess, but I’m getting better.
Kian is still with me.
Still patient and understanding. Still commanding and powerful. I continue to freak out from time to time and try to run. Every now and then, things rattle around in my brain and I start feeling again like he’s better off without me. That I don’t deserve him.
In response, he ties me up and spanks me and fucks me silly.
That seems to do the trick.
Well, that and the incredible things he says to me.
About needing me to breathe. About how miserable he was without me.
A
ll in all, I am getting better. I’m learning to find my voice. Sort of like in that first self-defense class so long ago. Although, instead of yelling ‘
Get back!
’ and screaming for attention, I’m finding ways to tell him what I need. How I feel. Nine times out of ten, though, he already knows.
That said
, I sometimes give him shit on purpose. I kinda like to be tied up, spanked, and fucked silly.
I’m pretty sure
he knows that, too.
After some prodding and pushing, Kian got me
to go back to Rose. I tried to convince him that things were so much better, that he was all the healing I needed. But, insistent and stubborn, he has a way of getting me to cede. I really can’t argue much with the guy. He knows me way to well and how to get me to cave.
And I
do love the way he makes me cave.
Kian
also took me home to see my folks. Most of the time, it’s the girl pushing for the parent meeting, but I resisted like crazy when he first mentioned it. Then I went and had a meltdown after I talked to my mom on the phone, and he really began to push it. As usual, he managed to convince me.
My mom cried like a baby when we arrived back home. I hadn’t been back in almost two years, not since I’d moved to
Beavertail. I may have even cried a little myself.
Okay, I cried a lot. I’d missed her.
My dad eyed Kian suspiciously, doing the typical dad shit. Shaking his hand and sizing him up. They practically circled each other in their little alpha display. Kian staked his claim with an arm over my shoulders or his hands tucked at my waist. My dad radiated unease as he stood apart from us, glaring over his bifocals.
Until Kian mentioned his bike.
My dad lived for motorcycles.
Through this common ground, my dad began to slowly relax. He began to actually see
all the little things Kian did for me. He began to recognize that I was in safe hands. He began to realize that Kian had brought his little girl back home.
I don’t know where I’d be without Kian today. He truly did save me, from my fear and loneliness, from my risky ways of finding release. In all truth, he saved me from myself.
I can now feel pain without shutting down.
I can now feel love with
out freezing in fear.
I can now be who I am
without shame.
…because of Kian.
Prologue
Chapter 1 ~ Twisted
Chapter 2 ~ Fighting Back
Chapter 3 ~ Sage
Chapter 4 ~ Confidence
Chapter 5 ~ Back Again
Chapter 6 ~ Sick Day
Chapter 7 ~ Mom
Chapter 8 ~ Orange Juice
Chapter 9 ~ Guilt
Chapter 10 ~ Messed up
Chapter 11 ~ Kinbaku
Chapter 12 ~ Kung Fu Baby
Chapter 13 ~ Too Good to be True
Chapter 14 ~ Alternative Therapy
Chapter 15 ~ Rain on the Rooftop
Chapter 16 ~ A New Client
Chapter 17 ~ Going to Shit
Chapter 18 ~ Unfair
Chapter 19 ~ Alone
Chapter 20 ~ Surprise
Chapter 21 ~ Aftermath
Chapter 22 ~
Where is she?
Chapter 23 ~ Pretty Eyes
Chapter 24 ~ Patterns
Epilogue
First and foremost, I need to thank Mike. You make me laugh and keep me on my toes. You love me in spite of my oddities and weaknesses. You give me days to write and only complain a little that you never get to see me. And thanks to my kids who never really complain that you don’t get to see me (you are teenagers, after all), but thank you for not being too weirded out that your mom writes dirty shit.
Second, I need to thank my Pimp Shell and her minion, my little Jared Kiwi. It is amazing to have someone believe in me so much, who’s always supportive and who I can bounce ideas off. I can’t wait to see you in Edinburgh and hang out in Dublin. I love that you
bagsied Ronin and love all things huckleberry, and I’m dying to show you around Montana. And to Brit Ho for things like FUMF and using your terms like ‘knickers’ that make me laugh my ass off. I’m totally bummed that we aren’t going to be roomies, but totally stoked to bedazzle with you anyway.
Thanks to all my beta readers who are able to look at my vision and have the honesty to tell me what they really think, even if they’re afraid I won’t like it. I truly appreciate every comment. I wouldn’t be half the storyteller I am without you.
I’d like to say thank you to all the ladies in Siby’s Flannel Squad. BEST. STREET TEAM. EVER. I honestly haven’t the faintest idea what I’d do without you some days. From cock o’clock to drooling over GG to picking out princess outfits for Alfonso. I adore each and every one of you.
And to my Smut Sisters who were the first ones to make me feel like people might (gasp!) find my shit interesting. I love you ladies. Lezzy kisses to you all, whether you want them or not.
Finally, thanks to my mom and stepmom for all the encouragement and help to get to Scotland this summer. Two women in my life who have put up with more than they ever should have had to with me, but who have also taught me to really reach for something I want. I’m so ready for this adventure.
Sibylla Matilde grew up in the mountain valleys of Southwest Montana, and grew up exploring the alfalfa fields on the back of a horse. She attended a two-room schoolhouse 1
st
through 6
th
grade where she had same teacher the whole time. Beginning at about age 12, Sibylla discovered historical romance, feeding off of work of Jude Devereaux, Lisa Kleypas, and Karen Robards. She loves a book that can make the reader run the gamut of emotions, from the sweet glow of new love to gut-wrenching heartache. She
always
has stories floating around in her head, living in some fantasyland until she writes them down to free them. She is a true romantic, a bit of a Pollyanna, and a deeply emotional soul.
Music is her emotional trigger
. Growing up with a Wagnarian-opera-loving mother, Sibylla grew up with music that digs deep into her soul and pulls out emotion. The soundtrack to her life includes different genres and generations. She looooooooves Thirty Seconds to Mars (rather obsessively, actually) with a little Kings of Leon to mix things up, and pimps them out regularly to all her friends through Spotify. She also enjoys watching Met Opera HD broadcasts at her local movie theater, and hopes (listening Met?) to someday see Diana Damrau reprise her role as Mozart’s Queen of the Night in Die Zauberflöte – The Magic Flute.
Sibylla lives with her husband, Mike, a man who she firmly believes saved her from her self-destructive, hot mess self
. He makes her laugh every day, even when things seem to be falling apart around them, and has proved to her that love really can heal a shattered soul. In almost 19 years, they have never had a fight, but argue regularly with their two teenage kids who have, unfortunately, inherited their father’s quick wit (unfortunate as it is a quick wit that Sibylla, herself, definitely does not possess – there is a reason she is a writer and not a stand-up comedian), and live a quiet life with their two weird little rescued Chiweenies. Wait… teenagers and little yap-dogs? Okay, maybe not so quiet. :)