Frost (Rolling Thunder MC Birmingham #3) - Candace Blevins Page 0,82

would support me from hips to just under my boobs, and the other would support my shoulders and head. My breasts would dangle between.

“Yeah. That’ll work.”

Two hours later, I’d been massaged everywhere that didn’t hurt, and gently rubbed with a soothing cream in the places that did.

He’d fed me ice cream with chocolate syrup, and he was the most attentive, caring, gentle caretaker I’d ever had.

Why on earth would I want to change and go home?

Frost

Shapeshifters heal faster than human even if they don’t change, so thirty-six hours later, she was well enough she didn’t want or need me fawning over her.

We changed together, ate, hung out on the mountain a while, and then changed back to human and went to our home. It didn’t matter that it was in her name, it was where we lived now. It was ours. Moving my clothes and home office in had been all I needed, but she’d gone the extra mile, so it was also our kitchen now.

And once we moved my things into the den, it would be our den. It hadn’t really been her den before, but she was right that mixing our things up made it more ours.

We both worked a week of twelve-hour days to try to gain ground after taking a few days off, but that was okay. We still ate dinner together and slept together, and Cheyenne only worked eight hours on the days she had the kids. She sees them three days a week and she treasures her time with them.

And honestly, I love having them around, too. Someday, Cheyenne and I would have our own kids, but until then, I was more than happy to help her raise these three. I’d grown to love them, and I was more protective of them than even Cheyenne, sometimes.

Once life fell into a rhythm and we were both mostly caught up with work duties, so we weren’t stretched thin, it was time for another serious conversation. She’d agreed to give me a long weekend to hurt her two or three times a year, but I needed to talk to her about it again once she had some distance from it, when she wasn’t hurt. I brought it up at breakfast one morning when the kids were at Gil’s house.

“If you decide you don’t want to do an intense weekend again, you just need to tell me. It isn’t like you promised and you’re backing out. I don’t want any promises from you on it. I need it to be a new decision, every time.”

“And if I couldn’t?”

“Then we’ll discuss alternatives for me to get what I need. I can take on torture jobs, or I can pay a pro-sub who allows for that kind of damage. Not to fuck her, because the owl wouldn’t let me, but just to hurt her.”

“How does one even put oneself on the market for a torture job?”

“There are...” I sighed. “Agents, I guess you’d call them. Middlemen. They match up the job with the right person for it, and they have ways to make sure law enforcement isn’t involved.”

“I assume I have four to six months before this is going to come up again. I’m fairly certain I’ll want to do it, but I guess it’s good to know the option to say no is there, without screwing us up.”

“I needed it to be you once, but it never has to be you again. You accepted that part of me. You didn’t look at me as if I’m evil, you didn’t turn away.” I took a breath and repeated myself because I need to be sure she heard me. “It never has to be you again. We’re good, kitty cat.”

I wanted to talk to her about orgasm denial, but I wasn’t sure how to bring it up. Oh, by the way, I think it might be nice to give you orgasms on our fifth wedding anniversary, and then not let you have an orgasm again until our sixth anniversary.

You can’t just say that out of the blue. Plus, she might not thrive with long-term denial. We might never make it more than a month.

“There’s something else. What?”

I lifted my gaze and met those pure, focused, brilliant green eyes.

“Orgasm denial.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fucking sadist. Okay, what about it?”

Keeping it from her didn’t feel right. She needed to know my intentions.

“I want to see how far we can stretch it. A month? Three months? A year? Longer?”

She stared at me, in shock.

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