Stella (Book One of Dark Souls Series)

Maritozzo

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memoria- the psychological processing of retaining stories or information for later purposes.

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"Adonis?"

"Yes?"

"If we were to have sex right now, what would it be like?"

Adonis's eyes widened slightly, but it only took him a second to find a response because I ask him off-the-wall questions all the time. "What do you mean?"

I sat my book down on the table between us and crossed my legs in Indian style. I was reading Fifty Shades of Grey, which had some steamy yet questionable scenes. When I pictured Christian Grey, Adonis Veretti came into mind. It was unfair because I knew of his sexual history, but I couldn't help but do so.

"What would we do?"

When it came to sex, I was like a child wondering where babies came from. The fact that we rarely talked about it also piqued my curiosity. This man has often asked me how I would prefer our sex, but I didn't know the answer. I always envisioned us doing something rough, and it may have been because of our pasts.

Gaia recommended sex therapy or steamy books, so I chose the latter because I didn't want to talk to someone about my life of rape. I made a habit of repressing those thoughts and emotions.

Adonis closed his laptop and took his glasses off, sitting both objects on the table by my book. Since we were sitting across from each other, I could look him directly in the face. He seemed to be crafting answers in his mind, but his motor skills conflicted with his thoughts.

I decided to elaborate to help him understand the sudden topic of conversation. "I'm reading the Fifty Shades series," I explained.

"And you're comparing me to him because of the women I've engaged in certain activities with."

I loved how easily he put things together. Sometimes, I wondered if he was a mind reader or just plain perfect.

"Gaia said you could be gentle and rough."

"With you, I would be gentle."

The softness of his voice made my heart feel more alive, making it beat three times faster. I knew him well enough to know he wouldn't have laughed, but I expected a witty response or sexual innuendo before we got serious. Of course, he would always be blunt with his answers.

"Why?"

Both of his eyebrows raised. "I have to explain?" he asked in genuine surprise. "Darling, you've only ever known degrading and pain. I would not put you through that, even if you said that you wanted it."

Darling.

I hated how his words made tears prick my eyes. My nose tingled with the expecting allergies I always got when I teared up or cried. "You do it to other women," I argued so I could ignore the fact that I understood where he was coming from. "If it was what I wanted, why not me?"

"Because there would be psychological trauma behind it. You would feel like rough sex is what you deserve because it's what you're used to experiencing. In a way, that makes you feel safer. Knowing you could please a man by submitting to what they want is what you're used to."

"Merda," I exhaled. "Heather has trained you well."

He shrugged. "I just understand you better as the days progress."

"So if you're not tying me up and using Kegels and whips, what exactly would you be comfortable with?"

"Making love to you."