Learning to Trust Part 3: The Offer by B. B. Roman Page A

the truth—and did nothing with it. That's right, I bailed out. I went back to my boss and lied. Our story ended up just being a rehash of the official investigation results. My boss was pissed at me for using up so much time, but he got over it.
    See, I just couldn't do it. I met him and I met his family. I met the people that cared about him. Most import antly, I could see that he had become a hollow shell of a man after the accident —but not one that needed to lose his business to understand the consequences of his actions. I couldn't punish his family like that, I just couldn't. I had broken a sacred rule in journalism, but I felt I had made the right choice. I vowed to never allow myself to sink into a situation like t hat ever again. Shortly after , I got a job in a bigger city and left the small-town c ulture, hoping that I would be forever free from such drama.
    Well I had been—u ntil now.
    Based on what Roland told me yesterday, I had a sneaking suspicion that things were only going to get worse from here. That's right, as our relationship progressed to more serious things, so would his admissions. I wasn't sure that it would be the case, but I was fairly certain. And I was generally quite good with reading people, even if I was a little infatuated with them.
    So what the hell was I going to do? Roland had planned for this, there was no doubt in my mind. He was too precise to improvise all the time.
    He was a powerful man, and so were his companies. Roland had trusted me with information that would be absolutely devastating if it leaked out to the public. Although I'd never run a business myself, I'd been a key-player in releasing that sort of controversial information and had sat there, watching much smaller empires crumble. As I said, I was on a quest for truth, a quest to release factual knowledge to the people that needed it most. I needed to stay unbiased and focused and—
    Oh god, he'd made me feel so incredible.
    The way Roland had touched me made me sweat when I thought about it after the fact. He took me, fucking and possessing me like no man ever had. Hell, if I ever met a man like him again, I'd suspect that hell had frozen over. My wrists were gently marked up from the restraints, marks that I had touched again and again after returning home las t night, reliving the experience through that discolored flesh. They were trophy scars, scars of success, scars of self-exploration. Despite him restraining me and everything else, it had finally occurred to me that the whole safe word thing kind of put me in control, even if Roland was doing all of the work. I hadn't even thought to eject because I'd been so overwhelmed by intrigue that I just couldn't say no.
    After I had returned home yesterday, I had pleasured myself again in the shower, angling the showerhead against my clit while I pressed my hands against the shower walls, pretending to be restrained. I let the water spray against me, imagining his cock and his forcefulness overtaking me. The steam in the bathroom really felt like he did , covering the walls, mirrors, and me with warm moisture, both inside and out. I came so hard as I thought about what he had done to me, how he had forced me to trust him. Letting go paid off in so many ways. He hadn't hurt me, and while he had certainly provided some discomfort, I was finally able to see the larger picture . My formerly vanilla-only mind was learning about the hidden —and normally forbidden— treasures of the world.
    Today, I was far less nervous and confused than I had been the previous day. His admission of guilt made me feel like I actually held some cards, even if he still held the rest of the deck. Roland made me feel alive, and although I definitely wanted more, I at least had a better understanding of everything. He left me begging the first time; this time he had just left me wanting . I guess a craving was yet an even better way to put it.
    The thing was, I didn't have an answer to all of