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It’s his turn to blush now. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything better than this man blushing. “Uh—yes? Yes. Well—yes.”
“So, yes?”
He laughs. “Yes. It’s kind of a big thing to just jump into, don’t you think?”
“I kind of want to interrogate you about your research now.”
“No.” He takes my hand and starts dragging me toward the stairs. “Too tired. No talking. Forgetting English. Naked.”
“Well, that escalated quickly.”
He shoots me a playful wink, his smile so much easier now. Now that we took kink off the table for tonight. Now that he bought himself more time.
It hurts.
I pretend it doesn’t.
We start to swing almost violently between perfectly fine and tense. The shower was lazy and loving, full of steamy kisses and soapy hands in sensitive places. We brought each other to the edge slowly, almost as an afterthought, before he took us both in his soap-slick hand and finished us together. He had murmured praise in my ear as the orgasm washed over me. It had been good, as had what came after—fluffy towels and cuddles and sleepy goodnight kisses.
The next morning, he’d been distant. Almost annoyed. Not with me, but with everything and everyone else. He snapped at Jake. Then Ace. Then Jake again. He skipped all three meals. He went to the gym and pounded the heavy bag with boxing gloves until he nearly passed out, then stumbled to the bedroom and told me he didn’t want to talk about it.
After a rinse in the shower and passing out in bed for a few hours, he woke up sleepy but smiling. He had pulled me into his arms and told me he was sorry for being in a bad mood. He said he had a lot on his mind, but that it wasn’t an excuse to act like a tantruming child. He ate the food I forced on him without complaint.
Then it was time for us to get some real sleep and he went quiet. He withdrew. He turned out the lights without asking if I was ready, something he’d never done before. He gave my hand a squeeze across the space between us but didn’t pull me into his arms. He murmured, “I love you,” but didn’t sound willing to talk past that.
In the morning, he looked ready to jump up and down in excitement when I finally woke up. He had something to show me, he said. It was a house. One he and the other operatives were in the process of buying. It was a house for all of us, everyone still in the house, even Travis and Carter if they wanted. We’d be able to come and go as we please while staying safe and together. It was a dream. Especially when he showed me one particular room and said, “I think we should try to get this room as ours.” Ours.
Later that day, he gave me a bullshit excuse when I asked if we could talk. He hid for hours after that in his office.
I bring a plate up to him after dinner, prepared to tell him that we can forget all about the kink stuff. He grins when I knock on his open door. “Hey, I missed you.”
“I’m getting whiplash from you,” I tell him, not willing to beat around the bush any longer. I won’t lose him because of this. I can’t. “Can we just forget that I asked for that stuff?”
“You being submissive for me?” he asks with a frown.
“Yeah.” I force a laugh. It sounds as hollow as the rest of me feels. “It’s already ruining us. I want to forget about it. Please.”
He stands, taking the plate from me and putting it on his desk before pulling me into his arms. He keeps his left arm wrapped around the small of my back and puts his curled right fist beneath my chin, nudging it until I’m meeting his eyes. It’s painfully dominant and affectionate at the same time. Why can’t he just give me that in bed?
“Hey, don’t cry.” He looks pained as he watches the first tear falling down my cheek. “Oh, baby. Please. It’s not ruining us. It’s going to take so much fucking more than this to ruin us. I’m just fucking terrified. I feel like I’m about to enter a minefield of possible triggers.”
“Then let’s talk about that.”
Maison takes a deep breath. Then, “Yeah. Okay. Let’s talk about that.”
Two hours later, we’ve gone through an entire packet of kinks and limits while sharing a semi-cold dinner and a single glass of wine to take a bit of the edge off. He really has done his research, going so far as to know about safewords and aftercare. It’s heartwarming.
What’s not so heartwarming? He only marked yes to blindfolds, light bondage with rope or lined leather cuffs, a spreader bar, light hair pulling, rimming, marking with cum, and anal toys. He said spanking with his hand is a soft limit, admitting he hates the thought of it but might find it hot in the moment once he’s turned on.
“I’ll try to make you beg,” he adds, looking anywhere but at me. “I don’t know if I can, but I’ll try.”
Oh.
I had really liked the idea of begging.
“That’s fine,” I say. Because it is. Totally fine. It’s one kink. Granted, he has almost an entire packet of other kinks I wanted that he shot down too, but… beggars can’t be choosers.
Beggars. Ha. I’m so funny.
