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Oh my god, I’m going to cry.
“And kneeling,” he says. No, no, don’t take away kneeling. “I don’t think I can stomach the sight of you on your knees. After Carter—I just don’t want to put you on your knees. Is that okay?”
But my safe place is on my knees.
My safe place has always been on my knees.
“That’s okay,” I say, my voice a little hoarse. If he notices, he doesn’t ask about it. He still isn’t looking at me. “Anything else?”
“Safeword?”
“Red, like you mentioned before. If that works for you?”
“Yeah. Red works. What are you going to call me?” He finally lifts his chin to look at me. I regret wanting him to. “What—what did you call them?”
Bile burns the back of my tongue. “Master, if they were one of the men in the compound. Sir, if they were a guest or something.”
He wrinkles his nose. “You won’t call me either of those, right?”
Apparently not.
“Um, do you have any other ideas?”
He shrugs, looking away again. “Can’t I just be Maison?”
“Yeah.” It’s a name, right? It’s just a fucking name. “Yeah, of course.”
Finally, he smiles at me. A real one. He looks relieved, like all of this wasn’t so bad after all. It’s a relief for me too.
If someone can feel relieved while their heart breaks, that is.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Maison
It’s fine at first. Not even fine—good. Great, even. I do everything, figuring that’s a good place to start. I strip us both. I lay him out on the bed. I spread his legs. I grab the lube. I remind myself not to ask him if he’s comfortable in his position.
He has a safeword, I remind myself. He promised to use it if he doesn’t like something.
He had begged me last time to fuck him before stretching him fully. He doesn’t beg this time, being good as I fill him with one finger, then two. I can see it in the way he’s biting his lip, though. He’s fighting it.
I promised I’d try to make him beg. “Do you think you’re ready for my cock, baby?”
“Yes, s—” He stops, swallowing the word sir with a grimace. “Yes. Please.”
“I’m not convinced,” I say as cruelly as I can. Every cell of my body is vibrating with the need to give him what he wants. To fill him up until he has that happy look on his face he had before when he was finally all full of me. I know he must want it badly from the way he’d whimpered and begged to be filled back up after I finished inside him last time. My man doesn’t like being empty, and even though he’s not empty now, he’s not full either. “You might have to beg for my cock.”
His pupils dilate, color flooding his cheeks. I swallow a curse as his hole flutters around the two fingers I have buried deep inside of him.
“Please,” he begs, sounding breathless and desperate. “Please, Mais. I need it. Need you inside me.”
“I am inside of you,” I point out. I have to look away from his face when his expression crumbles. The tiny whimper that escapes him threatens to break my heart.
He wants this, I try desperately to remind myself. You’re making him happy, even if it doesn’t seem like it.
His voice is thick with the sound of a restrained sob when he begs again. “Please, please, need your cock, need it so bad, please. Please fill—”
“Okay,” I tell him, unable to stand the sound of him so upset any longer. I still can’t look at him, keeping my eyes focused on removing my fingers and lubing my cock. I have to swallow a rush of panic before I can manage to tell him, “Turn over.”
