Page 10 of The Comfort Trap

The game is on.

Chapter 5

New Rules

Ricardo [NOW]

Theeveningairiscool against my flushed skin as I kneel atthe edge of our coach, wearing nothing but a towel at my waist. The lamp on the side table casts a soft, golden glow, making the familiar space of our living room feel new somehow. Patrick sits in front of me, fully clothed, his expression unreadable.

My hands are clasped behind my back. My palms are sweating so bad I'm half-afraid they're going to start dripping onto the floor, leaving little puddles of my anxiety for him to slip on later. My brain's running a marathon of worst-case scenarios, each one more fucked up than the last.

What if I'm not good at this? What if this entire experience makes him think I'm not relationship material?

"Last chance to back out," he says. It's a final check-in before we dive into this mess together.

"I'm nervous," I blurt out, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I can stop them. There. I said it.

Patrick's eyebrows shoot up, nearly disappearing into his hairline. "Of what?"

"Not doing it right," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.

He laughs to himself while he leans towards me. He pinches my chin, tilting it up so I have to look at him. "We might not do it right, even after we talked and researched, and that's okay," he says. "We're doing something new together, Ricky. When I'm your dom, my job is to make sure you're feeling good about everything I'm doing. Does that make sense?"

The weight of the responsibility he's taking on hits me like a ton of bricks. I've never been a coward, and I won't be tonight—especially not with him. And if I'm being honest with myself, the thought of surrendering control to Patrick, of trusting him enough to fully let go, is something I can handle.

"I'm not backing out," I reply.

He nods slowly, accepting my answer. "Stand up."

I obey without hesitation, rising. My bare feet are silent on the floor.

"Take off the towel," he commands.

My thumbs hook into the towel and I push the fabric down, letting it pool at my ankles. I step out of it, now completely exposed. I fight the instinct to cover myself. This is the point of it all—surrender.

"Look at me," he says.

I raise my eyes to his. The warmth and love I see there is grounding, but it is layered with something new, something that makes my breath hitch. Authority.

"Back on your knees," he says.

I sink back down, the floorboards hard against my knees. I wait for the next instruction. He reaches out, his hand cupping my cheek, his thumb stroking my skin. The gentleness of the touch seems like such a stark contrast to the power dynamic.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, his praise sending a wave of warmth through me. "You're doing so good, Ricky."

The words touch a part of me I’ve kept locked away for years. I lean into his touch, a soft sigh escaping my lips.

"I want to try something," he says, his hand moving to the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair. "I'm going to guide you. You have to trust me. Can you do that?"

"Yes, sir," I whisper, the title feeling more natural than I anticipated.

"Good." His grip tightens slightly, a possessive, grounding pressure. He uses it to guide me forward, toward the couch.

"Over the armrest," he instructs. "Hold on to the other side."

I shift my position, my stomach pressing against the cool, smooth leather of the armrest as I reach for the far side, gripping the cushion. I’m bent over, exposed and vulnerable, my heart racing in my chest. I hear the rustle of his clothes as he stands up, and then the sound of his belt buckle undoing. The soft clink of metal is deafening in the quiet room.

"I'm going to spank you," he says calmly. "Not to hurt you, but to remind you who is in charge and amp things up a little. If it is too much, you say the safeword. Do you remember it?"