Page 53 of Up In Flames

I’m sure I’ve got ash from head to toe. I usually do. “Nope.”

A shiver rolls over her. I’ve noticed that she likes to be squeaky clean before we fuck, and so I’ve been obliging her. Time to take her a little bit out of her comfort zone.

“Oh.” She bites her bottom lip again, nods, and when I gesture again, she starts down the hall, nearly tripping over her own feet.

We’re at the Red Room door in five of my steps and eleven of hers. I reach above the lintel for the key.

“Seriously? That’s where you kept the key all this time?”

“Been snooping for it?”

“Well, yeah. Of course.”

That’s my girl.

I unlock the door but keep my hand on the knob for a few seconds. “Remember, you don’t have to try everything you see in here. Or any of it. None of it is important to me. None of it means more to me than you do.”

She’s practically dancing, the way her feet move.

Fear and desire. It’s a heady combination. For that reason, I keep my hand on the knob a few seconds longer than she expects. Setting the tone. Setting the dynamics: I’m in charge.

But once I push open the door, I don’t hesitate to flick on the lights. There are no overheads inside, just soft-watt bulbs in lamps spaced around the room. Each one glows with a gentle spill of gold, adding a romantic appeal to the oxblood walls and crimson velvet bedcovers. The floor is poured cement decorated with a softer shade of cream swirls.

If blood splatters, I want to see it. I’m not turned on by pain, but I’ve been with those who are. Above all else, I’m obliging. But also, I don’t want to create a biohazard.

Nina takes two steps inside and stops, her gaze roving over the wall displays comprised of whips, knives, paddles, and artistic but pornographic photos of people in various positions, before her eyes drop to the furniture. She takes in the spanking bench, the swing, the collection of chains attached to both floor and ceiling, and the soft coverings at the ends. A large piece of dark wood furniture from the 1800s holds narrow drawers. She can’t see inside them, but I know that they hold clamps and piercings, plugs, and toys of every variety.

I’ve used them all. In the years since I discovered sex, I’ve moved fast and hard through the art of pleasure and pain, dominance and submission. And none of it compares with just being with Nina.

“What’s that?” She points towards the standing double triangle at the far end that I can reposition to the middle of the floor when in use.

“A Saint Andrew’s Cross. Your legs attach to each of the lower thrusts and your arms to the upper ones. The leather belt wraps around your neck. Effectively, it holds you in place for my pleasure. Or,” I add, “holds me in place for yours.”

“It um, seems human-sized.”

“It is. But I can extend it if I’m the one being restrained. It works well, except for ass play, in which case, it’s better to lock me onto the bed.”

She blushes as red as the room. She may write dark romance, she may think she knows what kinks are, but she doesn’t have a clue. That’s evident by the look of horror that crosses her expressive features.

I place my hands on her arms, and she jumps before settling. I gently turn her toward the other corner. “That’s the spanking bench you mentioned the day I rescued you from the tree. To use it, I’d place your knees on those padded kneelers, and I’d buckle you in. The kneelers can be positioned so you’re spread as wide as I want you. Your belly goes over the bench. On the other side, I’d chain your hands so you’re fully stretched. You’ll note that I could use a variety of implements while you’re in position, everything from those paddles and whips on the wall to more… intense… tools. If I remove part of the leather seat, your nipples will similarly be available for my attentions from underneath.”

She looks up at me. “You’re using the personal. ‘You,’ ‘your,’ ‘I.’”

“There’s nothing but personal in this room.” But I’ve also started to use the words of the conditional, because there’s something about the way she’s tightened rather than loosened that speaks of unwillingness. I brush her hair back over her shoulder. A strand catches on her lip, driving my balls right into my throat. “Your choice, but you did seem most interested in the spanking bench?”

Her gaze is riveted to the piece of furniture. The tiny tremors through her body suddenly foment into an open rebellion, and she begins shaking. She bites her lips between her teeth, and her eyes…

They become wilted delphinium, chalices of fear.

There’s no part of her that’s ready for this room. The reality of it is too much. To be honest, I always thought it would be. Had we built it together, had she experienced the pleasure of gentle touches, the desire of restraint, the giving up of self to the partner, it would have been different, but I’m pretty sure that she’s seeing me in the room, engaged with other women. Torturing. Hurting.

Which isn’t ever what happened unless the woman in question actually begged for it, and even then, only twice. And I was careful. Turned on by her reactions, but not what I would choose for myself.

But I can’t explain all that to Nina right now. I can’t explain how the décor is meant to provoke uneasiness and decadence, but how we could find new boundaries together in gentle cadence.

“Sshh,” I whisper as I turn her into me, and I’m relieved when her arms encircle my thighs. “We don’t have to do any of this. I told you, Jelly Bean. I’ve been happy making women happy, but all I need now—all I will ever need—is you.” Because her mouth is so damn close to my dick, I lift her up into my arms. “Ready to leave?”

She nods vigorously, but just as I’m turning back toward the door, she says, “Wait. You said you were going to fuck me in here.”