Page 26

"I'm interested," I murmur, and I see his pupils dilate. Something moves through his expression that he controls very quickly.

"Interested," he repeats.

"In you," I whisper. That, at least, is very true. "In this part of you that you keep locked up."

He lets go of my wrist and steps back. I watch him think, weighing something.

"Go back to bed," he says. "I'll lock up here."

"No."

"Oksana—"

"Who better?" I ask. He looks at me. "To show me. If you know all of it—if this is yours, if you know exactly what you're doing—who better than you to be the one who teaches me?"

"That's not—" He stops again. He runs his hand across his jaw. "That's not a good reason."

"It's a very good reason. You're careful and controlled. You wouldn't hurt me." I pause. "You wouldn't let anything go wrong."

"You don't know that."

"I do, actually." I hold his gaze. "I've been watching you be careful about everything since the night we met. You don't do anything without knowing exactly what you're doing first. You would be careful of me. You'd show me the best possible experience."

He's quiet for a moment, looking at me with an expression I can't fully read. "You've had, what—a handful of partners? Basic sex. You've never done anything in a room like this."

"That's why I'm asking you to show me."

"It's not—" He exhales. "It's not the same thing. There's a significant gap between what we did in the bedroom and what happens in this room. You can't just⁠—"

"I know it's not the same thing." I'm actually getting a little frustrated now, and I let it show, so maybe he'll see how much I really want to do this. "I don't want it to be the same thing. We don't have to go straight to whips and chains or whatever the extreme version of this is, Cormac. I just want you to show me some of it. If it's too much, I'll tell you to stop, and I know you will. I'm not fragile. I'm not going to break. And I'm telling you clearly that I want this, that I'm asking for it. I'm an adult who can decide what she wants to do with her own body. So what exactly is your objection?"

He doesn't answer right away. He lets out a slow breath, running a hand back and forth through his hair. "You'd need a way to stop," he says finally. "A word, or a signal. Something you can use if you need it, and I'll stop everything immediately, no question asked."

My pulse spikes. "Okay."

"If you say the word, or use the signal, I stop. Completely. No discussion, no waiting. Do you understand?"

I nod, feeling my heartbeat pick up faster in my chest. "Yes."

"Pick a word," he says. "Something you wouldn't say otherwise."

"Um…" I think for a second. "Lavender."

"Okay." He nods. "And if you can't speak—if your mouth is occupied—three taps. On whatever's closest to you. Three taps and I stop." He looks at me. "Say it back."

"Lavender to stop. Three taps if I can't speak."

"And you can stop anything," he says. "Not just the big things. If something feels wrong, if you need a break, if you change your mind—any of it. You don't have to wait until something becomes a problem. I don't care if I'm inside of you and on the verge of coming. I don't care if I'm mid-orgasm. If you need to stop, you tell me, and I stop. You never, under any circumstances, keep going because you don't want to ruin my pleasure."

"I understand."

He pauses. "I mean it, Oksana. The trust goes both ways. You trust me to stop when you say, and to not push your boundaries until you're ready. I trust you to be clear about those boundaries, and to tell me to stop when you need it, regardless if it's going to ruin my orgasm or make something less pleasurable for me. Breaking one form of trust is just as bad as the other."

I nod. "I understand." A small, teasing smile makes its way to my lips. "That's a lot of rules for someone who wasn't going to do this."

"I'm still not sure I'm going to do this," he says, but he moves around me to the cupboard, and I know he's lying to himself.

He opens the top drawer beneath the doors, and pulls out a long, soft length of dark red rope. He holds it out so I can see it.