Page 21 of Key of Kink

He sighed. “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?”

I smiled. “I prefer enthusiastic.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“I’ll be good,” I promised. “If you give me something to be good at.”

“All right, I think we can play now.” He stood, and I followed suit. When he didn’t move toward the door, I knew we weren’t done yet.

“Last question,” he said. “Why me?”

I met his gaze. “Because you looked like someone who listens. And because you haven’t tried to impress me once.”

He blinked. “Then go back to the main room and I’ll meet you there.”

I fought the impulse to fist-pump the air.

Yes.

For someone who took rules this seriously, Max was about to have a lot of fun.

Max

This is already not going to plan.

I walked ahead of Quinn, his footsteps measured behind me. I’d intended this to be clean, precise, a single, contained interaction. Competent, ethical, and forgettable in the way scenes were meant to be.

Instead, I found myself amused.

That was new.

Quinn hadn’t challenged the rules—he’d engaged with them. He’d poked at the edges just enough to prove he understood where they were. He hadn’t tried to destabilise me, something I’d experienced in the past. Instead, he’d simply treated my seriousness as something solid enough to lean on.

What was worse? I’d enjoyed it.

The banter hadn’t undermined control but sharpened it. It made my attention narrower, my awareness keener. I’d felt the shift the moment I’d set the pen down, not so much as a release of tension, but as focus settling.

I didn’t enjoy being laughed at.

I did, apparently, enjoy being understood.

I stopped at the edge of the main room and reminded myself enjoyment was not the goal. Structure was.

A treacherous thought slipped through, uninvited.

If this goes wrong, it won’t be because Quinn doesn’t take it seriously.

It would be because I already did.

I ran a hand through my hair, irritation curling sharp and familiar in my chest.

Why did I tell him I occasionally liked being on the receiving end? And when was the last time I did that? There’d been no one since Simon. That man had reduced me to a quivering wreck with less than ten strokes of his dick in my arse. That made him a tough act to follow, and thus far, I hadn’t found anyone who was up to the task.

I straightened, my jaw set.

I can do this. Cleanly, correctly, and without crossing lines. I was already adjusting, already thinking about tone, pacing, aftercare. Already planning how to keep the scene clean, contained, ethical.

Already invested.