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"One more."

"I can't. I really can't, it's too..."

She lifted her head just long enough to look at me. "Word?"

I stared at her. My whole body was shaking, oversensitive, every nerve screaming. And I thought about it. I really did. I thought about saying it.

"No," I whispered.

"Then you can." Her mouth went back to me, gentler now but relentless, her fingers curling, and the sensation was so sharp it was almost pain, and then it tipped over the line into a pleasure so overwhelming I didn't have a name for it. "Give me one more. I know you have it. Be good for me."

I came a third time with a broken, wordless cry, writhing and sobbing as the orgasm tore through my entire body.

When it was over, she climbed up my body and lay half on top of me, her weight pressing me into the mattress, solid and warm, and kissed me so I could taste myself on her tongue.

"That's three," she said.

"I hate you," I croaked.

"No, you don't."

"I don't," I agreed. "That's the worst part."

She got up. I made a pathetic noise of protest, and she put one hand on my sternum, gently, and said, "Stay," and disappeared into what I assumed was a bathroom. I heard water running. When she came back, she had a glass of water and a warm washcloth.

"Sit up."

"Can't. Bones are gone."

She slid an arm behind my shoulders and lifted me, propped me against the headboard with pillows, and put the glass firmly in my hands. "Drink."

"You're very bossy."

"Drink, Harper."

I drank. She watched me finish the whole glass, then took it and set it on the nightstand. She cleaned me up with the washcloth, being very careful between my legs, then turned my wrists over in her hands and studied the faint red lines from the belt. She pressed her thumbs into them gently, massaging them out. She kissed every inch of the marks.

"Was any of it too much?" she asked.

Her voice had changed. The command was gone, and what was left underneath was quiet and careful and almost shy, like this was the part she was actually nervous about.

"Are you checking in on me?"

"Yeah."

"Who taught you this? Is there a manual? Did you take a course? Is there a certificate on your wall I didn't notice, because I'll be honest, I didn't notice any wall decor at all..."

"Harper."

I looked at her. Really looked. At this enormous, terrifying woman sitting on the edge of her bed holding my wrists like they were made of glass, waiting to hear if she'd hurt me.

"No," I said. "None of it was too much. It was exactly enough. It was..." I didn't have a joke. I tried but came up empty. "Thank you."

Relief moved across her face. Plain, open relief, there and gone.

"Okay," she said.

I reached for her, running my palms down her sides. I felt her muscles jump under my touch.