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“Give me a safe word. Something you wouldn’t use in ordinary conversation, something easy to remember. Or tell me to leave.”
A million emotions crashed through her. Fear and curiosity. Desire and doubt. Reality. It would be so much harder to find him the perfect match if she wanted him for herself. Not that she would, she rationalized.
He stood there, as patient as he always was because he knew her. Her capitulation was coming. They both knew it.
“A lot of submissives use the color red. Yellow to slow down.”
“Eggplant.” The word fell out, even as she was still telling herself she didn’t need or want a safe word.
“Eggplant?” He laughed, breaking the tension, allowing her to see another side of him, one that wasn’t as threatening or scary. As if he were an ordinary man. For some reason, that made him even more dangerous to her resolve. “Why eggplant?”
“I hate them.”
“Okay, then.” In an instant, his smile fled, and he was once again stern, leaving her reeling. “Tell me an instance when you might say that word.”
Her rational brain screamed that she shouldn’t engage in this conversation. But it had been years since she felt this alive. It was intoxicating. “When you ask me to do something that I don’t want to.”
“Not necessarily.”
“No?”
“As long as it’s something we’ve talked about and negotiated, you don’t get to use a safe word.”
“Like being duct taped to a chair and being forced to watch cartoons?”
“That might be included. Yes.” He nodded, a smile once again teasing his lips.
No doubt, she was falling for him. His softer side made him irresistible. “It sounds sadistic.”
“It does, doesn’t it? But if you have no objection to being tied or to watching television, and I put the two together, you don’t get to safe word, unless there’s something I don’t know about. Or perhaps something will come up for you that you weren’t expecting, an unpleasant memory, for example. In that case, we need to talk. Maybe we can make a change so that you’re more comfortable with what I’m doing.
He crooked his finger, then pointed at a spot on the floor.
Hope hadn’t considered that she might be a submissive. Like a few of her friends, she would own the fact that she’d had fantasies of being overpowered by a delicious hunk of manliness, including a particular actor bare-chested and wearing a kilt. But that she would have a physiological response to mere words and sexual demands? Getting a burst of pleasure and anticipation from being commanded by a man? Wanting him to dominate her? Worse, even though she wouldn’t admit it to him, the way he’d threatened her with a spanking had intrigued her to the point that she couldn’t banish it from her mind.
Without repeating himself, Rafe waited. Her heels were unnaturally loud on the wood floor as she closed the distance between them.
“Thank you,” he said. “I can see your struggle. Your frown. The thumping of your heart in your throat, the death grip you have on your phone. You’re curious, and you are telling yourself you shouldn’t be turned on. Perhaps you’re thinking this may jeopardize our business arrangement, yet here you are. The first step in your submission is turning over your phone.”
She tightened her hold.
“I’ll put it on the desk.” He extended his hand. “It will always be within reach. You can pick it up at any time. Call for help if you think you need it.”
Even the suggestion that she might need help sent the room spinning.
With infinite patience, he waited. Would he really stand there all night? No doubt he would, if that was what she needed.
Shaking, she dropped the device into his palm.
“Very good.”
His approval was a drug she couldn’t get enough of.
He slid the device next to Skyler’s empty candy dish. “Would you like to lock the door?”
She debated for a moment.
“BDSM is all about consent. Nothing will happen without your permission. Since this is our first time playing, you’re free to use your safe word at any time. Anything on your hard limits list?”
“Canes scare me.” She shivered. “And I’m not into sharing or being shared.” That statement made her bring her chin up. “Nothing that will break my skin. Scars. Permanent marks.”
