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Worse, her quiet statements and questions had him second-guessing himself. Ilias had been called many things in his life, but indecisive wasn’t one of them. He made a decision, picked a direction, and didn’t waver.
When he’d first started exploring BDSM, he’d had submissive partners using their safewords every scene, as he ran up against their hard limits. Each time it happened, he panicked inside, hating that he was hurting or scaring this person who’d given him the gift of their trust. Outwardly he kept it together, because no one wanted to see a Dom break down. But he never forgot that horrified panic he felt, and he’d worked damn hard to ensure he didn’t feel it again.
Until Josslyn, and this ten-minute conversation that had him questioning everything.
Damn it.
“Sir?”
He’d been quiet too long.
“Yes?”
“While that was a delightfully dramatic statement, I’m dying of curiosity.”
Josslyn had her head bowed, but he could see a slice of her face, enough that he saw her cheeks round as she smiled.
“Delightfully dramatic?” He couldn’t stop the answering smile, though she didn’t see it.
“I love a flare for the dramatic, which you clearly have, Sir.”
“I don’t have a flare for the dramatic.”
She raised her head, just enough so their gazes connected as she arched her brows.
Ilias was about to reply, but the impact, and the intimacy, of locking eyes with her stole his words.
“The lighting, the chair, your words. All very dramatic and deliciously so.”
“A minute ago, it was delightfully dramatic.”
“I’m running through various ‘D’ words. I do love alliteration.” Josslyn’s lips twitched again. “Are you sure we don’t have the letter D? That would be…destiny.”
Ilias stared at her for a minute, then sat back in the chair and laughed. She was…delightful. The thought made him snort in fresh amusement.
“Sadly,” he said after he got it out of his system, “we don’t have ‘D.’”
“Riding crops and rope,” Josslyn said brightly.
Ilias frowned. She hadn’t spoken in the smooth, soft tone she’d been using up until now. That had been forced and almost chirpy.
He’d read over her checklist. No, he’d memorized it, and neither riding crops nor ropes were hard limit, or even “maybe” items. Then again, based on her previous statements, her yeses were potentially maybes.
“Why did you say it like that?” he asked.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re forcing yourself to sound excited.”
She didn’t reply.
“Josslyn. I asked if you’d updated your checklist because I want to know if you’ve had experiences that would shift any yes or maybe items into being a hard limit.”
“What? Oh, no I’m not saying ropes and riding crops are hard limits.”
“Then why the fake tone?”
“I’m sorry.” For the first time she looked flustered. Her hands curled into fists on her thighs, then relaxed. She pressed her nails into her legs, like a cat kneading a blanket.
