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I didn’t have a handle on what made Hale like Hale, and what made me like me, sexually. I wasn’t a psychologist and I didn’t have all I needed, specifically about Hale, to totally understand it. Nor had I had the time to look into it thoroughly.
But it also wasn’t outlandish to think, in a lifetime where a lot of dysfunction spiraled around him, he’d seek order and control, even, or maybe especially, because that was when you were at your most vulnerable, sexually.
As for me, having his undivided attention and devotion during sex, being responsible for so much in life, being so driven, but letting go during intimacy, having that additional release, made sense too.
Or maybe we were just born this way.
I broached it with Hale.
“So, I looked up a few things today,” I said to his throat.
“What’d you look up?”
I traced a finger along his throat. “Um…collars?”
His body stilled in my hold. And then he pressed me so close, I was having difficulty breathing.
Not exactly a surprise. One of the things I learned was that was a kind of claiming ritual between lovers who engaged in dominance and submission, and it was important.
Not to mention, during sex, a collar could come in handy.
“You interested in that?” he asked.
“I saw a gif where this guy pulled this girl up by her collar, her mouth right onto his cock. It was smooth as hell. It was also hot.”
“You’re into it,” he muttered, stroking the skin above my ass. “I’ll order some things for us.”
“Oo, exciting.”
“It will be.”
Cocky.
Hot.
I rubbed my face into his skin, smelling him, and sex, and the residual tang of salt air.
So very Hale.
Best smell in the world.
“You and Genny did the dishes, and it all seemed good,” he remarked.
“It was, honey. We got over the hump.”
He said nothing about that, likely because of why we did.
But he asked, “What doesneshama shelimean?”
“My soul,” I whispered.
“That’s beautiful,” he whispered back.
“It’s more like, you’re a part of my soul.”
He gathered me closer.
“Too much?” I asked.
