When we break the kiss, I’m breathless and dazed.
Then Ilya scowls. He reaches up to wipe at the corner of my eye. “Why are you crying?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. I hadn’t even realized I’d started to cry. “It’s so much, but it’s not a bad thing. It’s not bad tears.” I tilt my head up, beseeching him for another kiss. I want to kiss him like this will be the last I ever have.
Just in case.
Ilya gives me the kiss I want, and I get even closer to him. I get a leg over his thigh?—
And I stumble, off-balance from the strange position.
I tense in anticipation of a reprimand.
Ilya only laughs. “Maybe my kitchen is not best place for this. Let’s go to the bedroom.”
I nod, though my heart is still pounding against my ribs as I wait for some sort of negative reaction.
Nothing comes of it. Instead, he takes my hand and starts to lead me out of the kitchen.
“Wait,” I say. “I need to put the glass away.”
I don’t want him to get angry at me later for having left any sort of a mess in there.
“It can wait,” Ilya responds. He squeezes my hand. “We have other things to do now.”
My anxiety still makes it difficult for me to let him coax me out of the kitchen, but I have to believe that it’s really okay.
I have to trust him in this, in a way he shouldn’t trust me at all.
Once we get into the bedroom, I pause, unsure of what to do. Adam would be grabbing me by now, dragging me to the bed, but Ilya isn’t that forceful with me.
Ilya stops and smiles down at me. “Last time, you liked kneeling. Do you want to submit? Or do you only like pain?”
I don’t release his hand. “Both,” I say. “I like submitting, I like obeying, I like a little bit of pain.” I look warily at him. “What do you like? You’re new to things like floggers and all. I don’t want to push you into anything you don’t want to do.”
Not like I have been.
No. I’m not thinking about that right now.
Ilya’s deep chuckle is warm. “You cannot push me into anything, Micah. I am bigger and older than you. If I do something, it’s because I want to.”
I wonder how things would be if I was bigger and stronger than I am. Would people still be able to push me around? Or would I somehow be immune to that?
I nod, accepting his answer. “Okay,” I say. I feel lost, unmoored, without the pressure of a touch or an order, and I shift restlessly from one foot to the other. “What do you want me to do?”
Ilya looks at me, considering, before he says, “Undress, pretty boy.” He sits down at the edge of the bed, keeping his eyes on me.
Somehow, I don’t think he means a striptease. He means something more intimate, something slow but sensual.
I think.
I carefully pull my shirt over my head, folding it and setting it on top of the nearby dresser. Then I remove my pants, adding those to the neat pile, before shedding my underwear.
I feel exposed, and I wonder if he can see through me. How much does he know? How much has he guessed? Am I fooling him?
Are you fooling yourself?
I wrap my arms around my skinny torso and look at him.
