I managed another nod.
He narrowed his eyes. “You like to be forced, don’t you? You like to fight.”
My entire body burned with embarrassment. No one had ever put two and two together so quickly—ever—before. Not even Lincoln. It was one thing to like rough sex; it was another to like being on the wrong edge of that kind of thing. One was okay to ask for and the other…not so much.
“Sometimes,” I confirmed, covering my face with both of my hands.
Marshall, of course, wasn’t having it. He grabbed both of my wrists with one hand, using his body weight to lever over me. Pinning my wrists against the bed and bending my legs so my knees shot up toward my ears, he rutted himself against me. The prong of his belt dug sharply into the sensitivearea right beside my balls, but it only made my cock harder.
“What else do you like?” he asked, nipping at my earlobe. “What do you want?”
“I want to submit,” I answered.
“It’s that simple, is it?”
“It feels the opposite of that for most people.” God, it was hard to fucking think with his mouth moving so slow down the side of my neck.
“I’m not most people.”
“No,” I agreed.
“And neither are you.”
I shook my head, and he sealed his lips around my collarbone, kissing me messily there, but gently. No marks.
“You want to just submit sometimes, don’t you?” he asked, licking the place he’d just kissed.
I closed my eyes, trying to imagine how it would feel if he sucked a bruise into the bone.
“Want to give it all up, pain or not…sex or not.”
Fuck, it was painful to be known. “Yes.”
The Sir was right there on the tip of my tongue. It felt so perfect in the moment, laced with all the knowledge and understanding, and he’d told me not to use it until he’d earned it, and hadn’t he earned it? Wasn’t all of this him earning it? The consent, the negotiation, the understanding…the care.
“Sir,” I blurted it out, and he went still, face still buried into the crook of my neck. “Yes, Sir. I want to submit.”
His dick pulsed against my groin, but other than that, he was entirely unmoving and quiet. Seconds passed, minutes, an hour, a day—I didn’t know—until finally Marshall smiled against my skin, his teeth slick and cool. He shifted his weight and reached between our bodies, pressing his fingertips against my hole. Not hard enough to breach the ring of muscle, but just enough to test the resistance.
“You want to submit,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“To me.”
“Yes,” I said again.
“If I ever go too far, you’ll tell me to stop?” he asked.
“I’ll use my safe word.”
Marshall groaned, moving his fingers away from my hole. He curled his hands around the backs of my thighs and hiked my legs higher…until my hamstrings burned, then he lifted his body up enough to see my face. He didn’t look anything like the man I knew. Marshall was undone, hair a little loose, pupils bigger and darker than I’d ever seen.
“Is stop not a safe word here, Silas?” he asked.
“No.” My mouth moved more than words came out. I shook my head to double up on the answer.
“Okay,” he agreed, matching my head shake with a nod of understanding. “Thank you for telling me. What about no?”
