I'm on my third cup of coffee when Nadia finally comes downstairs.
She's wearing leggings and an oversized sweater that slips off one shoulder, her braids piled on top of her head in a messy knot. No makeup. No armor. She looks softer than she did last night, and somehow that makes her more dangerous.
"Morning." She heads straight for the coffee maker without looking at me. "Please tell me that storm magically disappeared overnight."
"Still snowing. Should taper off by noon." I watch her pour a cup and add an alarming amount of sugar. "Roads won't be passable until tomorrow at the earliest."
"Yasmine is going to kill me."
"You texted her?"
"Three times. She's moved from furious to resigned to planning how to rearrange the rehearsal dinner around my absence." Nadia finally turns to face me, leaning against the counter. "Apparently Tyler's cousin can fill in for the toast practice. I'm officially useless."
"You're not useless. You're snowed in. That’s not fair."
"That's very generous of you." She takes a long sip of coffee, studying me over the rim. "So. Last night."
"Last night."
"That room."
"What about it?"
Her eyes narrow. "You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"
"I'm not going to make you do anything." I set down my mug and give her my full attention. "But if you want to have a conversation, I need you to be direct about what you're asking. That's how this works."
"How what works?"
"Any of it. Negotiation. Communication. Trust." I keep my voice even, measured. "I don't guess at what my partners want. I don't assume. If you're curious about something, you ask. If you want something, you tell me. No hints, no games, no hoping I'll read your mind."
Nadia is quiet for a moment, processing. Then she sets down her own mug with a decisive click.
"Fine. Direct." She crosses her arms. "I haven't stopped thinking about that room since I walked out of it. I've been lying in that very comfortable guest bed imagining what it would feel like to be restrained on that bench. To have someone tell me what to do and actually mean it." Her chin lifts. "I want to know what that's like. With you. Before this weekend is over."
My blood heats at her words, but I keep my expression neutral. "That's direct."
"You asked for it."
"I did." I move around the kitchen island, closing some of the distance between us but leaving enough space that she doesn't feel crowded. "Now I need to ask you some questions. And I need honest answers, even if they feel uncomfortable."
"Okay."
"Have you ever done anything like this before? Bondage, power exchange, impact play?"
"No. I told you that last night."
"I'm confirming. There's a difference between theoretical interest and practical experience, and I need to know exactly where you're starting from." I hold her gaze. "Have you ever been restrained during sex?"
"Once. My college boyfriend tied my wrists with a scarf. It lasted about thirty seconds before I got bored and took over."
"Why did you take over?"
"Because he didn't know what he was doing. He tied me up and then just... stared at me. Like he was waiting for instructions." She rolls her eyes. "If I wanted to give instructions, I wouldn't have let him tie me up in the first place."
"So you wanted him to take control, but he couldn't."
"He couldn't hold it. The second I pushed back, he folded." Her expression shifts, something vulnerable flickering through. "Every man I've been with has folded eventually. I push, they give. I test, they fail. And then I'm stuck running everything, which defeats the entire purpose."
