"Can I use teeth?"
"No."
The word stopped me short. I pulled back, heart racing for different reasons now.
"Okay," I managed. "Can I still kiss without teeth?"
"Yes."
We continued like that, me asking, him answering. Yes to hands in hair. No to marks that would show. Yes to touchingover clothes. No to removing them yet. Each boundary honored felt like rewriting code. This is how consent works. This is how choice feels.
"Switch?" I asked eventually.
"If you're ready."
We changed positions, and my heart kicked into overdrive. Being asked, having to respond—this was harder. Gabriel had never asked. Had trained me to anticipate, to offer, to never refuse.
"Can I kiss you?" Nathan asked.
The word stuck in my throat. Old programming screamed that no was dangerous, forbidden, would lead to punishment.
"I... yes," I whispered.
He kissed me gently, then pulled back. "Can I touch your face?"
This time I found it: "No."
Nathan's hands stayed where they were. No anger. No disappointment. Just acceptance.
"Okay. Can I hold your hand?"
"Yes."
We went slow, so slow. Each question an opportunity to choose. Some yeses came easy. Some nos fought their way out like pulled teeth. But he honored every single one, until I started to believe in their power.
"Can I touch you over your shirt?"
"Yes."
"Can I touch skin?"
"No. Wait." I breathed through the panic of changing my mind. "Yes. But just... careful."
His hands were reverent, tracing patterns on my stomach, my sides. When I shivered, he paused.
"Still yes?"
"Still yes."
We kept going until something shifted in me. The constant checking stopped feeling like interruption and started feeling like safety. Like proof that I existed as more than just a collection of wants to be fulfilled.
"I want to try something else," I said. "Something harder."
"Tell me."
"I want to tie your wrists." The words came out in a rush. "Not tight. Not to hurt. Just... I need to see that you'll let me. That you trust me even when I have power."
Nathan studied me for a long moment. "Okay."
