“I’ve got my safe word.”
“Of course. I need your consent, though.” His eyes drop to my chest. “I want to do other things too. A little light slapping.”
I blink over to where he’s set the items. “You’d be slapping with…”
His lips curve up into something close to a smile. “The ruler.”
I gasp.
“Anywhere you don’t want that?”
“On…” I look around. The floor? The desk?
“I meant on your body.”
In a flash, my brain gives me one scenario after another. My butt, my thighs, my boobs. All of them just this side of scary. None of them bad.
“Maybe not my toes.”
His sudden grin is a breath of fresh air, so open and happy that I imagine it’s exactly what he must have looked like as a kid.
“No face, fingers or toes, wrists or ankles,” he whispers with a quick kiss to my nose. “Promise. What about your nipples?”
“My…” I swallow.
“I want to play with them.”
Ooooooooh. Understanding hits me like a ton of bricks as I remember the office supplies he pulled from my cupboard. “Using those?” I point at the tiny clothespins. “Like, as… nipple clamps?”
He nods. “You like that idea?” His gaze is intent, hungry. “None of it’s happening if you’re not into it.”
“Yes. I like it.” I nod. “I want it.”
“Good. Clasp your hands behind your back.” A last peck on my lips, and he’s up, his focus on his buttons, on peeling his shirt off, on the items lined neatly on his desk. Everywhere but on me, where I’m kneeling here on the floor. Waiting. It’s uncomfortable. Long. Strangely lonely.
“We didn’t discuss choking.”
I jolt. A little blast of excitement and fear, so closely entwined I couldn’t honestly say if I’m for it or not. “I-I’m not sure.”
“Fair enough,” he says easily, his lack of disappointment or judgment the most freeing thing I’ve ever experienced. “Can I touch your throat?”
“Yes.” Even in my current state, the irony of finding freedom in rules and bindings isn’t lost on me. My mind floats to my book nooks and how creating those tiny little worlds paradoxically feels like it opens mine up. “I like the idea. I’d just prefer it to be gentle.”
“Understood.” His eyes are steady on mine. “And penetration?”
I scramble through a whole series ofshoulds andshould nots and ask, “You’ve been tested for STDs?”
“Yes. Regularly. We all are. For the club.”
Oh, right. I remember the lab had to send my results directly to the club.
“You have other partners?” I ask him.
“Not currently.” A pause. “It’s been several weeks.” He grabs a cell phone, taps on it a few times, and shows me a recent set of test results, scrolling slowly to the last page.
“Thanks.”
“I have condoms with me, but as with everything, I’ll get your consent. And you can safe word as needed.”
