“We didn’t win. You said if we won?—”
“Maybe we did.”
“I doubt it. Skylar doesn’t have an athletic bone in her?—”
“Allie,” he interrupts me. “I don’t want to talk about whatever bones are in Skylar.”
I swallow, but my dry throat does nothing to alleviate the tension radiating off me in waves. “I’m sweaty,” I whisper.
“I don’t care.”
“Ashton.”
“What is it, Chaos?”
“I’m nervous.” The confession feels like a rush of cold air on my hot skin. How does this man make me tell him things I would never tell anyone else? He reaches behind me to pull off the elastic holding my ponytail, and my hair falls around my shoulders. He takes a deep breath like he’s inhaling my scent and committing it to memory.
“Put your hands on the bench.”
“What?”
His eyes greet me with a stern look, and I don’t know what compels me, but I do what he says. Slowly, I move my hands to the wood, placing them palm down on either side of my hips.
“I know you said you don’t do safe words, but I thought about it and I think I’d be more comfortable if we had one,” he says. “Is that okay with you?”
I think for a beat. I’m not even sure why I said that. I have nothing against safe words. I guess I just needed stop to mean stop last night, regardless of who was in control.
“Yes,” I reply.
“Great, so what should it be?”
“I don’t know. Something we would never say during sex?”
“Like ‘saxophone’?”
A laugh spills from my lips before I can stop it. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so authentically. “Yeah, like ‘saxophone.’”
Ashton gives me that easy smile of his. “‘Saxophone’ it is.” He rubs a thumb over one of my hands, still palm down on the bench. I forgot they were even there. “Still feeling nervous?”
“Not really,” I answer honestly. The truth is if there were ever anyone I could imagine handing over control to, it would be him. I can’t explain it. He’s just comfortable.
“It’s okay if you are.” He trails his fingers up my leg, hooking one inside the waistband of my leggings. “Do you trust me?”
Yes.
“I don’t know.”
“How about this?” he says, his finger freezing in place as my chest heaves. “How about we have an almost-safe word, too?”
“An almost-safe word?”
“Yeah, a word you say if you’re heading toward discomfort, but that’s not a complete cease and desist.”
“Okay.”
“Piano?” he offers.
“Sure, why not?”
