He leans in ever so slowly, his gaze hovering on my mouth.
I count to five, waiting for him to make a move, but he doesn’t.
Because he’s waiting for me to do it.
I smirk as I bring my lips closer to his.
“Do you want to kiss me, Oliver?” I ask, my voice low.
He sucks in a deep breath. “Yes, Sir.”
I graze my lips over his, and he parts them without hesitation.
“Then kiss me,” I whisper.
I wait to see if he will take the lead. If he will obey me.
If he will exert that little spark of dominance I know is dying to be freed from inside of him.
“I will not stop you,” I tell him.
Oliver leans in just an inch, his breath catching in his throat and for a moment, I think he’s not going to do it. That he’s doing to defy me and be a little brat. But that’s not what he does.
He leans in, ever so softly, and kisses me.
It’s not a rush of fire, not a force of nature. It’s a slow, agonizing kiss. He slips his tongue into my mouth, placing his hand on my throat. His fingers curl around it, teasing the edge of my hair at the nape of my neck.
He doesn’t squeeze or try to choke me. I feel the heat from his palm, as if he is nervous.
I break away for a moment, licking my lips.
“What did I tell you about being nervous?” I ask.
“To tell you if I am. Sir.”
“Mmm. Are you? Nervous, little Rabbit?”
Oliver lets out a sharp breath. “Yes, Sir.”
I find his hand with my own, sliding my fingers through his.
I squeeze his hand, the movement applying the faintest pressure to my throat.
“Do you know what a safeword is, Oliver?” I ask carefully.
“A what?” His voice is shaky, his lip quivering. I feel his pulse against my throat racing.
“A safeword.” I lick my lips, finding his gaze with my own. “It’s a word you can use to stop when things feel like too much.” I graze my lips over his. “It’s most often used in… more intimate situations. When things get overwhelming or uncomfortable.”
“What is it? What’s the word?” he asks, and the innocence in his voice is damn near heartbreaking.
I shouldn’t pursue him because of this alone. I don’twantto hurt him. But I also want him to understand that I will never push him into anything he doesn’t consent to. This isn’t a language everyone speaks, but it’s mine.
He may not understand, but I have to try and make him understand.
“Mine will be different from yours," I say. “You pick the word. There is no wrong choice. Onlyyourchoice.”
Oliver looks up at me, his green eyes glistening with what almost look like tears.
