I obey without thinking.
"Better?"
"Yeah." I wipe my mouth, suddenly hyper-aware of how I must look. Hair tangled, flushed, and half naked. "Sorry, I?—"
"Don't." Sharp. Final. "You don't apologize for your body's response to stimulation. That's what aftercare is for."
Right. Aftercare. A clinical term for this strange, vulnerable space where my bones feel like water and his hand on my thigh is the only thing keeping me tethered.
"Here." Shifting, he reaches for a throw blanket draped across the chair. He wraps it around my shoulders withsurprising gentleness, tucking the edges in like I might shatter. “Let’s keep you warm.”
I pull the blanket tighter, cocooning myself in luxury and confusion. "You're very... prepared for this."
His fingers brush my jaw, tilting my face toward his. Those steel eyes search mine. “When you signed that contact, you agreed to be mine, Sugar. And I take care of what’s mine. Now, how do you feel?"
"Scared," I admit. The word tumbles out before I can stop it. "But not... bad scared. Just?—"
"Vulnerable."
"Yes," I whisper.
He nods, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "That's the point, Grace. But you're safe here. With me. Understand?"
I should doubt him. Should remember that this is a transaction, a contract, a carefully constructed arrangement.
Instead, wrapped in cashmere and the ghost of his touch, I nod.
"Good girl."
“Is this… Is this whatyouwant?” I tug my lip between my teeth, nervous about the answer. This seemed to be all about me, and I know he was the one calling the shots, but I can’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t good forhim.
He looks at me, assessing me before using his finger to free my lip. “Yes, Sugar,” he says sternly. “This is what I want.”
“What… I guess, what else do you want?”
He hums a noise as he thinks, his warm palms splayed across my arm, keeping me grounded. “In this dynamic, it’s easy for you to do things just to please me, and trust me, Sugar, I want that. But first and foremost, you don’t ever do anything you truly don’t want to. I need you to tell me you understand that.”
His serious expression tells me he wants an answer right this second. “I understand.”
“Good. I want you to always be honest with me, Sugar. About how you feel, what you want. That honesty builds trust between us, and that’s very important. Now, for what I want…”
Trying to hide my eagerness, I look up at him. Something about the way he takes care of me has me wanting to please him. I’m also curious to know what Asher likes. Other than dominating me. But dominating can take form in a variety of ways.
“I’m a controlling asshole,” he finally says after a moment, and the statement makes me laugh, to which he eyes me.
“I thought that was obvious,” I say sheepishly.
That makes him chuckle. “I guess so. What I mean is, I’m going to be demanding. I’m going to ask for a lot and leave little wiggle room. I was gentle on you tonight because this is new, and I don’t want to push you. But I like to be in control, and I like my orders to be followed.”
I nod. That makes sense for what I’ve seen from Asher. He’s always the one in charge of his surroundings. Around his parents is the only time I’ve seen that side of him falter.
“I will always take care of you, though. As long as you’re my sub, I’ll make sure you’re cared for. And you”—he presses his finger under my chin and lifts it up to kiss me softly—“will accept my care, like a good girl. Won’t you?”
I nod once more, in a daze, focused on the way his body feels against mine, his lips on mine.
“Sugar, don’t make me tell you again to use your words.” His voice drops an octave, that stern tone taking over.
My brain short circuits, and for a minute, I can’t figure out what he wants. And then I remember that he’s told me to use my words. He doesn’t like when I nod; he wants to hear me say it.
