I let out a soft laugh. “The man already knows what to do. He was three steps ahead of me the whole time.”
It seems like he knows my body better than I do, what I’ll crave before I even feel it. Where to touch. How hard. How slow.
Brielle tucks a dark curl behind her ear, eyes sparkling. “You should try a resistance scene. The pretend struggle is unreal.”
Heat flares in my chest at the thought. “I think I’d enjoy that. The idea of saying no. Fighting him a little before giving in. The adrenaline of it.”
Brielle grins and lights up. “The struggle, the pushback, the moment he overpowers you—it’s hot as hell. It’s my favorite kink.”
My pulse kicks. “So I pretend I don’t want it and fight him?”
She nods, eyes gleaming. “Exactly. And that’s why the two of you work. He’s perfect for that kind of game.”
Yes will always mean yes. No will always mean no. But for everything in between, there will be a cue. A word or phrase of our choosing. One that tells me your fight is part of the dance. That you’re still with me. Still hungry. Still consenting. A phrase only we understand. One that gives you room to struggle because that’s how you want it, while still telling me you’re in it. Willing. Craving. It’s your verbal consent, Laurette. Coded and clear. Yours to give and mine to obey.
The words can be anything you choose, Laurette. Something that makes you feel safe and in control. You’ll say it when you’re giving me permission to take what I want, even while you fight me. Your body might resist, but those words will tell me the truth. That you want it. That I have your consent.
Silent surrender.
“We already have a code for it.”
“Perfect. That’s your entry into the game.”
Game. That word lingers in my head, but not flippantly. This isn’t just play—it’s discovery, and I’m ready for more. I want to see how far B will take me. What else he’ll unlock. What other parts of me he already sees that I haven’t even named yet.
“I haven’t texted or spoken to him since last night. I want to, but I’m scared. What if it’s too much or too soon? What if I scare him off?”
Brielle leans forward, placing a warm hand on mine. “Listen to me. If you hint you want more—he won’t come. He’ll run.”
I’m grateful for her knowledge and fierce loyalty. “So I should text him? Even though it seems forward as fuck?”
“One hundo,” she says, eyes gleaming. “Send the code for resistance play. He’ll know what to do. You can thank me later.”
I nod. “I want this—to fight and surrender and come undone all over again.”
Brielle beams. “Then do it, damn it.”
I pull the burner phone from my bag, thumb hovering over the screen. The weight of what I’m about to do settles in my chest.
10:00 p.m. Front door unlocked.
Lights off except for a single candle.
Silent surrender.
When I slide my thumb overSend, every part of me buzzes with nervous excitement. It’s terrifying—and exactly what I need.
My heart is an explosion behind my ribs as it delivers. I close my eyes and whisper, “I sent it.”
I stare at the screen, willing it to light up. One second. Two. Nothing.
My stomach flips.
What if he doesn’t respond?
What if that text shifts something, or ruins it, or makes it real in the wrong way?
Then he texts me back a single emoji.
