A slow pull tugged low in my body. Not fear exactly. Not quite desire.
A trembling in-between space where curiosity met dread and didn’t know which would win.
I swallowed hard. “Damien,” I murmured, unsure if I wanted to step closer or back away—
“I can imagine this is a bit intimidating,” he admitted, running a hand along my back.
“That’s an understatement,” I managed, eyes still wide.
“We don’t have to do it in here if you don’t want.”
It.
The word landed hard.
I’d almost forgotten what I’d agreed to—the purpose of this room, the purpose of us, the trust I’d handed him so willinglyin the living room. But now the tools weren’t just tools. They weren’t displays. They weren’t theoretical.
They were… possibilities.
My heartbeat thudded in my ears, waiting for the panic, waiting for terror.
But it didn’t come.
It didn’t even threaten.
Instead, I leaned into Damien’s touch, focusing on his strong hands trailing along my spine in slow, smoothing strokes—anchoring, not directing. Comfort, not command.
And in that moment, I knew with unnerving certainty I needed this.
I needed him.
I needed the stillness only he could give.
But also—not like this. Not with these tools. Not today.
“I don’t think I want to use any of this,” I whispered.
A low, dark chuckle rumbled out of him. “I don’t blame you.” His hand caressed my back again, warmer now. Calmer. “Most of these would be too much. At least for a while.”
I turned slightly toward him. “A while?”
“Mm.” He stepped closer, his chest brushing my shoulder. “As we get used to each other in this space, you’ll loosen up. You’ll trust me more. And in turn, I’ll feel more comfortable exploring with you.”
His voice dipped, low and certain. “But that takes time. It isn’t something to rush into. This…” His attention shifted to the implements. “Is not where I want to start with you. Not when tonight is about care. Not when you’re overwhelmed.”
Relief and disappointment tangled unexpectedly inside me. “So… what does that mean?”
“It means,” he murmured, bringing his mouth close enough that his breath warmed the shell of my ear, “that we start simple. We take what you asked for and strip it down to somethinghonest.” His hand glided down my arm, slow and sure. “I want to give you a bare-handed spanking tonight, Emma.”
Something low in me flipped. No tools. No leather. No sound but his palm and my gasps.
Something deep inside me unfurled at the thought.
“The only reason we’re in this room right now is because I’ve been feeling horrible about hiding it from you,” he admitted with a cringe. “And because… I have a specific piece of furniture that was made for exactly what you’re asking for.”
I swallowed hard, turning fully toward him. “I trust you.”
His expression darkened. “Promise?”
