He wants this. And he wants it now.
“Where…um…where do you want me?” I ask, my voice softer than intended. “On which side of the bed?” A dark smile spreads on his lips, and I wince a little when I realize how my question sounded.
“Neither. Sit on the edge, facing the fireplace.” His voice is different now. Stern. He doesn’t ask me what I want this time, and I have a feeling this is the way it’s going to be when it comes to this part of our relationship. For some reason, I don’t mind it at all.
“From now on, you’ll only do what your husband asks.” How effortless it was to agree to that in the bridal store. Even then, when I still thought I hated him.
I walk over to the bed and haul myself up on the edge, my feet dangling and my nightgown riding up a little. I wonder what he wants to do, why ask me to sit here.
When I look at him for answers, his eyes swipe over my body, an insatiable hunger swimming in the depths of his green irises. His breaths deepen, as if he’s forcing himself to take it slow, to be patient. I see it in the way he walks, when he steps closer. Closer. Until he’s right in front of me, and I have to crane my neck to see the sharp edges of his face.
“W-What now?” I ask, growing a little scared—not of him, but of the pain I heard comes with doing it for the first time. Of the blood, too. Again, he doesn’t answer, and my pulse rebels.
He lowers himself to one knee in front of me, inch by inch, my gaze glancing down with him until we’re at eye level. Bracing his arms on either side of my body, he cages me here, his warmth and smoky scent swirling around me like smooth ribbons, sensual and controlling.
“In this bedroom, there are three rules when we’re together,” he says, his voice like silken chaos skittering down my spine. It controls my attention, my entire body attuned to the sound of him. “Number one, you take all I give you. I will sometimes give you much more than you believe you can handle and push past what you think is possible. You can cry, and you can beg me to stop, but the only thing that will be able to save you is your safe word.”
I open my mouth to speak, but I have no idea what to say to that. I don’t think I can utter a single word right now. Down between my legs, a slow, persistent throb answers for me instead. He hasn’t touched me, hasn’t even kissed me, yet here I am, squirming in my seat to the tune of his commands.
“Number two, for this to work between us, you trust me completely—mind, body, and soul,” he continues. “If you’ll let me, I’ll care for you in ways you’ve never been cared for. Aftercare is non-negotiable. You’ll always get it, because you’ll always need it. I don’t take any of this lightly.”
“Lastly, rule number three.” He dips his head slightly, as if to emphasize its importance. “You are always in control. We’ll discuss your safe word in a moment. First, tell me you understand what I just told you. Because this isn’t a game,Lastochka, and once we begin, we won’t ever stop.”
I dart my tongue out to lick my bottom lip as I watch him, my heart pounding in my chest in a syncopated rhythm. He glances at the motion, and his jaw clenches, telling me just how much he wants us to start.
“I scared you,” he says.
I brush my hands down my naked thighs. “No. I trust you—fully. I just…don’t think I’ll know what to do. How to give you what you need.”
He glides a hand down my leg, capturing my foot and placing it on top of his knee, massaging it. His skin is warm, and the touch is electric, firm yet gentle, just like he is. The spot between my legs grows a little wetter.
“What did I say about the first rule?”
I look up, remembering. “You give. I take.”
“Correct. Which means what?”
“That you’ll…tell me what to do?”
“Good girl. What else? Tell me what scares you.”
His fingers continue to knead my foot, slowly, precisely, as if he knows exactly where to press to make me feel good. I melt into the touch, an accidental mewl getting past my lips. For a second, his movements stop, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his jaw clenching before he resumes.
“That feels good,” I say.
“Many things will feel good when you’re with me.”
I nod, having zero doubts about that. Every time he has ever touched me, it felt incredible. “What about pain? Will you ever…hurt me?” I ask, recalling the mentions of choking and spanking.
“Sometimes,” he admits. “When I punish you. But pain can very quickly turn into pleasure if done right. It’s why I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“And if I won’t?”
“Then you’ll stop me. You’ll give me your safe word, and I’ll stop.”
I bite my cheek. “And you won’t be…mad?”
He smiles. “Never. What do I always try to teach you?”
