My clit pulsed, and I fought the urge not to audibly moan in anticipation. “Yes.”
When the word came out rushed and breathy, Wes’s lips slowly curved. “Is there anywhere you do not want me to touch?”
I shook my head. I stayed perfectly still, even as Wes still refused to make contact. He didn’t speak, as if waiting for more.
“Please,” I tried, no longer above any amount of bargaining. Needing Wes was biblical; my desire was transcendent and holy.
“Open your notebook and start reading, baby,” Wes said, his jaw tensing as if with the effort of his own restraint.
I opened to the first page, where I’d followed Wes’s instructions with as much effort and care as he showed me. I read my first few notes, which were concerns about total power exchange, or TPE, dynamics.
Wes’s fingers finally slipped under my dress and found their mark, gently circling my clit above my panties.
I couldn’t hold back the breathy moan now, losing all train of thought in an instant. I slowly ground against his touch. His other hand gripped my hips hard.
“You do not have permission to move.” He retracted his touch.
I stilled.
“Good. Keep reading.”
I finished my train of thought, and Wes addressed my concerns, all the while circling my clit and holding my body in an overwhelming flood of pent-up sensation.
“I’m not interested in that intense of a dynamic without a significant amount of time with a partner, and deep commitment,” Wes said. “And even then, there are areas of someone’s life I have no interest in controlling.”
“What areas do you want to control?” I asked.
Wes’s fingers moved quicker, adding more pressure in a way that made my legs start to tremble. He dialed it back as I panted and fought the urge to press against his fingers again.
“When and how you come, for starters,” he said with a wicked grin. “This isn’t about me. Not yet. Keep reading. I want to know your answers to the questionnaires.”
I sped through my next few notes and flipped the page to my answers about my limits and desires, which were marked as either: ahard limit,which meant I was certain I didn’t want something to ever happen; asoft limit, which meant it might’ve been a limit, but I wasn’t sure or needed more discussion;light green, which meant I was interested or thought I might enjoysomething; andbright green, which meant I knew for certain I enjoyed the item.
“Wes, some of these are…” I said, uneasy. “A lot.”
“If you don’t want to talk about something, you don’t have to, and I will assume it’s a limit.”
“Okay.” His teasing effectively distracted me, the overwhelming yearning for release propelling me forward.
I started reading. Whenever I thought Wes’s face would reveal humor or disgust or apprehension toward any of the items, it didn’t. He stayed neutral and open, as if nothing I said could faze him.
“Anal play. Light green.” I slowly raised my eyes to his, all of me cringing and preparing for judgment, as I had for every admission of interest so far.
Wes blinked. He shook his head. “You absolute monster.”
I raised my notebook to attack him with it, and he laughed and grabbed my wrist.
“Keep reading, you sick little freak.”
My cheeks were red, but damn him, his laugh was infectious, drawing out my own. When our laughter quieted, I forged on. “This one confused me. Does knife play mean the knife is cutting me, which would be a hard limit, or that it’s threatening me, which would be a light green?”
Against my will, I thought of Roman the night of the party, the knife handle going in and out of a submissive woman. I quickly shoved the image away.
Wes’s hand reached for one of my breasts, and I gasped when he cupped my flesh, his fingers slowly circling a nipple.
“Cutting would be blood play; knife play means a knife is merely involved, which is a form of fear play. Given your other answers, it would seem this is an area of great interest for you.”
“All of this use of the wordplaymakes domination and sadism sound like a cute, fun little hobby.”
