Good. Then maybe you’ll behave.
Maybe. ;）
Do your homework.
I’ll see you in the morning.
No jerking off.
Yes, ma’am.
The instant serotonin boost I get whenever he says that to me is like a hit of something potent and intoxicating. As I put my phone on the charger and roll over to fall asleep, I remember what Eden said tonight at the club—this is supposed to be fun.
I just need to stop worrying about the expectations and my preconceived notions, and let the amazing chemistry we have lead the way. It doesn’t need to be so scary.
And with what I have in mind for him tomorrow, I’m going to have to work up the guts to go through with it. I’m crossing a major line, but it’s not one we haven’t already crossed. I said no sex, and I’m sticking to that. Sex complicates things, and things are too complicated as it is.
But I also said there are other things we can do that don’t include sex, and I intend to use them all.
Emerson would have my head if he knew what I had planned for his son, but with his track record, he really has no room to talk.
Rule #13: If you don’t take it seriously, you will be punished.
Beau
I feel like I’m in school. A kinky sex school with a teacher who looks even more nervous than me.
I filled out the checklist on a scale of one to five for each item. They were mostly zeroes and fives, and I was a little surprised by how many of them involved my pain or me being fucked by something. Or at least that’s what I assumed. When it asked about fisting, I sort of figured I would be the one being fisted, which for the record, was a zero.
Plugs and beads? One.
The reason I’m here is to prove to her I’m not afraid of being submissive, so I’m not going to shy away from the good stuff now.
I didn’t tell Maggie about how I saw this list on my father’s desk once, not knowing then that it was more than likely my ex-girlfriend who filled it out. I didn’t want to drag the past and all of that awkwardness into this thing Maggie and I have. The past belongs in the past.
I’m sitting on her kitchen counter next to a stack of unopened boxes while she looks through the list, chewing on her inner lip. Finally, she sets the packet down on the counter and glares at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Are you taking this seriously?”
My face screws up in confusion. “What? Yes!”
She picks the paper back up. “Okay, so you love the idea of flogging and choking?”
I shrug. “I’m game.”
“Beau,” she says, sounding exasperated. Then she pinches the bridge of her nose as she continues, “If I’m going to be the one making you do these things, I need to know what you’re comfortable with. None of this is worth humiliating or hurting you.”
“If I don’t like it, I’ll tell you to stop.”
She sets the paper back down. “That reminds me—we need a safe word.
“I can’t just say stop?”
“No,” she replies. “Well, technically yes, you can, but in some scenarios, that’s not enough, so the safe word is necessary.”
“Okay…” I say. Reaching down, I scratch the giant gray dog nudging my leg for attention, and he jumps up, putting his massive paws on the counter, nearly matching me in height. “How about Ringo?”
“Absolutely not. We are not using my dog’s name as our safe word. Ringo, down!” she snaps, and the dog immediately obeys, dropping down to the floor. I continue to scratch his head when I look up at Maggie. She’s wearing an uneasy expression. “Mercy.”