Rapturous. Blissful. Agonizing.
I don’t have the words to describe this to her properly. How can I explain the need to venerate his cruelty? The craving for the sweet-sharp lashes of his cane? For the unbearably soft kindnesses between? How good it feels to free-fall into darkness with someone, knowing they’ll save you and punish you for the favor all at once?
Do I really want to explain this to her? Maybe it would be better for all of us if she ran far, far away from Jasper.
Or maybe it would just be better for me.
She glances up at me at the last, and I ready for her to scold me on my language, but there’s something too assessing in her gaze, and I realize that isn’t what caught her attention.
I shift. Damn it. I get enough of those looks around here. I want her smiling again. I’m not good with the serious stuff. After today, I’ve had enough serious to last a lifetime. I feel raw, like an exposed nerve, but being with her is a sweet kind of balm.
“You sound like you speak from experience,” she says tentatively, the unasked question clear in her voice.
“Oh. Yeah, well. Yeah. I . . . do.”
Smooth, motherfucker. Smooth as asphalt. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not sixteen anymore. I know how to talk about sex.
“With Jasper, even,” I add thoughtlessly.
Her mouth drops open and her eyes widen. Not in disgust, I note, even as I continue to swear at myself for being a fucking idiot. More like curiosity.
“So you’re . . . bisexual?”
Aw hell. It’s way too early to be having this conversation.
“Well, yeah. But not like that. Not with Jasper, anyway. I mean, he doesn’t— We don’t—” I stop, then start laughing at myself. This is ridiculous. How am I even having this conversation after today? I have to laugh or this is going to turn into some kind of rom-com where she ends up stroking my hair, and I tearfully confess my soul to her. I scrub a hand over my face and give her a rueful look. “I think your tongue-tied disease is catching, woman.”
I take a breath and start again. It’s not the right explanation, but it’s all I can work up right now. “Yes, I enjoy pain and being dominated. I also enjoy dominating, sometimes. I switch, depending on my mood and who I’m with.”
Although, now I think of it, the thought of dominating anyone—even with gorgeous and clearly submissive Eden laid out on a platter—somehow doesn’t seem so appealing as it once did. Not that the attraction isn’t there, because it is. I haven’t been this attracted to anyone since, well, since Jasper. But I would much rather both of us be under him, at his mercy, than have her at mine.
But that might be a bit much to cover on a first date.
“I don’t enjoy giving pain. Yes, I’m bi. No, I haven’t had sex with any of the guys. As far as I know, the others are at least mostly straight.”
I think of the way Jasper pinned me today. The way he looked at my lips.
What he asked of me.
To be fair, he’s never exactly said that he was straight. . . I just assumed because he was married to Soomin, and because he’s never tried to take pleasure with me, even while he had me spread and naked and begging beneath him. I mean, I know he gets worked up—it’s impossible to miss his arousal during our scenes—but I always put that down to his kink rather than me.
More of a “whipping subbies until their sobs soothe my cranky temper” boner than a “Lucky is my one true love and I’d give anything to brand his soul with mine” hard-on.
Heart-on?
I wish I gave him a heart-on.
I shrug it off for now. Plenty of time to torture myself some more over that later.
“Yes, I have bottomed for Jasper before when he needed a release. We don’t have sex”—I push one of the books open, and the hard cover hits the table with more force than I intended. I think of how Jasper was looking at her when I walked in, and how she stared up at him. His perfect, submissive thing. The two of them heart-twistingly beautiful together—“and we . . . we aren’t interested in each other that way.”
The lie tastes like ash on my tongue.
I shrug like it means nothing. “But he’s a sadist, and he occasionally needs to work out his shit on someone who likes to take it. Which I do. So, you know.” I want to knock my face into a wall at how I sound, and yet I can’t stop my dumb mouth from adding weakly, “It makes sense.”
My emotions were just splattered around the room like a toddler throwing mashed peas, but sure, it makes sense. No one usually lets me talk for this long. Apparently it’s because the longer I talk, the more I let the stupid out.
She’s staring at me, but I can’t for the life of me tell what she’s thinking. All in, balls out, though, I guess.
“Anyway, my point is that Jasper knows what he’s doing. He won’t push you beyond what you can take, and the two of you will set out your boundaries before he even touches you.”
The thought makes me sick. And hard.
If only I had a psychologist to help work this shit out . . .
Idiot.
Her eyes narrow. “Then what was that before about teaching me a lesson? It sounded to me as though he was willing to punish me if I don’t do as he says. What exactly would have happened if I had turned down his chess game?”
Damn, I like it when she gets all snippy—though I know enough about women not to say so.
“If I had to guess, he wanted to turn you over his knee and spank your ass until you agreed to do what he wanted.” I snort.
“Though I think he’s regretting that hard-ass approach right about now. Jasper won’t touch you, not without your permission.
He’ll set out the rules before he punishes you for breaking them.”
I watch her face as I talk about Jasper spanking her. Her color is high and, despite the pursed displeasure of her full lips, the hollow in one cheek makes me think she must be biting it.
So, not quite as against the idea as she’s saying.
“As for the obedience thing—and I really hate to say it since you’re making that face at me—but it’s kind of a given with these guys. Dom, Beau, and Jasper are all gonna be pulling that card, so you probably should prepare for that. I mean, Jayk too, I guess, but he’s got more of that caveman clobber-you-over-the-head style.”
“Don’t speak about him like that,” she says absently.
My brows fly up, though she isn’t looking.
Right. Okay. Go Jayk, I guess.
Then she sighs, looking exhausted. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, huh? I’ll just take it as it comes.”
I shove my tongue into my cheek to stop myself from making a crack about her word choice, then grab her hand and tug.
When she finally looks up at me, a new wariness in her eyes, I wink at her.
“Come on, we have some strength training to do.”
Ignoring her spluttering, I drag her out and down to the music room where I set everything up and shut the door behind us.
“Lucky, I don’t want to work out. Why are you making me work out? What are you— Oh.”
A Twister mat in a six by four grid of red, blue, green, and yellow circles is laid out on the floor, and a pitcher of my famous orange monkey master mix is perched on the table. Eden is staring at the mat in horrified bemusement. I snicker, and she blushes.