“What are your limits, Melinda?”
“My limits?” Slowly, my mind catches up with the reality of what we’re doing here, and I realize what’s going on. Ian is clearly into some kink that I don’t know much about. I’ve heard bits here and there but nothing worth noting. He asked for my limits, so I try to think about what I definitely don’t want him doing to me.
“My backdoor is a no entry zone,” I say.
“What else?”
I fumble over the words but finally get out what I need to say. The anal play thing isn’t a firm no, as in never ever, but this next one is something I absolutely can’t deal with.
“I can’t,” I say with a shaky voice and have to pause. “My mouth. I can’t . . . put . . .”
He nods his head and narrows his eyes in contemplation.
“You don’t have to finish that sentence. I know what you’re trying to say.”
Of course he would know. He heard everything they did to me, not just from the hospital staff when they pushed me to describe my assault, but firsthand over the phone while it was happening. I hate that he heard that. I hate that he even knows about it much less had to suffer through listening to my cries.
“Restraints?” he asks. He’s only wearing his boxers now, and he stands on the side of the bed with his eyes on the floor beside him.
“Restraints are fine.”
“If you dislike what I’m doing or you’re uncomfortable with the level of play, say yellow.”
“Okay.”
This isn’t how I pictured this happening. I kind of thought I would take my shirt off and he would lean over and kiss me and we would get busy the normal way. Even though I’m nervous and out of my element, I can’t deny how hot this conversation is. When he asks about restraints and limits, my mind wanders to all the things I’m trying to imagine he could do to me. This is what I want, so it doesn’t really matter what he wants to do to me. I just want this experience with him, to be as close as we can be. Maybe afterwards he’ll see how good we can be together and he’ll let this happen. I know better than to assume that having sex with a man will lead to a commitment, but this is Ian, and I can’t imagine sex won’t mean anything with us.
“Stand in the corner, facing the wall,” he says and walks into the walk-in closet. I do as I’m told and wait for him to come to me. My nerves are shot by the time I feel him behind me, his breath hot on my neck.
“I’ve never played with a virgin before, so I’m going to go easy on you. As I try things out, I want you to tell me how you feel about what I’m doing to you. What are your colors?”
He must mean a kink virgin, because he knows all too well that I’m not really a virgin. The reminder of my damage almost ruins the moment for me, but I push through, refusing to screw this up for the both of us.
“Red or bayonet means stop, yellow means I’m uncomfortable, green means I like it, and purple means I want more.”
He leans in and whispers, “This isn’t part of the scene, Melinda. I’m warning you that you do not want to say purple. Try to just enjoy the experience.”
A shiver runs up my spine at his nearness. I nod my head in understanding, but in true Ian fashion, he demands a verbal acknowledgment. “Your words, Melinda.”
“I understand,” I say, even though I don’t, but am terribly tempted to push the whole purple boundary he’s got going on.
“Until the scene is over, you refer to me as Sir, and I’ll refer to you as Melinda. Do you understand, Melinda?”
“Yes, Sir,” I say and try to fight the smile that’s lifting the corners of my mouth. My body hums with excitement, but it’s my heart that’s really getting the work out. Submitting to Ian is setting something off in me. I’ve never felt more cherished and cared for. We haven’t even done anything yet, but it feels like we’ve done a whole lot. I want to give this to him—my submission—because I know he’s going to value it. I can show him that I belong in his world, not just in the club but here in his bed as well. I can show him that this doesn’t scare me and that I’m ready to surrender myself to his demands.
“Good girl. Who do you belong to, Melinda?”
“You,” I stutter out. My breath catches, and I mentally kick myself for not answering him correctly. I open my mouth to correct my mistake when he slaps my ass cheek lightly.
“Every time I touch you, I want you to give me your color. Do not call me Sir when you do so.”
He slaps my ass again, this time a little harder.
“Green,” I say breathily.
His hand at my ass gently rubs my cheek. The soft touch spikes something in the pit of my belly, and my hands shake at my sides. I find myself practically yelling as I say, “Yellow!”