“You say that now when you’re wildly in love with me. What happens if that changes? If you’re so turned off by me that you don’t love me anymore?”
“Flynn… I’m not Valerie. Even if everything were to go bad, and I can’t see that happening, I will never speak of our private life to anyone.”
“What about when I scare you so badly you feel like you don’t know me at all?”
“Even then.” She tips her head adorably. “You want me to sign something to that effect?”
“No.”
“Then how can I make you believe you can trust me with everything? Every single part of you?”
The same sweetness that has slayed me from the beginning brings me to my knees once again. I’m helpless to resist her, even when she’s asking me for things I never intended to give her. I recognize defeat when I’m staring into its sweet face.
“In my dream,” I begin haltingly, wishing for more liquid courage, “you’re not a rape survivor.”
“In my dreams, I’m not either.”
“Nat…”
“It’s okay,” she says with a wry smile. She takes me by the hand and brings me to sit next to her on the sofa, wrapping a cashmere throw around us.
I’d prefer to stand and pace the room for this conversation, but she’s craving the closeness, so I give her what she needs.
“We’re at Club Quantum in New York.”
“There’s a club?”
“Yeah,” I say with a sigh, “here and in LA. In the basement of our office buildings.”
“So… all of you…”
“Yes, and that’s the part you can never talk about.”
“I swear to God, on the lives of my sisters, I never would.”
Because I know there’s no greater assurance she could give me, I force myself to continue. I’ve relived the dreams I had about her so many times that I know them by heart.
“In one dream, we’re going public for the first time, and you’re afraid. I like that you’re afraid. It turns me on. We’ve been working up to this moment for months, and everyone is there for your first public scene.” I want to look at her, to gauge her reaction, but I’m too afraid of what I might see. “I make you take off your robe, but you’re hesitant, shy, which is so unbearably sexy. Your hands tremble as you tug on the tie, but you do what I tell you to do because I’m in charge. You’ve ceded control of your pleasure to me. I have you sit on a table that’s in the center of a big room, and we talk about your safe word, which is still Fluff. I put your legs in stirrups and bring your bottom to the edge of the table. You ask me what I’m doing, and I tell you I’m going to shave you because I prefer you bare. We’ve talked about this before, but I haven’t told you I plan to do it tonight.”
She takes a deep breath that interrupts the cadence of my story.
I venture a glance at her and see that her cheeks are flush with color and her lips are parted. My story is turning her on, which gives me the confidence to continue. Every time I think about these dreams, I get so hard, I ache. This time is no exception.
“As I shave you, your thighs quiver and tremble. Your entire body is flushed and heated. Your * is so wet I can see and smell your arousal. I lube up my fingers and press them into your ass, preparing you to take a plug. You protest and fight me. ‘Not there,’ you say. I tell you to hush and remind you of your safe word. If you don’t want this, that’s the only way to stop it. This is the first time I’ve touched you there, and I can see that you are shocked but also aroused.”
She shifts in her seat next to me.
“Do you want me to stop?” I ask, not certain if she’s uncomfortable or shocked or what.
“Don’t you dare stop.”
Those four words fill me with an unreasonable amount of hope. She’s intrigued, interested and maybe even aroused. She’s not pushing me away or telling me I’m sick or depraved.
Fueled by hope, I continue. “You try to keep my fingers out, but I make you take them. I want you to know everything that’s possible. It’s a battle, but I’ll always win unless you stop me with the one word that ends it all. When my fingers are buried deep inside your ass, I lick your *, focusing on your clit until you’re squirming and moaning. I remind you that your orgasm belongs to me and only me. I say when, not you. You’re begging me, using my name and I also remind you of what you’re supposed to call me there.”
“What?” she asks in a hoarse whisper.
“Sir. I’m your master, and you’ll afford me the respect I deserve while we’re in a scene.”
“W-what about when we’re not in a scene? Am I supposed to call you that all the time?”
“No, sweetheart. I’m not into the whole master-and-slave thing at all. This is about sex and the emotional connection we find through sex. It’s not about the rest of our lives. I have no desire to dominate you anywhere but in the bedroom.” I smile at her. “Well, the dungeon and the club and a few other places maybe, but only in regard to sex. I have a feeling you might be capable of dominating me outside the bedroom.”
That draws a smile from her. “You never know.”
I bring our joined hands to my lips. “I can’t wait to find out.”