Page 35 of Sins and Secrets

He crosses his arms, shoulders straight, eyes narrow. “Do I have permission for vaginal digital penetration?”

What? His words hit me like jumping into an icy pond. “That sounds awfully clinical. And weird.” I frown at him, partly in confusion, but mostly I’m disappointed he ruined the moment.

His lips press into a straight line and he leans in without breaking eye contact, enunciating every word, devoid of emotion. “Can I finger your pussy?”

“Well, that’s jarring.” The rational part of me knows I should be offended, and recognize his words as off-putting. But there’s a larger, more curious side that finds this whole interaction arousing. Even still, it’s empty talk, no action. And I’m tired of words. “Maybe we don’t need this much communication.”

He frowns, stepping away and creating an icy space between us.

Oh, I don’t like that at all. I swallow. “If I don’t agree to it now, are you not going to do it later?” He blinks at me, like I already know the answer. I don’t recognize the quiet sound squeaking out of my lips. “Um, yes you can.”

One question screams in my head, but I'm too embarrassed to ask it. My eyes drop to the floor.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and I’m pretty sure he can read my mind.

Quick, think of something ridiculous, a bear playing poker in a tutu. Nope, he’s not smiling. Definitely not telepathy. Bummer.

He leans back and I hate the loss of his proximity. “Do you have a concern?”

“Why are you asking me all these questions?” My cheeks burn as I confess, “I’ve never had a conversation like this. Normally stuff just… happens.”

“And have you always enjoyed it? Were your needs met?” He asks with no emotion, no room for judgment. I can see it in his eyes, he already knows the answer.

I recall my adult interactions with partners and shake my head. I don’t need to say the words, and admitting it feels impossible. Is it my fault someone can’t get me off? Am I broken? “Is it my fault? Is it because I don’t like talking about it?”

His face falls and he exhales. “It’s not your fault.” He rubs his chin, staring off into the distance for a second. “What can we do to make it easier to talk about?”

And just like that. I’ve gone and ruined the moment. Way to go, Waverly. “What if we use code words?”

“You’re such a good problem solver.” His compliment warms my soul. “I know a lot of people use colors, green means you’re comfortable, yellow means you’re nervous and we need to slow down, and red is a hard stop.”

I frown a little. “Oh, I was thinking like different types of cows or dinosaurs, but yeah, I guess colors make more sense.” It’s just not as fun.

His index finger lifts my chin. “These are guardrails, there to keep us on track. They’re for your safety and for me to know where your limits are. I will take you to those limits, and every one of your needs will be met.” His words sound like a promise.

He’s so honest and straightforward about this. It’s both disconcerting and comforting. “I’m beginning to get on board with this whole open communication thing.”

I think.

“Are there any places you don’t like to be touched?”

This answer I come up with instantly, because Adam does it all the time and I hate it. “My feet are really ticklish, especially between my toes. I don’t like being touched there.”

He nods and says, “I won’t go anywhere near your feet. And you don’t like to be tickled?”

I squish my nose. “No.”

“Remember, if I get too close to doing something you don’t like, say ‘red’ and I’ll stop immediately. No judgment, and I won’t be disappointed in you”

Why would I be red? I’m sort of used to putting up with things. What could be so bad I would say stop? “What happens if I’m uncomfortable and I don’t say red?”

“If I hurt you, I’d never forgive myself. It would break every layer of trust we’ve built. You won’t trust me to keep you safe and I won’t trust you to know your limits. Both are terrible, and it shatters everything.” His thumb strokes my cheek as he keeps my chin locked into place. He’s my entire line of vision.

My whole world aligns at this moment. The thought of breaking his trust, my trust, hurts in a way I’ve never felt before. It is a fictional pain that could be very real.

He whispers, “I never want to hurt you,” pauses, then adds, “again.” The last word is filled with tenderness, and I know with concrete certainty he’s telling the truth.

I could die right here. He’s offering me everything I’ve ever wished for. I whisper back, “I understand.”

---