Page 45 of His Custody

Cut myself. That’s what she was going to say. Not even when she cut herself did he make her feel bad. Having said that in her own words, maybe she’d let him cajole her into spilling whatever she was so afraid of.

“So give it a go.”

Her green eyes evaluated him, and though he wanted to laugh at how goddamn serious she was, he wouldn’t.

“I don’t know how to explain it. You’re going to think I’m fucked-up. There’s something wrong with me.”

“I doubt it.” There was a very short list of things she could say that would appall him. And “appall” wasn’t the right word. He might not understand, but he wouldn’t be an asshole about it. He knew enough people with enough different kinks that little made him blink an eye, never mind raise an eyebrow. And hell, he was probably letting the things he knew about the world color his expectations about what she was going to say.

Just because he was a kinky bastard and a lot of the people he associated with after-hours were also kinky as fuck didn’t mean the rest of the universe was. For all he knew, she was going to say something as wild as she wanted to keep the lights on, or be on top. Give him a grapefruit blow job or some other shit she’d read about in one of her magazines.

“I want to be... I want to be... forced.”

His heart skipped a beat. Tallulah Tinker Bell had rape fantasies? He tried his damnedest to keep his expression neutral, his breath even, but fuck, she’d done it. Shocked him.

“Not like raped. That would be...” She shivered under him. “Too much. But... I told you I can’t explain it.”

The bagpipes were back, the bleating loud in his ears. Every expletive he’d ever heard in his life went racing through his mind. No way. No fucking way. He’d assumed she was vanilla and he’d wanted her worse than any woman he’d ever seen in his life anyway, but if she were a submissive? A bottom even? “Lucky” would not describe it.

“I like your hand here.” Her fingers tightened around his that snaked around her throat. “I want to be held. I want...”

He closed his grip, not tight enough to cut off any air, but nearly so and her eyes rolled back as she went limp, pliant.

“That? Do you want that, Keyne? Does that feel good?” Her head jerked.Yes, yes.He watched her for signs of distress, but she lay there, calm and still, her chest rising and falling faster than normal, but not with panic. As much as he tried to tell himself otherwise, she actually looked as serene as he’d ever seen her.

“Put your hands up by your head.”

She did and tossed under his hand. Her fingers curled into her palms and he tutted at her. “No. No fists. Be a good girl for me and relax.”

A breath hissed out of her and then back in, her hips rising in time and she made a mewl that kicked him in the head. She opened her hands and let them lie there, open to him, offering, obeying. He didn’t do anything for a moment, too busy marveling at this sylphlike creature under his hands. Her eyes fluttered open and then she opened her mouth.

The glassy look in her eyes, the softness of her face, the slack of her mouth. He recognized that look from the many partners he’d had. Push one of their buttons right, and this is the look they’d get. And Jesus did it look good on Keyne.

After all the times she’d been in tears, or blank like a grey wall, a grimace on her face when someone told her to smile—to see her like this, peaceful and content, was a delight. “There’s nothing wrong with you. I understand.”

A few fluttery blinks and a sigh. “You do?”

Hopeful but not quite believing was a start, and he’d convince her. With steady and earnest words, repeated as many times as she needed to hear them. “Yes.”

“And you still... Will you still kiss me?”

“I want to kiss you more than ever. But you’ve got to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

Oh, that word was a dangerous offer to make to a man like him, but he wouldn’t take advantage of it even if there were a hundred images of doing whatever he liked to her running through his mind.Dial it back, Andersson. If you’re going to be a pervert, be an ethical one at least.“That if I ever do anything you don’t want me to do, you’ll tell me to stop.”

“But what if...”

“What if what?”

“What if you like it?”

“If you don’t, I’m not going to like it anymore. And I’ll feel bad I made you do something you didn’t want to. So you’ll tell me, yes?”

That wasn’t precisely true. He’d love to push her boundaries, coax her into something she wasn’t sure about, see her give in, submit to him, but at the core of it, he wanted her to know no was always an option, no matter what. He’d tell her early and often.

“Yes.”

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