Page 90 of Deacon

“Come sit in my lap,” I say.

There’s no room for disobedience in my voice. She hears it and crawls naked up the bed to straddle me. I touch her curls falling over her naked breasts. She’s the prettiest thing, and I’m on my knees for it.

“Let’s talk,” I say.

“About what you just did?” Her brows arch.

“I’m into some kinky shit,” I say. “It’s not bad shit, not if you do it right.”

She bites her lip, chewing hard on it.

“Okay,” she says finally.

She isn’t rejecting me outright, but it’s impossible to read her face. Her pale blue eyes are soft, narrowed on me like she’s trying to figure me out.

“I’m going to lay some things out for you,” I say. We’re in the territory where my background in BDSM is a strength. “I want you to understand what I want from you. Then, we’ll talk about what you’re willing to give and what you want to give.”

She stays perfectly still, blinking, watching me like a wary deer.

“I want you to stay with me. You don’t have to decide what this is, what we are, but stay,” I say. “We’ll have a contract you can get out of if you choose. It’ll outline how you want to be treated. Your needs, my needs, and we’ll work through those differences.”

She wets her lips. “Like a kink contract?”

I’m impressed that she knows what I’m talking about. “Just like that.”

“So you can tie me up?” she says.

“So I can care for you,” I say firmly. “So both of our needs are met.”

“And you need to tie me up.”

“I’d like to.”

“Is it negotiable?”

“I’m happy to negotiate.”

She’s quiet for a long time. Then, she sits up straight and folds her hands in her lap. “Alright, explain.”

Before now, I would have walked away from anyone who didn’t want this as badly as I do. I never engaged in anything but vanilla sex with women who hadn’t signed a contract.

But with Freya, nothing is simple. Everything has a hundred different layers, and I’m clearly willing to do things I didn’t think I was capable of to make her mine.

“I’d like to have you as my submissive,” I say, as if this is just another negotiation and not a conversation I’ve turned over and over in my head for months.

She purses her lips. “Why?”

“Because I want you,” I say. “And I want you like that.”

“How?”

She’s so forceful in her curiosity. I take a drag from my cigarette.

“I want to care for you. I want you to belong to me,” I say. “That’s what I meant by what I said last night. Give me everything, and I’ll keep you safe.”

Her lids lower as she digs at her thumbnail. “So you’d be in control?”

I nod. “It’s more complex than that, but yes.”

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