Page 72 of Wicked Sin

“Humiliation kink is…whatever you would want it to be.” My mind races, trying to layer this in a way that doesn’t assume what she might like—or not—and pass any judgment, but also not one that drops a too-much-information bomb on her either. This was not the middle of the night conversation I planned to have. “Kink is a power exchange, right? All sex is, really, but a lot of vanilla sex is an equal power exchange. An agreement to share the power in a relationship. So if you wanted to be humiliated, or degraded, that would be power you’d freely give to a partner. And they would cherish that power and use it for your pleasure. If being called names was your pleasure, for example.”

“No.” She sucks in a wobbly breath. “No, I don’t think that’s it.”

“That’s okay. Think about it. That’s not my kink, either.”

Her voice drops to a whisper, but I don’t miss a word of what she says next. “I’ve been called a lot of names over the years.”

Rage rises fast and swift inside me. “And you didn’t like them.”

“No.”

“How do you feel when I call you princess?” I find and hold her gaze. Whatever her answer is here, it’s okay. I repeat that out loud. “If I’ve hurt you with that, I’m sorry.”

She smiles slightly. “I like it. It’s…hard to explain.”

“Sure. I get that.”

“What do you like?” She licks her lips, then takes another drink. “Wait, can we get refills before you answer that?”

If she needs liquid courage for this conversation, I’m probably dragging her in way over her head. But I’m not going to touch her tonight, not more than a hug and a kiss goodnight when all is said and done.

So I go and get the bottle of Jack, and a bowl of ice cubes so we can refill from the coffee table beside us.

Grabbing the bottle, she tops up her own drink, then wiggles it at me. “More?”

I hold out my glass. “Bring it on.”

She smiles. “Only if you tell me what you like.”

“I like you. I liked last night.”

“You made me stop.” She pouts.

I wait until she pours my drink, then I put my glass down, lean in, and gently pinch her lower lip between her thumb and forefinger. “I like this lip,” I growl. “And I would like it if you would listen to me.”

Her eyes flare wide, then she pulls back and laughs.

Laughs.

And I fucking like that, too.

“Is that why you called me a brat?”

“Maybe on some level.”

She chews on her bottom lip. “Tell me more.”

“I like being aggressive. Consensually so. I like being pushed, and I like to push back. It feels like fire in my veins. I love the little sounds you made when things got rough. I’d like to play with those limits and see where you get the most pleasure.”

“I don’t know how I feel about all of that. I’ve spent a few years trying my damnedest to be healthy and not indulge in my worst instincts. No offense.”

“None taken. If you just want to have hot vanilla sex, without doing a deep dive into secret dirty desires, that’s okay, too. But I’ll keep some clear boundaries up when I feel like we’re getting into fuzzy areas where consent and conversation really matter.” I grin. “Which honestly should be all of it, but sometimes my dick thinks for me. I’m human.”

“Aren’t we all.” She swirls her drink around in her glass, then drains it in one big, must-definitely-burn kind of gulp. “So is that what you want? To be more aggressive with me? To pin me down and hurt me?”

24

Taylor

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