Page 82 of Heart of Stone

“I think I covered the basics. You just need to write down any requirements that you might have. See, I left you a blank space right here,” I finished all business-like, pointing to the blank lines on the paper with my pen.

“You didn’t include anything about your limitations, Krystina. That’s sort of important,” he said dryly. “My interests in the bedroom aren’t exactly mainstream. Can you think of anything that you might be opposed to?”

Blood. Pain.

I looked searchingly into his eyes, trying to find the right words to explain what I was feeling without exposing my underlying fears.

Stop it – he said that he wouldn’t hurt you. Trust him.

“Um…I don’t know. Like what?” I asked, attempting to be open-minded.

“You did the research. How about restraints –.”

“No – don’t say it!” I burst out. I was suddenly seized with overwhelming panic at the idea of actually discussing this out loud. “Write it down please. It will make it easier for me.”

He instantly appeared amused, although he didn’t actually laugh. He didn’t have to – the look on his face alone spoke volumes and told me that I was being ridiculous. I felt like a teenager trying to avoid the sex talk with a parent. It was absurd. My only rational defense was that if Ireadhis not-so-normal preferences, I would be able to keep my composure if anything surprised me.

“Okay, I’ll play this your way if it means I get to strip you out of those clothes,” he said suggestively with a wink. However, his blue eyes were alight with laughter, the truth in them cutting through his rudimentary comment, as he picked up the list again.

I should have been upset that he found the situation funny, but I wasn’t. Even his salacious remark didn’t register on my radar. I could only focus on one thing – the ball of nerves bouncing around in the pit of my stomach as I waited for him to write.

But he didn’t write. Instead, he just sat there watching me. It was maddening.

Why isn’t he writing?

“What are you waiting for?” I practically snapped. My nerves were shot.

“Can I have the pen please?”

“Oh!” I exclaimed, feeling foolish. “Yes…here. Sorry.”

I passed him the pen that I had been clutching tight in my hand. Instead of taking it from me like any ordinary person would, he used two hands to remove it slowly from my fingers, letting his touch hesitate ever so subtly over my knuckles. My heart fluttered from the intensity of that one little action.

Who knew that handing someone a pen could be so frigging erotic? I may never look at a pen the same way again.

“You’re blushing,” he said huskily, a crafty smile on his face. My hands immediately went to my face. He reached up to pull them away, and ran a finger along my jawline. A shiver raced down the length of my spine.

After a moment, he dropped his hand. The hungry look that had flashed in his eyes was now gone, and his face turned serious. He looked down at the paper in front of him.

“BDSM is all about limits, Krystina,” he said, getting back to business. “There are hard limits, and there are soft limits. It’s important that we have an understanding. For example, I won’t do anything with fire or electrical stimulation.”

“You’re joking, right?” I asked incredulously, his words immediately bringing me back down to earth.

Fire or electrical stimulation – what the fuck?

I thought my eyes might pop from their sockets. This was serious.

“No, Krystina. I’m not.” He studied me for a minute, before seeming to come to a decision. “How about I just write down the things that Iwoulddo and we can go from there. Do you want me to write down everything?”

“You might as well put it all out there, right?” I smiled meekly at him.

Soft limits, hard limits – what does it matter? It’s all Greek to me.

Alexander got to work on the list, while I sat there in anticipation, wondering about the words I would read. As I watched him write, I studied his face for any inclination to what he might be thinking. Occasionally his brow would furrow in concentration, like he was trying to remember something, but his mild expression revealed nothing.

Minutes went by, every one of them seeming like an hour. I tried not to peek at what he was writing, but after a while, my nervous energy was replaced by impatience.

How many kinky scenarios can there possibly be?

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