Page 16 of Playing with Fire

"I've been thinking," he said, pulling the shirt over his head, "about last night."

"Oh?" I tried to sound casual, but my heart hammered against my ribs. "What about it?"

He stepped closer. "I told you I'd figure out how to make this work. For both of us."

"And have you? Figured it out?" The questions came out bolder than I felt, testing boundaries I'd never dared push before.

"Getting there." His fingers brushed my cheek, feather-light but deliberate. "I realized something this morning. When I woke up with you."

"What's that?" My voice came out embarrassingly breathless.

"I liked it." The simple admission carried weight I couldn't fully quantify. "Having you there. In my space. In my bed." His eyes darkened as his hand dropped to my throat, thumb pressing gently against my pulse point. "And I liked making you come."

I swallowed hard against his palm. "I thought that might be just... I don't know, tactical? To snap me out of a panic attack?"

Something like frustration flashed across his face. "Is that what you think? That I'd use sex as a... a tool?"

"You use everything as a tool," I pointed out, even as his fingers tightened slightly on my throat. "You're the most strategic person I know."

“This is different." He searched my face, clearly struggling to articulate something. "I'm still figuring this out, Leo. What I feel. What I want. But I know I want you. Not just as my friend."

"I thought you were sure of everything," I said quietly. "You're always so certain."

"Not about this." His hand moved from my throat to cup my face. "I've never wanted someone the way I want you."

"And how's that?"

He was quiet for a long time. "Last night changed something for me. When I woke up this morning with you in my arms, I wanted to touch you. Not just to hold you, but to feel you against me. To make you come again. That's never happened before. But with you..." He paused, searching for words. "It felt different. I want things… in a way that’s unfamiliar to me."

"What does that mean for you?" I asked, barely breathing.

"It means I don't know what I am anymore." He shook his head, frustration evident in the tight line of his mouth. "All this time I've been so certain about being ace, about not experiencing sexual attraction. But maybe..." He looked at me, really looked at me, his eyes searching mine. "Maybe I just needed the right connection first. The right person."

"That sounds like demisexuality," I suggested carefully.

"Maybe." He shrugged, the gesture containing more uncertainty than I'd ever seen from him. "Or maybe it's just you. Maybe you're the exception to every rule I thought defined me."

He sat next to me on the bed, close enough that our thighs pressed together, and reached out to brush his thumb along my jaw. The gesture wasn't playful but exploratory, like he was testing his own reactions as much as mine.

"I've also been thinking about other ways we might explore what this is." His grip tightened just slightly, enough to make my breath catch.

My pulse raced beneath his thumb. "Oh?"

"How do you feel about BDSM?"

The unexpected directness of the question made me blink. "I... what?"

His fingers remained on my throat, thumb tracking my pulse. "Bondage. Domination. Sadism. Masochism." He spoke each word deliberately, watching my reactions. "It's one area where I've always felt... connected. Present. Even without conventional sexual attraction."

"Oh." I swallowed hard against his palm. "I don't have much experience with it."

"But you're not opposed?"

"No," I admitted, heat rushing to my face. "I'm not opposed at all."

A slight curve touched his lips, not quite a smile, but something equally dangerous. He stood and stretched. "God, I’m starving. You hungry?"

“I…Yeah. I could eat.”

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