Page 53 of The Crimson Lily
“I just do what I feel like,” he declares.
A sudden thought crosses my mind, one that pinches me in the stomach. Many other women like what I like. How many has Maksim encountered before? That pinch morphs into a cut. If there are so many other women like me, how many of them does Maksim have in his life? I mean, we never defined what we are. We never agreed on anything regarding exclusivity. The insecurities are back. That ache is back, the anxiety from the actual question I wanted to ask in the first place. I thought the answer was clear. Now, I’m just troubled and scared. I bite my lip nervously, too afraid to say anything.
He sighs and crosses his arms behind his head. His muscles glow like they want to scratch their way out of his white shirt. “What do you want to ask me,zaya?”
I have to reply with something concrete that won’t make me sound like a paranoid, hopeless romantic. I swallow the lump in my throat, ready to read some of the words in the forum post. That’s easier than saying anything else.
“The Dominant must establish a line of trust with the Submissive through clear communication. The Submissive’s confidence must be earned. Hearing that the Dominant values and appreciates the Submissive helps her relax. It incites her to please him, and when she pleases him, the Dominant must reward her. The Submissive must trust that her Dominant will always be there to protect her.”
I check for a reaction from Maksim. Nothing—he just stares at the ceiling. I doubt for a minute if he even listened. I have to keep reading so I won’t get those toxic ideas of Maksim with other women spinning round and round in my head.
“One form of punishment is the use of reflective listening. The Submissive must repeat a rule that was broken. Hey!” I exclaim. “You did that in Paris, remember? When I slept next to you…” No reaction. I shrug as best as I can while lying down and keep on reading. “Any form of corporal punishment must be succeeded by a session of aftercare, which is crucial for the well-being of the Submissive. This is a way to remind her that she is…” I hesitate right there. “…loved by the Dominant, and that she is worth everything he has to give.” My voice has disappeared.
He doesn’t respond to anything I say. Is he even listening? I let the silence settle in. I want him to say something before I get that insecure panic attack again. I’m already feeling my heart race. But then, it hits me. I remember Maksim responds almost solely to direct questions.
I ask the first one that stands in line. “Are there other women?”
I immediately regret asking that.
“No,” he replies, stern and emotionless, as usual.
Stupid Liliana. Of course there aren’t! He always comes back with presents and always gives you the night of your life. How can there be anyone else?
I grow more and more curious though, eager to find out what Maksim’s experiences have been in the world of dominance and bondage. The idea intrigues me, and to be honest, just thinking about it right now arouses me. I really have to ask.
“So…what were your experiences like before?”
I’m pursing my lips when his eyes meet mine. I can recognize that silver spark from miles away by now.
He sighs, ending his exhale in a little growl. “It wasn’t for me.”
Wait, what? I thought…All I read on that wonderful forum, the testimonies from both dominant men and submissive women, it all sounded exactly like what Maksim does to me.
“But you like it!” I retort.
He shakes his head. He really is sincere. BDSM isn’t his thing.
“When you hurt me, it’s like you possess me.” I have to explain where my assumption came from. “I feel a connection with you I’ve never felt before. It makes me want to submit to you and?—”
I can’t say more. I’ve said enough. Maksim has already caged me in his arms and taken my lips. He plunges his blue gaze deep into mine and steals another kiss before speaking again.
“BDSM is not just about pain,” he schools. He’s been listening to my speech, after all. “It’s not just about hurting you and you enjoying it. It’s not just about you surrendering to me. It’s primarily about setting boundaries that are not to be crossed, and that’s my problem with it.”
I raise an eyebrow, a little confused. Hearing these words in his husky voice does arouse me even more, but I’m still puzzled. I never felt like Maksim crossed any boundaries with me.
“I do what I feel like, so I’m not good with boundaries,” he states, more than convinced of his words.
I sink a little deeper into the bed, beneath his embrace. My eyes soften, and I lower the blanket over me so he can peek into my cleavage. I notice how hard he tries not to look. It seems as if he wants to have his attention focused on our conversation.
“Are you afraid to lose control?” I challenge with a sly murmur, letting go of the blanket and brushing my fingers against my breast, still covered by the thin cotton of my oversized T-shirt. I want him to look. I want him to lose control. This entire conversation has ignited a craving spark in me.
He doesn’t do what I want him to do. Instead, he pulls back and comes to sit beside me. He looks a little…concerned, with his mouth half-open and a tiny frown.
“How much do you think I hurt you, Liliana?” he queries.
I’m not sure what kind of tone that is. What kind of answer he expects.
I curl my eyebrows to match his frown. “Well,” I begin, “you do hurt me, but it’s notthatbad. I mean…I can take it!”
