Page 53 of A Good Girl's Guide to Dominance
His eyes drop to the table and he clears his throat as apprehension crawls up his neck, stiffening his posture.
“I really don't want to talk about my past relationships,” he says. “Just know that the person you see before you is the real me. I'm not putting on an act of any kind. This is who I am. I like to cook and I have a bit of OCD. I need everything to be clean and kept in its designated place or I feel a strong lack of control that bothers me to no end.”
“So you're a control freak?”
“Absolutely,” he answers quickly. “I think that’s one of the qualities that makes me a good Dom.”
I nod. “Touchè.”
“What about you?” he asks, covering his mouth with his hand while he chews. “You're so focused on how I became the person I am, but you're not exactly a walking mess either. I'm about as picky as it gets, and I knew from the first moment I saw you that you would be my undoing. There's an aura about you that pulled me in, and I was hoping your personality would rub me the wrong way, but it locked me in chains instead. Every time we spoke at the office, it was like you put more locks on the trap that ensnared me, making it so that I couldn't get away from my desire for you. So, how do you explain that? Is your mother an incredible woman, too?”
I let out a long sigh as his words weave their way through me like a magic spell, heightening my senses and lowering my inhibitions. The good food and wine doesn't hurt either, but the way he stares has me in a chokehold, and I don't even want to fight my way free.
“I don't know how you expect me to answer that,” I reply. “You can't go dishing out compliments like that and expect me to act like you didn't.”
“I have no expectations. I just want to know about you.”
After a sigh, I say, “Okay. Well then, yes, my mom is awesome. She is just as strong-minded as I am and always pushed for me to be the same way. She is where I get all of my mental fortitude and strength, and my father is where I get all of my drive. I honestly don't think I get my submissiveness from either of them, if I'm being honest.”
“So your parents don't have a D/s dynamic?”
I laugh aloud. “No way. My mom would never say that she has submitted to a man, or anyone else for that matter. This is just a part of who I am, the same way being a Dom is who you are. It’s funny because it’s natural for me to feel submissive, but I always want it to be earned. It’s not something I am ever willing to just give away for free. Once it’s earned, I'm at my happiest.”
“How important is it to you that you're in a D/s dynamic?” he asks, continuing to eat his food as if we’re not talking about deep, explicit parts of our lives.
“It’s instrumental,” I answer, pushing my fork into my mouth. I cover half my face with my free hand so that I can continue explaining. “Once you've experienced BDSM in real life, I don't think there is any going back. I've seen how good it can be, and my kinks and fetishes have only grown the older I've gotten. I'm not going backward for anyone.”
“I agree,” he says after swallowing another bite. “While I know that this lifestyle isn't for everyone, I feel like there is no other way for me to exist. Being a Dom isn't like putting my shoes on at the start of the day just to remove them at the end. It’s in my blood, still coursing through me even when I'm asleep. I've always made it clear to anyone I was dating that you don't get me without BDSM. Even though I was always open to taking it as slow as my partner may have needed, meeting me here was always a requirement.”
“Have you broken up with someone over them not being interested in BDSM?”
“Absolutely,” he replies with no hesitation or regret. “I won’t have a vanilla life the same way I won't have a life filled with racism or misogyny. Some things are non-negotiable.”
“I agree one hundred percent.”
“Good,” he says with a nod as he lifts his wine glass. “How about other non-negotiable things? What are your hard limits?”
I finish my entire glass of wine and refill it as I start to reply. “It’s like I told you before, I'm okay with just about anything that doesn't involve blood, urine, feces, or anal. I'm willing to try anything but those.”
“Anything?”
“Just about. I'm very open-minded—fond of paddles, floggers, and riding crops at equal levels. In love with praise just as much as degradation. In fact, I might even love degradation more.”
“Oh. Interesting. How about CNC?”
My eyes widen. “I've never done that before, but it sounds like tons of fun under the right circumstances—meaning everything being laid out beforehand so that I'm not caught off guard.”
“I see,” he says as if making a mental note. “Do you have any soft limits—things that you're curious about trying but aren't sure about yet?”
“I think I've tried everything I'm interested in. I've even done electroshock. At this point I'm only left with hard limits, and I don't budge on those.”
“As you shouldn't,” he says with a raised eyebrow.
“How about you?” I ask. “Any hard limits?”
Rome’s eyes shift up and to the side as he thinks, and I wonder if it’s his expression or the wine in my belly that makes it so cute.
“I think we’re the same … mostly,” he answers.
