Page 23 of Ward

“You’re too young to be practicing BDSM,” I say.

“I’m almost eighteen.”

“Almost eighteen isn’t eighteen,” I tell her. “Even if you were old enough, I would be the wrong person to train you.”

“You’re the perfect person.” She moves toward me. “You’re patient and understanding, and you don’t lose your temper over little things. You seem like you’ve been doing this a long time.”

“Longer than you’ve been alive.”

“See? That's exactly what I mean.” Grace smiles, unmoved by my not-so-subtle reference to our age difference. “I trust you, Aidan. I can’t imagine trusting anyone as much as I trust you, especially now that I know this is what you’re into.”

“How does knowing that I enjoy hurting people make me more trustworthy in your estimation?”

“Because you only hurt people who want to be hurt,” she says.

“And you’re telling me you want me to hurt you?” I study her closely. Her arousal is painted all over her face. In her dilated pupils and the way her lips float apart from each other as she considers her response.

She presses a trembling hand to the center of my chest.

“I want you to do whatever you want to me.”

My internal temperature surges.

Grace doesn’t just want me to flog and cane her, though those acts would be criminal. She wants me to do all of those things, and then fuck her.

The thought rouses a hunger inside me I thought I'd starved to death.

Sex and kink couldn’t live further apart from each other in my mind. I don’t even get hard during scenes anymore. But watching as Grace sinks her knees into the carpet, feeling her spun-gold hair brush the tops of my feet, my cock can’t help but stiffen.

“Please,” she says, her breath warming my toes.

The only acceptable answer is no. Hell no. So why can’t I say it?

“Get up, Grace.” I slide my hands into the pockets of my sweat pants, pinning my mounting erection down in a way that I hope she won’t notice as she sits back on her heels.

She regards me with eyes that shimmer in the lamplight, her fingers flexing on her thighs. Desperation looks better on her than it has any right to. I knew she’d be even more beautiful on her knees, but I didn’t realize how much I’ve been longing to see her like that.

And I fucking hate myself for it. Grace is seventeen. She needs care and support, not bondage and beatings. But the desire to see what she’d look like strapped to my dungeon bed is slipping through the cracks in my composure.

I need to get out of this room, away from temptation. I can’t think straight while blood’s filling up my dick so close to Grace’s face.

“Come to my office after breakfast tomorrow,” I tell her. “We’ll resume this discussion then.”

“Are you saying you’ll think about it?” Her eyes widen. She wasn’t expecting me to entertain the notion, yet she broached the subject anyway. I’d admire her gumption if it didn’t scare the living hell out of me.

“I’m saying we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“Okay.” She’s trying to hide her excitement, but it’s like a presence in the room.

The sadist in me can’t resist poking it.

“The correct response is, yes, Sir.”

She gasps, and the look on her face makes me want to slide my thumb between her teeth.

“Right,” she says. “I mean, right, Sir.”

I go to leave, pausing when I’m halfway out the door.

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