Page 95 of What About Love

She glanced up at him, eyes wide.

“There are more extreme ways to play. You saw some of that in LA. If that’s someone’s kink and no one gets harmed, then who are we to judge it?”

He was right. She saw some wild stuff, although the players seemed really into it and it didn’t bother her so much because she knew it was 100 percent consensual.

“You don’t want a slave? Someone to greet you at the door naked except for an apron and hand you your pipe and slippers?”

His lips curved up, and it wasn’t hard to see the movie playing in his mind, starring her with her naked ass in an apron. “T! Seriously? You’d want that?”

He shrugged. “A little Ozzie and Harriet roleplay would be fun once in a while, but as a staple, no. As I said, that’s not my thing. I’d go out of my mind if I had to tell a slave what to do every minute of the day, what to wear, what to eat, when to shower or pee.”

“It gets that exacting?”

“Sometimes, although most couples have a blend of real life and play. Like Cap and Megan, for instance. Their D/s relationship definitely bleeds over into their daily life. That doesn’t stop Megan from being independent, running her own business, caring for her family. And it sure hasn’t curbed her sass, has it?”

Angie laughed. “I think she pushes his buttons on purpose.”

“That is common, too. She likes what he gives her, and he has no problem pulling her over his lap and giving it to her when she goes too far.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen that more than once. So, are you like that?”

“I’ve been known to spank, if that’s what you’re asking. You experienced that for yourself.”

She squirmed, the memories of being over his knee still fresh in her mind. He went on, pretending not to notice, but she caught the twitch of his lips and knew that he had. She appreciated when he skipped a needless retelling.

“As far as how much I bleed over into every day, again, darlin’, I haven’t been in a relationship for a long time and I really didn’t come into my own as a dom until that ended, so we’ll have to figure that out together.”

She sat quietly, assimilating all he had told her. Abruptly, he pushed back his chair and got up. Walking around the table, he grabbed her hand. “Let’s go into the living room where we can be more comfortable.”

Without protest, she let him pull her up from her chair and followed along. Prepared to sit beside him on her awesome high-back, roll-arm, leather and tapestry couch she’d found at an estate sale, she squeaked in alarm when he lifted her astride his lap and pulled her down onto his thighs. His hands slid over her hips and around to her back. He applied steady pressure until their bodies rested chest to chest, lips inches apart. He took care of that oversight quickly enough by sliding a hand into her hair and cupping the back of her head, which he drew down for his kiss.

“I thought we were going to talk,” she said at the last second.

“No, I said we’d get comfortable.” His arms tightened, flattening her breasts and bullet-hard nipples against him. “But we can talk between kisses and other stuff, if you’d like.”

There was so much to say about her doubts and fears, questions about what kept holding him back from committing to a woman, any woman, but especially to her. But after their conversation over dinner, with him promising dates and “more,” she didn’t have the wherewithal to fight any longer. She tilted her head to align their lips and with his warm breath mingling with her own, all of her willpower went out the window.

“That’s funny.” Her voice was nothing more than a ragged whisper as her hands slid over his shoulders, up his neck, and into his hair.

“What’s funny, darlin’?” he whispered back.

“That I can’t think of a single thing to say.” She gave herself up to him then, melting into his seeking mouth and exploring hands, not to mention his incredibly hard muscled chest, the firm ridges of his belly, and the steely thighs that separated her own.

His hand left her hair and his mouth eased back long enough to pull her summer-weight sweater over her head. Sliding down her back, his adept fingers unhooked her bra, drawing the straps down her arms. She helped by pulling her hands free and tossing it aside. He palmed the lower curve of one breast and plumped it up, his head dipping to capture the taut point between his lips.

Angie’s hand curled around the back of his, holding it there as she pressed forward, offering his busy mouth full access as he sucked, licked, and bit lightly. When he moved to her untouched side, paying it equal time, his free hand swept down her back into her waistband.

Thank god for elastic, came to mind, as his fingers dipped inside and continued their trek downward, easily accessing the back of her panties and digging into one fleshy cheek.

Angie’s head fell back as she ground her needy pussy against the hard ridge of his jeans. Still needing more, her fingers sought his belt and worked at the buckle.

“Uh, uh, greedy girl,” he corrected as he caught her hands. “As your dom, I set the pace.”

A frisson of excitement passed between them, electrifying the air. He took her wrists and guided them behind her head.

“Lace your fingers together and keep them there until I say.”

He stared boldly, as though daring her to obey. “I’m the right kind of man, Angie. Submit to me.”

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