Always (Follow Me #6)

Chapter Forty-Three

She nodded.

“No, tell me in words.”

“Yes, I agree to all that.”

“All what?”

“I’ll call you sir, and my safe word is black.”

“And you’ll do what I want.”

“God, yes,” she said breathlessly. “I’ll do whatever you want. Sir.”

My cock was hard inside my jeans. “I’m going to take a shower. I’m a mess.”

“I think you look great,” she said. “All dirty after a day of hard work. Work that gives you those amazing muscles.”

“Are you saying you don’t want me to take a shower?”

“No,” she said. “I want you just as you are. You’re so hot.”

I walked toward her, intentionally not touching her. “Honey, this isn’t about what you want.” I walked to my bathroom, stripped off my clothes, and got under the pelting water.

I scrubbed my body clean with lukewarm water, wondering what I’d find once I was done. Most likely, she’d realize what she’d gotten into and turn tail and run. That’d be okay. I’d jack off and be done with it. Not like I’d never done that before. It was most of the sex I had these days.

I stepped out of the shower, dried my hair and body, and then wrapped a towel around my waist.

Here goes nothing. I opened the door and walked out into the living area.

I’d gone over in my mind what I might find. Most likely she’d be gone. If not, she might have gone into the small kitchen area and gotten a couple beers out of the fridge. Maybe some bourbon. Maybe just some ice water. That sounded great right about now.

Or maybe she’d have discarded her trench coat and be lying spread-eagle on my bed.

Those were the things I expected. Not what I got.

Addison was kneeling by my bed. Kneeling.

This woman knew something about submission. More than I knew at this point.

And I was more than slightly turned on. I walked to her. “What’s going on here?”

“May I look you in the eye, sir?”

She asked permission to look me in the eye? This was what she wanted? What she thought I wanted?

Fine. I’d give it a try. It was kinky. What the hell? “You may.”

She raised her head, meeting my gaze with her neck bent backward. “What can I do to please you?”

“Bring me your flogger and then get on the bed.”

She walked to her trench coat, got the flogger out of the pocket, and then sat down on the bed. She held the flogger out to me as if in offering.

Okay, I could live with this.

“This is a two-way street,” I said to her. “I’m going to tell you what I want to do, and you have the choice to say no.”

“I’ve already consented. I don’t want that choice.”

“I think I’ve told you before. This isn’t about what you want.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. “But I want what you want.”

“You may think that. I’m giving you the choice. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. We understand each other. I will ask you each time we do something new whether I have your consent, and I want it verbally. No headshakes or nods, got it? I need a verbal yes or a verbal no.”

“I understand, sir. But it will always be yes.”

She certainly had a one-track mind. Great. Whatever. I’d see soon enough how far she was willing to go. I had wanted to experiment with some BDSM for a while now, but finding a willing partner had been an issue.

Now, one had walked right into my life. A fucking hotel heiress, for God’s sake. But she was legal, so what the hell?

In the back of my mind, something nudged at my neck. That what I was about to do might be a huge mistake.

But I was erect, and a woman was on her knees in front of me.

I ignored the voice of my conscience. It was the last time I’d do so.

…

“Really?” Skye asks. “You knew you shouldn’t be doing it?”

I nod. “It wasn’t that I thought we were going to do anything wrong. You know my tastes. You share them. But I was inexperienced, and I was about to embark on something dark with someone I knew nothing about. She seemed to know much more about me than I did about her.”

“It does seem unlike you.”

“It does. Now. Then? I can’t really tell you. I was young and horny, and she was offering.”

She scoffs. “Men are pigs.”

I chuckle. “I suppose I should be offended by that.”

“And you’re not?”

I shake my head. “I’m not. Men—especially young men—have the habit of thinking with the wrong head.”

“You don’t do that.”

“No, I don’t. Not anymore.”

Not since that time in my life.

“Go on,” she says.