Chapter 19
JACK
My options, it turned out, were many.
As we ate the lasagna—which, for a frozen grocery-store lasagna, was quite good—Devon ran me through everything he intended to inflict on me this week.
He’d brought more than a few things to bruise my skin—a whip, a flogger, a paddle, and something called a dragon’s tongue.
I was both intrigued and apprehensive about what he could do with all of those.
He had a number of smaller items, too. “I think at least half of my little toy chest is things to either put in your ass or torture your cock, balls, and nipples.”
That had made me squirm, and I’d barely held back a whimper.
Devon just grinned. “They’re all fun on their own. Using a few at a time? Mmm, amazing.”
“Fucking hell,” I ground out.
He gave a wicked chuckle that made me wish he’d say “fuck dinner” and drag me into the bedroom. He’d mentioned a couple of times that we’d probably take it easy tonight—we had, after all, both traveled, and we weren’t exactly eating light. The real fun, he’d assured me, would begin tomorrow.
Though he didn’t say it out loud, the glint in his eyes told me that was part of the torment. As if he were edging me just by sitting here at the dinner table, telling me all the things he was going to do to me later but not tonight.
Jesus. He was masterful at this.
“Full disclosure,” Devon said, turning a little serious. “There are cuffs and some rope in the suitcase, but we don’t have to use them. They’re just in the same bag as all my other stuff.”
I nodded, swallowing against a sudden ball of apprehension. It faded quickly; it was just a kneejerk response to knowing those things were here. That my Sir had brought them.
“If they come out of the bag,” he said, “it’s for one of two reasons.
” He held up his hand and ticked off the two points on his fingers.
“One, because they’re in the way and I just need to move them.
Two, because you’ve explicitly told me you want to use them.
” He lowered his hand, picked up his fork, and emphatically skewered another bite of lasagna.
“As far as I’m concerned, they don’t exist otherwise. ”
“Good to know,” I croaked, and went for my water.
“I did bring condoms, too,” he said softly. “In case you change your mind.”
“Oh. Um. No, no.” I put down my glass. “I haven’t changed my mind.”
“Neither have I. But if you do, or if I do, they’re there.”
I was surprised by how much that settled my nerves. Not that I thought either of us would change our minds—we’d both had recent blood tests and we were both on PrEP—but I appreciated that he’d made sure the option was there. That he was considerate and conscientious.
“Thank you,” I said before taking another bite of lasagna. “It’s… it probably won’t be an issue, but good to know.”
There was a hint of relief in his smile, as if he’d worried I might be annoyed or think he’d done something ridiculous. Far from it.
We ate in silence for a few minutes. The condom discussion was one we’d had shortly after we’d made this arrangement.
We’d also covered pain; since we were going to get into some prolonged scenes and more-involved pain play than before, he’d wanted to know if I had any pain of the not fun variety.
Being a forty-three-year-old retired hockey player, it would’ve been shocking if I didn’t have pain.
And that, again, made me even more comfortable with him.
He was a defenseman, same as me, and though he was young, he was well-acquainted with the toll the sport took on the human body.
He knew to be careful of my left shoulder, which I’d separated about ten years ago.
He was aware of the injury that had ended my career and still made my right knee complain sometimes.
My neck didn’t give me much grief these days, but he’d assured me he’d be careful anyway, and I didn’t hesitate to take him at his word.
After a while, Devon spoke. “So, while our clothes are on and playing is off the table, we should talk about some things.”
It took some work to swallow the bite I’d taken, and I followed it with a quick sip of water. “Okay.”
“Well. For starters, do you mind telling me what happened? Like in more detail?” He watched me with soft eyes. “Why bondage is a hard limit?”
I fidgeted, dropping my gaze to my food. His question didn’t make me as nervous as when Sanjay had asked the same thing. I just hated talking about it. But if we were going to play as hard as we’d both alluded, then he deserved to know where all the lines were.
“I won’t push your limits,” Sanjay had said. “But sometimes a limit in one area can indicate things I should watch out for in another.”
If Devon and I were going to push each other this week, then he deserved to see all my cards.
I took a quick drink of water, then sat back, still cradling the glass in my hand. “My ex-husband and I—we had no idea what we were doing. None.”
Devon nodded slowly as I spoke.
I stared into the glass. “Looking back, we should’ve done a lot of things differently. A safeword. Safety shears. All of that.”
“You didn’t have a safeword?” It didn’t sound like an accusation. More like he was just caught off guard.
Shaking my head, I whispered, “Like I said, we didn’t know what we were doing. We thought safewords were for the harder stuff. The…” I lifted my gaze to meet Devon’s. “The stuff we’re doing.”
Lips pressed together, he nodded. He looked pained just thinking about Brad and me wandering stupidly into kink without so much as a safeword.
Knowing what little I did about kink now, I cringed at the memory.
We really had been stupid, and it was only through dumb luck that there’d been no serious injuries or trauma.
Some lingering claustrophobia and an aversion to bondage were probably the best-case scenario.
I took another drink, and as I put the glass back on the table, I continued. “The first time, it was cuffs. And…” I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “I should’ve worked with the quick release a few times. Put them on and taken them off on my own. But I didn’t. And then Brad stepped out for a minute to—”
“He left you alone?” Devon’s eyes were huge and his jaw was slack. “While you were bound?”
My face heated as I nodded. “Yeah. He felt awful later when he realized—it was an honest mistake, but it fucked with his head for a long time.”
From the way Devon scowled, I suspected he was just restraining himself from commenting that it damn well should have fucked with Brad’s head for a long time.
I sat up and picked at my remaining lasagna with my fork.
“It was probably a year before we tried anything like that again. We got rid of the cuffs, and we used some rope this time. It…” Sighing, I put my fork down again without taking a bite.
“I can’t even put my finger on what went wrong.
He tied my hands, and he was using some hot wax on me. Which I loved.”
Devon’s eyebrows flicked up. “You like hot wax?”
I nodded, my skin tingling in all the places that stinging liquid had touched me. “I like it a lot. And we actually did read up on it so we did it right. The right kind of candles, how high to hold them to let them drip—all that.”
Was I imagining the approval in Devon’s eyes? Maybe. Whatever. It added a pleasant layer to that tingle of wax memories.
“Anyway,” I went on, “things were going fine. I loved it. And then…” I stared at the table with unfocused eyes as I replayed the scene in my head.
“I guess… I don’t know. It was fine, and then suddenly it wasn’t.
Brad loved putting wax on me, and then after it dried, fucking me hard enough to crack the wax. ”
Devon’s breath stuttered, and I glanced up just in time to catch him shifting in his chair. “That, um…” He swallowed. “That sounds really hot.”
“It was,” I whispered. “Every time. But that time… I was getting close, and I went to touch myself so I could get there, but I couldn’t move my hands. I was so deep in the zone from the wax and getting railed, I think I forgot my hands were tied. Then I suddenly remembered…”
“And you panicked.” No judgment. No sneering. Just gentle understanding.
Shame and embarrassment wrapped themselves around my stomach, and I sighed as I nodded. “Yeah. It’s… I know it’s far from the worst thing that could happen to someone when they’re tied, but—”
“It doesn’t matter. I knew a guy who won’t do hot wax again because one time, the guy who was topping him didn’t know what he was doing. He used the wrong kind of wax, it got too hot, and…” Devon rolled his hand.
I shuddered.
“He knows damn well a conscientious Dom would never, ever let that happen,” Devon went on. “But any time he even thinks about trying it again, his mind goes back to having blisters on his shoulder. So… he doesn’t do it anymore.”
“Do you think he’ll ever try it again?”
Devon’s half-shrugged. “Maybe? He’s been with his partner for a couple of years, and she’s been able to push some of his limits.
Hell, for all I know, they do hot wax now.
I don’t know. But the point is, that bad experience put him off for a long time, and if he decides he never wants to do it again, that’s valid.
” He paused. “So if you never want to try bondage again, then no one should ever give you shit for it. And if you do? If you’re with someone you trust enough and you want to try it?
Then go for it. You’re not going to lose your sub card because you have a hard limit. ”
The words settled over me like a warm blanket.
“Thanks,” I murmured.
“Of course.” He studied me. “Has someone tried to push you to do it again?”
“Not…” I swept my tongue across my lips. “Not since my divorce, no.”
Devon’s teeth snapped shut. “Wait, did your ex try to push you?”