38. Chapter 31
Dashiell
When we get to the apartment, Lorenzo hangs his jacket casually in the front closet, then eyes me while I stand awkwardly in the foyer. “You good?” he asks.
“So good.”
But, am I? My palms are sweating a little, despite the number of times I’ve wiped them on my jeans.
Get it together, Dash. You’ve had sex before!
Like, many times. I’ve filled out other kink checklists, with other of guys, in apps and forums—and even one memorably awkward exchange with a guy from Hinge who wanted me to get my checklist fucking notarized.
But this is different.
This is the first time I’ve actually, meaningfully, cared about where this goes next.
Lorenzo begins walking to the kitchen. “Come,” he says, and my body moves forward obediently, relaxing as it does.
This is good.
This is right.
He seems to know it, too, knowing that I might be nervous, that I need his direction. His control gives me the freedom to say what I want.
In the kitchen, he pours two glasses of water and sets one down in front of me. “Drink.”
I take the glass and drink it all down in a few gulps.
“Good boy. Now, where’s your checklist?”
He leads me to the living room and we sit side by side on the couch, our checklists laid out in front of us.
We go over the easy stuff first. Bondage: we both enthusiastically circled “interested.” Impact play: the same, mutual. I watch him read my answers carefully, my body tingling in anticipation.
He’s going to do these things to me, I think.
And I can’t wait.
Choking—yes.
Degradation—yes (within reason).
Praise kink—emphatically yes.
Water sports—yes, why not?
Fisting—yes, but please, please warm me up first.
We hit the section on exhibitionism, and Lorenzo smiles. “I think you circled ‘interested’ so many times you almost ripped the paper.”
“Yeah, and?”
“Makes sense.”
He’s right. The shower, the club, every moment this week that I’ve known his eyes are on me. I love to be watched and—his paper confirms—he loves to watch.
We keep going, page after page, discussing each kink with more ease and more comfort.
Gradually, I feel barriers between us falling away.
He tells me about the first man he ever tied up, years ago, and how he spent months after that learning the ins and outs of Shibari—even hearing him say that word makes me shiver in anticipation.
I tell him about Mr. Hinge, and that gets a genuine laugh out of him. Seeing Lorenzo laugh is a magnificent sight. He has a full laugh, an unguarded laugh, a beautiful laugh.
I want to make you laugh like that again and again, I think to myself.
By the time we reach the last page, I am a live wire. Every single thing we’ve compared has matched. Maybe not perfectly, not without some negotiating along the way, but it’s close enough that I know this isn’t luck.
This is something…inevitable.
Something…powerful.
Like we are two people built for each other, made for each other, born for each other.
“Well,” I say, closing my packet. “I think it’s safe to say we’re compatible.”
“I’d say so too.” Lorenzo’s voice has dropped low. All the composure he’s worn this entire exercise has started to slip, fraying around the edges. He reaches forward and brushes a hand against my jaw. “You know what I’ve been thinking about all day?”
“What?” I breathe, not trusting my voice to get any louder without becoming a whimper.
“Last night. I didn’t let you finish.”
My entire body goes rigid and hot. “Right. My punishment.”
“And you took it so well.” His hand skims down my jaw, my neck, my torso, and comes to rest like a coal on my thigh. “I think it’s time that I finish what I started.”
I have no voice—none I can trust, anyway—so I nod, and let him take my hand, walk me to the bedroom, and prepare to surrender control completely to him.