Chapter 32 #2
I shook my head. I stayed perfectly still, even as Wes still refused to make contact. He didn’t speak, as if waiting for more.
“Please,” I tried, no longer above any amount of bargaining. Needing Wes was biblical; my desire was transcendent and holy.
“Open your notebook and start reading, baby,” Wes said, his jaw tensing as if with the effort of his own restraint.
I opened to the first page, where I’d followed Wes’s instructions with as much effort and care as he showed me. I read my first few notes, which were concerns about total power exchange, or TPE, dynamics.
Wes’s fingers finally slipped under my dress and found their mark, gently circling my clit above my panties.
I couldn’t hold back the breathy moan now, losing all train of thought in an instant. I slowly ground against his touch. His other hand gripped my hips hard.
“You do not have permission to move.” He retracted his touch.
I stilled.
“Good. Keep reading.”
I finished my train of thought, and Wes addressed my concerns, all the while circling my clit and holding my body in an overwhelming flood of pent-up sensation.
“I’m not interested in that intense of a dynamic without a significant amount of time with a partner, and deep commitment,” Wes said. “And even then, there are areas of someone’s life I have no interest in controlling.”
“What areas do you want to control?” I asked.
Wes’s fingers moved quicker, adding more pressure in a way that made my legs start to tremble. He dialed it back as I panted and fought the urge to press against his fingers again.
“When and how you come, for starters,” he said with a wicked grin. “This isn’t about me. Not yet. Keep reading. I want to know your answers to the questionnaires.”
I sped through my next few notes and flipped the page to my answers about my limits and desires, which were marked as either: a hard limit, which meant I was certain I didn’t want something to ever happen; a soft limit, which meant it might’ve been a limit, but I wasn’t sure or needed more discussion; light green, which meant I was interested or thought I might enjoy something; and bright green, which meant I knew for certain I enjoyed the item.
“Wes, some of these are…” I said, uneasy. “A lot.”
“If you don’t want to talk about something, you don’t have to, and I will assume it’s a limit.”
“Okay.” His teasing effectively distracted me, the overwhelming yearning for release propelling me forward.
I started reading. Whenever I thought Wes’s face would reveal humor or disgust or apprehension toward any of the items, it didn’t. He stayed neutral and open, as if nothing I said could faze him.
“Anal play. Light green.” I slowly raised my eyes to his, all of me cringing and preparing for judgment, as I had for every admission of interest so far.
Wes blinked. He shook his head. “You absolute monster.”
I raised my notebook to attack him with it, and he laughed and grabbed my wrist.
“Keep reading, you sick little freak.”
My cheeks were red, but damn him, his laugh was infectious, drawing out my own. When our laughter quieted, I forged on. “This one confused me. Does knife play mean the knife is cutting me, which would be a hard limit, or that it’s threatening me, which would be a light green?”
Against my will, I thought of Roman the night of the party, the knife handle going in and out of a submissive woman. I quickly shoved the image away.
Wes’s hand reached for one of my breasts, and I gasped when he cupped my flesh, his fingers slowly circling a nipple.
“Cutting would be blood play; knife play means a knife is merely involved, which is a form of fear play. Given your other answers, it would seem this is an area of great interest for you.”
“All of this use of the word play makes domination and sadism sound like a cute, fun little hobby.”
Wes shrugged. “I think tormenting and playing with you would make for a fun and cute little hobby.”
At this, I was speechless. Wes’s thumb was at my mouth. He pushed inside, and I sucked. His eyes darkened, watching me. The fingers slowly and intermittently teasing my clit moved down to my opening, one long finger slowly slipping inside me.
I moaned, and Wes retracted his thumb, running it down my chin before roughly grabbing a breast.
“Fuck, Nova, I could listen to the adorable, needy sounds you make all night,” he hissed. “Finish reading so I can make you come. We’ll save discussing the last articles for another time.”
I nodded. “I am… very amenable to this change of plan.” I tripped over the words as Wes started to pump his finger in and out of me.
Wes chuckled. “Read.”
I kept going, though I continued to stumble over my words and falter as Wes played with me. Even though it was torture, I stayed thorough, continuing to ask my questions and explain when I wasn’t sure about something.
When I got to the end, I closed the notebook, and Wes inserted a second finger. He pumped so slowly, rubbing against my G-spot in a gentle coax.
“Fuck, please,” I said.
“To think, I didn’t even ask you to beg.” Wes retracted his fingers and lifted me off him. “It gives more credence to what I said earlier. We just fit.”
The words made up for his sudden absence as he carefully selected a record and left me panting on the couch.
“Lay down, head on the couch arm.”
I glanced at the album Wes placed on his record player before obeying swiftly. It was from a band I didn’t recognize, Faded by RIVKA.
I sighed as the music filled the space, matching the energy so perfectly, it hurt.
It hurt because it made even more evident a truth I was desperate not to overanalyze: I’d never felt this intensely about anyone before.
Not even close. And it was only getting worse the longer we spent together, or even the time we spent apart.
Something big had been set in motion the day I met Wes. Maybe it had been fate—or maybe it had been my PicWave algorithm.
What I was starting to feel for Wes terrified me.
And, unfortunately for me, I enjoyed being scared.