Chapter 15 #2
I glance down at the next section, labeled Limits and Boundaries, and feel my heart rate spike. This is where I need to be honest with myself and with him. I can’t afford to be shy or hold back, not with something as serious as this. I open my Notes app and start writing, determined to be honest.
Hard Limits:
These are easy things I know I’ll never do.
Fisting: too extreme.
Water Sports: a firm no.
Scat Play: absolutely not.
Needle or Blood Play: I can’t handle the sight of blood.
Permanent Marks: no tattoos or branding. I like temporary marks, rope lines, a fading warmth from his hand, but nothing permanent.
I pause, tapping the pen against my lip. Then I add Emotional Humiliation, underlining it twice. I don’t mind teasing, but I’m too sensitive for anything meant to degrade. That kind of pain would linger too long.
Soft Limits:
These are the things I’m curious about but not entirely sure I’d enjoy. I read through the examples Calvin has listed, my cheeks heating up as I consider each one.
Public Play: thrilling in theory, but I’d only try it in a controlled space.
Anal Play: never done it, and with Calvin’s size, I’m not sure I can. Still, I write it down with a question mark.
Sensory Deprivation: blindfolds and headphones sound exciting, but also intense.
Impact Play: I love when he spanks me, but paddles or canes might be too much. Maybe, eventually.
I glance over the list, feeling exposed. It’s strange how naming boundaries can feel as intimate as crossing them.
I move on to the next section, labeled Things I Want to Try. This is where I get to be honest about what excites me, what I’ve fantasized about late at night, alone in my bed.
Bondage: being tied up, restrained, helpless, it’s addictive.
Spanking: I already love the sting of his hand, the way it makes me feel small and cherished at once.
Breath Play: he’s only done it once, but I can still feel it, the rush of surrender. Dangerous, yes, but I trust him.
Dirty Talk: the way his voice drops when he says filthy things drives me wild. I want more of that. More praise, more control, more belonging.
Orgasm Control: the idea of him deciding when I can come, keeping me on the edge, it’s maddening, but thrilling.
I reread everything, pulse racing. These words, my boundaries, my wants, my fears, feel like pieces of me laid bare. It’s terrifying to hand them over, but it’s also freeing. Because I know he’ll handle them and me with care.
I go through the rest of the contract, noting the sections about aftercare and communication. It’s all so thorough, so detailed, and I can tell he’s thought about this a lot. It’s reassuring, in a way, to see how much he’s invested in making sure this is safe for both of us.
The final page is a space for our signatures. I trace my finger over the line where my name would go, my stomach fluttering with nerves. This is a big step, a huge leap of faith, and I know once I sign this, there’s no going back.
But I also know, deep down, that I want this. I want him. I want to explore this side of myself, to give him control. I smile, relief flooding through me. He’s patient and understanding, and that makes me feel a little braver, a little more secure in my decision.
I take one last look at the contract, letting my eyes trace the words I’ve read over and over, then set it aside.
With a sigh, I get up and force myself to focus.
I’ve got a wedding dress to finish, layers of silk organza scattered across my worktable like a snowstorm of deadlines, and I need to be productive.
But every time I try to thread a needle or sketch out a neckline revision, my mind drifts right back to it.
The contract.
The rules.
The possibilities.
I stare at the bodice mockup like it’s going to answer all my questions. Instead, I end up pulling out my laptop and, completely unintentionally of course, opening a private browser tab.
And then I fall headfirst into a rabbit hole.
BDSM etiquette. Proper submissive behavior.
What a healthy D/s dynamic actually looks like.
There’s so much more to it than I expected.
I take mental notes like I’m studying for a final.
Safe words. Aftercare. Power exchange. The difference between punishment and abuse.
I even find a podcast episode titled “So You Want to Submit, But You Talk Back Too Much.”
Rude. And also… accurate?
Because while I do want to learn the rules and do this right, I know myself: I’d 100% roll my eyes and say something sarcastic mid-command. I’d test him. Push just a little. Not to challenge his authority, but… to make him prove it.
I don’t even realize how deep I’ve gone until the sound of the elevator dings in the background. My heart jumps.
Calvin’s home.
Moments later, he finds me in my room and chuckles, leaning against the doorway. “You are very messy,” he teases.
I glance around, frowning slightly. It’s not that messy. Sure, there are a few clothes on the floor, shoes scattered around, and my suitcase is still halfway unpacked… Okay, maybe it’s a little messy. “I was going to clean that up,” I lie, trying to sound casual. “I just had a lot to do…”
The smile he gives me tells me he’s not buying it for a second. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says, making me blush. He steps inside and hands me a bag from Luxe that I didn’t notice before.
“For moi?” I smile, reaching for the bag and peeking inside to find a chicken sandwich and a Gatorade. I can’t help but roll my eyes playfully.
“Don’t even lie and say you’ve eaten. I bet the last meal you had was the breakfast I had my chef make for you,” he says, his tone knowing as he glances toward the iPad sitting on my desk. He grabs it and sits on the bed, scanning the document.
“Maybe I’m not hungry,” I try to argue. It’s not a complete lie; the nerves from reading the contract had killed my appetite for a while. But I’m definitely hungry now.
Calvin raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. He doesn’t say anything, just gives me that look, the one that silently dares me to keep pretending.
I sigh and give in, picking up the food he brought me. Of course, it’s delicious. But even as I eat, my eyes keep drifting to him. He’s seated across from me, calmly reviewing the contract like it’s a business proposal instead of something that could flip my entire world upside down.
“Alright,” he says after a few quiet minutes. His posture changes, shoulders settling back. “Before we sign anything, there are three things we need to talk about.”
I nod, waiting. He’s still the same man I was teasing a few minutes ago, but the air feels different now. Intentional. Grounded.
“First,” he begins, “how do you feel about not using condoms?”
My pulse jumps. He’s calm, matter-of-fact. “If you’d rather we keep using them, that’s fine. But either way, I want transparency.” He unlocks his phone and scrolls before holding it out to me. “I was tested last month. Everything came out negative.”
I take the phone, scanning the results before handing it back and pulling out my own. “My tests are negative as well,” I say quietly. “And I have an implant. I’m okay not using one.”
His mouth lifts slightly, though his tone stays even. “Good.” He passes my phone back to me, and then his expression shifts again. “The second thing is more important.”
I tilt my head, curious.
“I’ve never entered a BDSM contract with someone who isn’t Black,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “And before we start this, I think we need to talk about what that means.”
I blink, the words catching me off guard. So, he and Abby aren’t in the lifestyle together? For some reason, that thought settles strangely in my chest. “Okay,” I say softly. “Let’s talk about it.”
He leans forward, forearms resting on his knees.
“In this dynamic,” he says, voice steady, “there’s a lot of language around power.
Ownership. Control. Submission. It can get blurry fast if we’re not mindful of context and history.
” He pauses, watching me carefully. “I don’t ever want to use something in play that echoes something ugly outside of it.
I won’t ever treat what we have like a game that ignores what the world really looks like. ”
I take a slow breath, my throat tight with something that feels like gratitude. “I understand,” I whisper. “And I don’t ever want to say or do something that makes you feel… reduced. Or objectified. And if I ever get something wrong, I want you to tell me. I’ll listen.”
His jaw flexes, just once. “Good,” he says. The faintest smile pulls at his mouth. “That’s all I need to hear.” His tone dips. “When we’re in a scene, you’ll be mine. But outside of that? We are equal. I need you to know that distinction matters.”
I nod, feeling the weight of his words settle between us. “I do.”
His gaze holds mine for a long, quiet moment before he adds, almost under his breath, “Then I think we’ll be fine, Peach.”
The name sounds different this time, less teasing, more reverent. It makes my heart ache in the best way. “Communication and respect are important in this lifestyle. If either of us ever feels uncomfortable, we stop. No questions asked.”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“That brings me to the next point,” he says.
“You need to choose a safe word. Something simple and easy to remember. I’ll still use the traffic light system to check in, red, yellow, green.
Red means stop immediately. Yellow means slow down, ease up, you’re reaching your limit.
Green means everything’s fine and we can keep going.
” He pauses, holding my gaze. “But I also want you to pick a word that’s yours.
Something you can use anytime, for any reason, and everything stops. No questions asked.”
This is something I’ve actually thought about all day today.
“Velvet,” I say.
“Velvet,” he repeats, nodding. “Good.”
I watch as he signs the contract before handing the iPad back to me. “Make sure this is what you want.”
His eyes search mine, unreadable but intense. I take the iPad, heart pounding, and with a deep breath, I sign my name. No hesitation. No second-guessing.
I do want this.
Him.
All of it.
“What now?” I ask, setting my half-eaten sandwich on the desk.
“Now, I go shower,” he says, standing up. “Then I’ll take you somewhere.”
A pang of disappointment hits me. I thought we’d get straight to it, that he’d grab me, bend me over the bed, spank me, and tie me up right away. The tension between us felt so charged, and yet… nothing.
“Oh,” I mutter, trying to mask the disappointment, but it’s impossible to hide. My voice gives it all away.
Calvin notices. His lips twitch into a small smile like he knows exactly what’s running through my mind, but he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he leaves the room quietly.