Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
When I woke up, the room was pitch black. Curtains were drawn over an unfamiliar window. I sat up in a way-too-big bed in a much nicer room than I had at home.
I wasn’t at home.
All of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe. My stomach lurched. My lungs seized. I launched myself out of the bed, bare feet sinking into the plush carpet—why was I naked?
I backed up until my back hit a solid surface. My heart felt like it would beat right out of my chest.
It wasn’t until I looked at the TV that memories of the night before began to trickle in. The Golden Girls still played on a soft volume. I was in Savannah, in a bougie hotel with… André. And just like that, my breathing slowed. My heart rate came down and my stomach settled.
I slid down the door until my bare butt hit the carpet.
Get it together, David.
I stayed there longer than I cared to admit, talking myself off the ledge.
Over the TV, movement from the other room caught my attention.
I pulled myself to my feet. I couldn’t let André see me this way.
Locating my bag on the luggage rack, I fumbled through to find the sweats and t-shirt I’d brought.
After I’d washed up, I went in search of André.
I found him in the kitchenette, plating up some sort of rice dish. “Hey sleepyhead.”
I tried to bring myself into the present. My head was so fuzzy. “What time is it?”
“Dinnertime. You must be hungry.”
My stomach rumbled as if André had been talking directly to it. “I guess so.” I slunk into one of the barstools, happily accepting the glass of water André poured me from a glass bottle sitting next to him.
And I immediately spit out the first mouthful. “What is this?”
André only laughed and despite the horrid taste in my mouth, the sound warmed me from the inside out. “Sparkling water. I take it you’re not a fan.”
“No, get it away from me!”
Damn that smile. Perfect white teeth seemed to illuminate the room. Even though he was making fun of me, it still drove me crazy.
André took my glass, emptied it, then refilled it from a different glass bottle. After suspiciously tipping the glass to my lips, I deemed it acceptable. “Please tell me that’s red beans and rice,” I pleaded when I came up for air.
“It is. From a pack, not from scratch, but I thought you should eat something.”
He filled two plates and set one in front of me, refilling my water from the bottle.
“I hope I didn’t make it too spicy for you.”
“I don’t mind spicy.”
André grabbed his drink and slipped into the barstool next to me. “How are you feeling?”
He kissed my temple and I hummed, shoveling a forkful of the rice mixture in my mouth. Much better. “Good,” I settled for, forgetting about my earlier panic attack. It was in the past now.
André stayed quiet while we ate, only speaking up when I cleared the last bit of rice from my plate. “Do you want more?” he asked.
I pushed the plate away from me. “No, I’m stuffed. That was really good, though. Thank you.”
After noticing that he seemed to be deep in thought, I relaxed into my seat. “What are you thinking about?”
“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” he said, twisting his fingers into mine. “If you’re up for it.”
My anxiety kicked up again, but I tamped it down. Ending relationships was a normal adult thing. Then again, this wasn’t even a relationship. We’d hooked up twice for Christ’s sake.
“I’ve done a lot of talking about my past lately,” I finally said. “I could do with talking about something else.”
André suggested moving to the couch, which I accepted. He sat in the corner, opening up his arms to me.
“So…” he started once I was settled. “I’ve never really done this before, but I know that this is more than a one-night stand now, and we should talk about it.”
“Well, you’re in luck. I’m new to this too.”
“Then we’ll figure it out together.”
André let out a nervous laugh, and I wondered if I’d always get that flutter in my stomach when I heard it. It was deep and rumbly, his chest vibrating against my back. That laugh hit me in ways no other sound ever hit me before. I never wanted his laugh to fade.
“There’s something else,” he said hesitantly.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t think it’s any secret that I’m a dom, David. But given everything you’ve been through, the last thing I want to do is trigger you or make you uncomfortable.”
With my glass empty again, I handed it over to be set aside.
“I know the word, but explain what it means to you.”
I sat back and listened while André explained the ins and outs of dominance and submission.
My history aside, André’s control during sex was fucking hot; I couldn’t deny that.
“Dominating” and “taking control” sounded like such aggressive terms, but the more he explained it, the more I resonated with being submissive.
It was like a light switch had been flipped on in my brain.
André went into so much detail, explaining anything I asked. At twenty-five, I probably should have known the answers to some of the questions he had for me, but not once did he judge me for shrugging, or asking for clarification.
“Are you okay with honorifics?” he asked matter-of-factly.
“You mean like calling you ‘Sir?’” Just saying it then made me squirm. He didn’t need to know that I’d been using it in my head already.
“That’s right. It doesn’t have to be that term specifically. It could be something you choose, or nothing at all. It’s entirely up to you. I may be dominant, but you’re the one that holds all the power.”
We finally came to an agreement about good and bad things. He pulled a list from the Internet of different areas of “play,” and we went through each one and decided what was good and what wasn’t. We talked about boundaries, and safewords.
“Now the difficult part,” he said. “And we can push this conversation off to a later time if you want, but I thought we’d get everything out in the open now.”
“André…” I sat up and turned to face him. “You’ve been nothing but patient with me.”
He smiled almost nervously. Even when the words were coming out of his mouth. “Where is this going? I feel silly even asking I’ve never been one to take things further than a good time. But I know that with you, I don’t want that good time to stop.”
“I don’t either,” I confessed. “Frankly, everything in my head is telling me I shouldn’t be doing this so soon, but I don’t want to listen to that voice in my head. I want to keep seeing you.”
André took my hand. “So, does that mean we’re in this for real?” he asked, ducking his gaze to our entwined fingers.
I bit my lip, considering. Not that there was much to consider. I was all in from the moment I smacked into his chest. “I think it means that if we’re both on the same page, we owe it to ourselves to give it a fair shot.”
André dropped my hand to cup my cheek, pulling me close for a kiss.
His tongue speared into my mouth, and the embrace quickly grew heated.
He guided me to straddle his lap. Of their own accord, my hips ground into his, feeling his cock harden beneath me.
Once we couldn’t take it anymore, André carried me to the bedroom.
I’d never felt such security with Regan.
Sex with him always felt like a chore—as monotonous as doing the laundry or taking out the trash.
After a while, he didn’t ask anymore. With André?
God, things were so different. The sex was passionate, heated and at the end of it all, left me so sated that I felt like I was floating.
Those feelings were new to me, but I’d do whatever it took to keep chasing them.
A soft buzzing woke me up the next morning. I couldn’t figure out what it was and where it was coming from. Eventually, André got out of bed to investigate, leaving me to snuggle under the blankets a little bit longer.
He padded around the room, picking up our clothes that littered the floor and checking each of our phones. I flinched when he leaned over me, but arched into the touch when he nuzzled my neck.
“Mm, five more minutes Dad,” I whined, trying to tug him back into bed.
But I pried my eyes open anyway. André gave me a groggy smile. “It’s your brother. You might want to call him back. I’ll go order breakfast.” He kissed me again, shuffling into a pair of shorts as he left the room.
I got out of bed and dialed Dylan’s number. As it rang, I went into the bathroom to get some water.
“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to call you for hours!” Dylan screamed into the phone, so loudly that I had to hold it away from my ear.
“Sleeping mostly,” I said. “What’s going on? Is Dad okay?”
“Dad’s fine. Regan never surrendered. He cut off his ankle monitor. He’s missing.”