Green peas and discipline #2
“You mean, do I jerk off?” His blatant amusement made me want to drown myself. “Not as such. Are you familiar with self-flagellation?”
Oh god. I propped myself up on his chest. “Is that why you have the scars on your back?”
Rafael traced my lips with a lazy finger. “One reason. The others are less pleasant.”
“Sorry.” I touched the faint scar beside his mouth. He turned his head and kissed my hand. I needed a lighter topic. “What’s your type? Does it vary by gender expression?”
He shrugged, sloshing water over the side of the tub. “I do not have one. I said brains, and I meant it. Personality, talent, and intellect hook me. I have been with all sorts. Convention does not equate to attraction for me.”
“Do you think you might be demisexual? Like, needing to fall in love or have some kind of emotional connection first before feeling physical attraction? That’s where I land.”
“Possible. Probable.” His fingers stroked slowly through my hair.
“Have you always been out as bi?”
“Not while I lived in Türkiye. I did not understand myself then. Communal showers in the military, as a confused, repressed young man, were a unique challenge. When I moved to LA, my industry colleagues decided I must be gay and dragged me to the clubs. Once I was more comfortable expressing myself, I quickly realized my sexuality was more fluid.” He tugged at my hair.
“What is your type apart from ‘funny assholes who are smarter than everyone else’? Are you actually straight? You never said.”
“More or less straight, I think. I’m open to other options, but I’ve only ever dated cisgender men.” Assholes. I’ve only ever dated assholes hiding behind sensitive, progressive facades. At least Rafael is upfront with his assholery.
“My condolences.”
“Seriously. My body count is seven—eight or nine if you count some low-stakes fooling around—because I prefer long-term relationships.” I trailed my fingers down his arm. “There are certain features I think are attractive, but they don’t make or break my initial draw to anyone. Just a nice bonus.”
“And those are?”
I tried, unsuccessfully, not to blush. “I think long, hooked noses are sexy.”
“What luck! I have enough nose to donate the extra to three people.”
“Stop that!” I smacked him, splashing myself in the process. “Besides, you’d look silly with a little snubbed nose. It wouldn’t suit your bone structure.”
The eye crinkles. Lord save me. Somehow ‘crow’s feet’ didn’t adequately describe the lines around his eyes.
“I’m glad you didn’t Botox your face.” I traced up his frown lines over his nose to the vertical lines between his brows and the charming crinkles at the outer corners of his eyes. “Obviously, you can if you want to. I just think the lines are handsome.”
Those crinkles deepened with his smile, and he swept a thumb across my forehead. “I do not care for the frozen, plastic look on anyone. I will still love you if you decide to get filler in your lips, but I will be grumpy about it. Feels like kissing sausages.” He shuddered.
My chest loosened. Rare to come across a man who didn’t mind signs of aging in women. “Pfft. I’m surprised you don’t have any grey hair.”
“I have some, but it is diffused.”
“I have loads, but I color my hair because I prefer bright colors, not because I’m trying to cover it. I actually like grey.”
He nodded. “Grey would look nice on you.”
“That’s sweet of you to say.” I took his hand and kissed the back of it. “You’re very deliberate with your hands, too, and I find that incredibly attractive.”
I was rambling, but he remained intent, so I let myself keep going. “Deep voices scratch a brain itch. Before I met you, I would have said it’s more of a stim, but you have a panty-dropper voice if I’ve ever heard one. Like damn!”
Rafael’s chest heaved with silent laughter.
Buoyed, I traced the hard edges of his delts and biceps. “I’ve never dated anyone particularly muscular. It fascinates me. Your abs are very pretty, but I also think you would be beautiful without them being so visible, so please drink more water.”
He kissed my temple. “For you, I will try.”
“Never cared much about height; I’ve dated guys shorter than me. You’re so different from most people; it makes sense in my head that you’d be taller too.”
“While it is a relief to meet a woman who does not have a size difference kink, is this about your type or are you simply listing off things you like about me?”
“Why not both?” I twisted so I could look him in the eye. “Can I admit something silly?”
“Submit yourself for judgment,” he rumbled menacingly. “I will decide whether it warrants another spanking.”
“I was jealous of Zainab when we met her in the coffee shop. You didn’t do anything to make me feel that way, but y’all had such easy banter and she’s gorgeous. She’s so sweet, though. I feel silly for being insecure.”
“You should feel silly.” Rafael tsked, lifting his chin. “Zainab is a lovely girl, but she is barely 20 years old and definitely not my type.”
“I thought you said you didn’t have a type.”
“My type excludes the religious. She prays too much.”
I poked him in the ribs. “Trickster God will have no others before him, huh?”
“‘All shall love me and despair’.” He wrapped his arms around me and lifted me gently out of the tub. “Hand me a towel.”
I swooned, snagging a fluffy white towel from the rack. “A Tolkien ref? Are you trying to get me to propose?”
He wrapped the towel around his waist as he rose, sadly blocking my view. “Give us the ring, preciousss.” Gollum’s voice in bass was infinitely creepier. “Sneaky little hobbit.”
“Oh god, I take it back.”
“Come, I want to show you something.” Rafael hardly let me throw on my robe, grabbing my hand and leading me out of the bathroom.
“Is this another secret dungeon?” How many surprises did this place hide?
We entered his office. I squinted. Often backgrounds changed drastically before I could parse them, but something was different …the Giger piece was gone! Its absence revealed a pocket door.
He opened it, and I entered, frowning in confusion.
A convertible standing desk and an expensive-looking computer chair nestled in the corner of a smallish, white room.
It held a huge monitor with a fancy ergonomic keyboard.
An expensive pair of noise-canceling headphones hung from the desk. The HR Giger hung on the back wall.
“Would you prefer a different desk?” Rafael’s hands landed lightly on my shoulders from behind.
“What?” No, it couldn’t be.
“You said you wanted a dedicated writing space. I want to help you realize your dreams. Even the small ones.”
A lump formed in my throat. “No, this is too generous. I can’t!”
His arms slid around me. “You can. It is the least I can do to make up for my extreme lapse in judgement the other night. I had already bought your computer and was going to put it beside mine, but I realized I could do more. I believe in your talent, Elaine.”
“But I don’t—”
A tsk came from him. “Stop that. You deserve it.”
I turned into his embrace, burying my face in his chest so I wouldn’t get all emotional again. “Thank you.”
Rafael stroked my hair. “I put the Giger in here on a whim, but you are welcome to move it. Rearrange however you like.”
“I love it! I love you.”
He took a knee and kissed me. “I love you too, and you missed something.”
At my questioning look, he reached over and pulled the chain on a neon sign to my left. I’d been so focused on the desk and the art I hadn’t noticed it.
‘SMUT’ glowed in cursive hot pink and turquoise.
1 “Discipline” – Nine Inch Nails