Page 64 of Maybe You

I try to blink away the dizzy haze of pleasure and think clearly.

“Yeah. Same,” I manage to say while I look up and down his body. “So much same.”

He chuckles, and that too is very, very sexy.

“I think we need to set some rules before we go any further,” he says.

I’m not a hundred percent sure what he has in mind with those rules of his, but I nod anyway. He’s the expert.

“Anything you don’t like?” he asks.

Okay. So that’s actually a very sensible question and something we probably should have discussed beforehand, but I guess better late than never.

I try to think, but he’s so very naked, and it’s so very distracting.

“I don’t know?” I finally say. It’s not like I have ample experience. I try to think of something. Anything. And it does come to me.

“I can’t handle pain voluntarily,” I finally say, because that’s at least something I know is true. “It’s just really not my thing, and I don’t have it in me, and I can’t associate it with anything pleasurable, and I don’t want to try or test it out or give it a shot to see if I’ll change my mind because I won’t. So if you spring spanking on me, I’ll most likely knee you in the balls.”

The look in his eyes isn’t heated anymore. It’s soft. And when his gaze sweeps up and down and takes in my skin, it’s not with lust but with something that feels a lot like understanding. It feels like he gets me without any further explanation necessary.

“Not my thing either,” he simply says after those few moments of silently getting me.

I nod with relief. I don’t want to explain and dissect the invisible scars that go hand in hand with the visible ones when you’re a burn survivor. Let’s just say recovery is painful and leave it at that. I don’t want to remember right now, I just want to be young and carefree and, for once in my life, to be wanted.

And I want to be wanted on the most superficial level. Not because of personality or sense of humor or anything else meaningful like that. No. I want to be wanted because somebody finds me attractive.

I want this to be shallow and superficial and exciting.

And I think he’s going to give that to me.

“Umm…” I hesitate, but Sutton just waits me out until I figure what the fuck and just say, “Sometimes parts of my skin are overly sensitive, and touching them doesn’t feel good.”

“You’ll tell me, then,” he says, and it doesn’t seem like he’s annoyed by this extra hassle he has to put up with, and surprisingly I don’t go down the road of overthinking his easy reaction, because it’s Sutton, and if he had any other thoughts about this, there’s a ninety-nine point nine percent chance he’d just let me know.

What do you know? Life really is easier if we all just speak our minds.

“That’s it, I think,” I say. “I mean, there might be something I’m just not aware of right now…”

“And then?” Sutton prompts.

A small grin tugs at the corner of my lips. It’s mostly relief at how easy it all seems to be. “I’ll tell you.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“What about you?”

“I usually draw the line at hardcore BDSM,” he says thoughtfully.

“I don’t think you have to worry too much about me unpacking my whips and chains collection right now.”

“Hey, if it’s your thing, we can always negotiate.” He grins. “It’s already somewhat tempting because I do think you’d look good in leather.”

“I… I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Thanks for leaving my options open?”

“Sure,” I say slowly. “Thanks.”

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