Page 45 of For Her Own Good

“Okay, go ahead.”

I’m kinda mad he has to remove a hand from my thigh, but I suppose I’ll live. He reaches out, and sort of taps the top of my head.

“Yep, see, that was patting for sure. Not as good.”

“Not as good as…”

“Petting. Try it.”

“Bossy britches,” he mutters, but I forgive him almost immediately because his fingers delve into my hair as he smooths a hand over my head, making me a puddle.

I tilt my head, close my eyes, and enjoy the calming motion, how safe and loved it makes me feel. Cherished, if you want to be sappy about it, and when I’m being petted, I do.

* * *

Lowry

I’ve seen Starla happy before, many times. Except for when things were at their very worst, she could still smile. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look as peaceful as she does right now. Straddling me in the most adorable outfit imaginable, with her hair down to make it easier for me to pet her. Yes,pether. She’s practically purring.

“You really do like this, don’t you?”

“Mmm.” There’s a nod, but she doesn’t bother to open her eyes.

“You’re like a wee cat. If I do this for long enough, are you going to roll over and show me your vulnerable underbelly?”

That does make her crack an eye open.

“I think we both know you’ve seen plenty of my vulnerable underbelly.”

True enough.

“Do you only like having your hair stroked or do you like this other places as well?”

“You think I’m going to give you all the answers? I think you’ll have to conduct an experiment. For science.”

“Ah yes, science. Very important.”

On the next pass of my hand over her head, I keep going, gently rubbing her neck, her shoulder that’s bared by her sweatshirt, and then her arms. The dreamy look hasn’t left her face; more than her head, then. Good to know.

“Shall we do this for the rest of the evening, then?”

Truth be told, I probably could. Not that this would top the list of things I’d like to do to Starla, but making her feel this way is something I enjoy very much. Fills me with pride, pleasure, and some other things I can’t identify. Good, I suppose, is the bottom line. Making her feel good, happy, makes me feel good. That’s not magic. What it is, is good fortune.

“No, I guess not. Don’t get me wrong, this is really nice and I like it a lot, but pet play isn’t really my kink.”

My stomach flips, hearing her talk about kink. She’s said it lightly, perhaps as a joke, but I have to swallow to keep my voice from coming out all strangled. “No? What is your kink, then?”

For the first time since I’ve started petting her, Starla’s muscles tense. It’s not as though she jerks or does anything so obvious, but there’s tension in her body where there wasn’t any before. Her throat works, that delicate jaw of hers tightens. I don’t think this is a joke to her.

I don’t want to prod or pry—that’s never worked well for me with her in the past and I doubt very much it would go any better now—but I do want to encourage her, make her feel that it’s okay to tell me. I want to know.

So I continue to pet her, go back to her hair because she did—according to my extremely rigorous research—seem to like that best. After a minute of silence during which her eyes stay closed—not, I think, because she’s relaxed but because she doesn’t want to or can’t look at me right now—I speak.

“It’s okay, Star. You can tell me. I promise I won’t judge you harshly. I want to know because I want to make you happy. At the worst I’ll simply say it’s not exactly to my taste, and we’ll figure out something we both like. That’s the absolute worst. I promise you.”

She does that thing where she rolls her lips between her teeth and God, she looks scared. Hurts my heart. What have other people said or done to her to make her so afraid? Course it doesn’t have to be a personal thing. Society at large can be pretty crap about kink.

After minutes during which my thoughts run away with me in all sorts of directions, she finally blinks her eyes open and her gaze is pleading.

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