Page 22 of Puppy on a Leash

“Safe words are red, yellow, green. Two barks for red, one for green. I don’t bother with yellow when I can’t use words.” He tried to scowl as he talked. The thick eyebrows added more shadowing to his face. “You don’t get to pretend it didn’t happen. And you don’t touch anything I haven’t explicitly said you can touch.”

I focused on my breathing, on not getting too lost in the sneaky part he’d added there in the middle. Safe words. Those were easy, familiar. I knew how the script went. Not touching was newer, but it wasn’t too out there. Negotiating a scene also involved negotiating what kind of touches were acceptable.

If I focused on those BDSM basics, if I deconstructed it into those pieces, it was easier to lean into the heat that had been building between us since he walked in. It was easier to push the next words through my mouth. “Why would I touch a pup humping my leg like a runt?”

Jaime’s eyelids fluttered. It was a hypnotic movement. He let out a soft gasp, his lips opened less than an inch. “Yeah, okay, that’s good. Upstairs, then?”

It was hard not to laugh as he pretended to be perfectly composed about it. I didn’t see the point in stopping him if he wanted to go ahead, though. I supposed that forwardness was very puppylike of him.

Then again, my only exposure to puppies, outside of porn, were Jaime and Cece at the club.

“First door to your right.”

“Copy.”

I snorted. While his back was turned to me, I let my eyes drift down his figure. He’d really been onto something with the comment about size difference.

It was one of those things I hadn’t needed a specific vocabulary for when I ran in straighter circles. I was naturally bigger than most of the women there, and whenever I’d hooked up with another professor? Attraction hadn’t been a factor. As crude as it sounded, hooking up in my office had only been about convenience. Scratching the itch meant I’d been fine not unpacking any of the reasons why that itch had been there in the first place.

That was the simplified reasoning.

I didn’t have time to delve into the more complex one with a pup running upstairs. I trusted him enough to believe he wouldn’t go around snooping, but I didn’t trust him enough to leave him alone long enough he could draw his own conclusions about the way I organized my space.

FIVE

jaime

Ireally was doing this.

Apparently.

“Of course you have a playroom.” I huffed.

Did it make me angry that he had one? Nope, but combined with the contract thing I should seriously ask more about, it gave off too much of a Christian Grey vibe for my liking. However, my stupid libido seemed perfectly happy to ignore it, so I kept my mouth shut.

It was a good playroom. That part annoyed me more. It wasn’t too big, and thankfully it wasn’t gaudy at all. If I’d walked inside and seen textured red wallpaper or velvet anything, I’d have hightailed it out of there, libido be damned. But… it was nice. Cozy. It reminded me of a couple of the rooms at Plumas, actually—mostly wooden, with some touches in black leather. A bed stood in the middle of the room. A simple one. I liked the ones with the four posts, but not outside of a main bedroom. They took over the entire space otherwise. This didn’t even look like a bed he slept in, just a soft place for aftercare.

I approved.

There wasn’t a lot of scary shit on display, either. I wasn’t the type who cared a lot if there was, and I knew some of the peoplein our group were all about intimidating everyone who stepped into their space. I still preferred subtlety. There were just a few chests of drawers placed against the walls. And a spanking bench.

A shiver ran down my spine as I walked closer. It wasn’t the first bench I’d seen up close, but my brain picked this moment to remind me of those spankings I’d seen him dole out.

“What are you thinking, pup?”

Fuck.

I’d missed him walking inside the room. I whirled around. No idea what I’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. Despite the loose clothing—and the fact that my presence unnerved him—he looked the same as I’d always known him at the club. Collected. In control.

He said I was the one running hot and cold, but he was doing something similar here. I just didn’t know why the tug-of-war was pulling me closer. It should be driving me away. Subs were supposed to look for D-types who had their shit together at all times, who had all the answers and made all the plans.

But I liked that I could tease with holding the reins—that I could make him nervous and leave him flustered. It energized me.

“I’m not signing a contract. Or writing one.” I wrinkled my nose. “Or any of that bullshit you straights apparently do.”

Technically, it wasn’t what I was thinking, but I wasn’t about to show all my cards this early on. And him being nervous might not be a turnoff, but the whole contract thing definitely was.

Tony just grinned. I didn’t like the look of it or the idea that I’d given him any kind of ammo. “I thought we’d established I’m not straight.”

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