Page 14 of The Truth of Loving You

“Drink it all,” I commanded, and he obeyed immediately.

There was so much to know about Shane. His definition of courage was inaccurate because he’d been more open and honest than anyone I’d ever met. That took more courage than pretending your feelings didn’t exist. I would know.

The way he eagerly responded when I commanded sparked an urge I’d never known. I had to have more.

“Do you think you’re a submissive?” I asked.

Chapter seven

Shane

Imanagednottospray the last sip of water all over Cole’s beautiful furniture. He stood, clapped me on the back, and then answered the door for the grocery delivery. Thankfully, it gave me a minute to calculate a response.

Part of my brain wondered why I wasn’t having an identity crisis. Most men would, and it would be understandable. Twenty-four-year-old men did not wake up one day and have an epiphany that they were lusting after a man. Then again, my mind had never worked the same as other people’s.

I knew from years of planning and painstakingly plotting my future that life never turned out the way I imagined. I wasn’t easy going, but I had learned how to accept and adjust. Maybe that was why this wasn’t causing me to devolve into an analytical mess. Sometimes, people learned how strong they were in a crisis. I learned I was attracted to a man when Cole touched my cheek, called me Pretty Boy, and almost kissed me.

I wasn’t planning on second-guessing this new-found information. I was doing what made sense, accepting and adjusting. With all the things I’d been through, this didn’t seem daunting or unmanageable. It was simply part of myself I had to figure out, put into context, and rearrange my expectations of the future. Which wasn’t hard since my personal relationships were never a big part of the future that I’d imagined.

But I wasn’t submissive. I hated when people tried to control me. It increased my anxiety.

Since meeting Cole, I’d begun researching gay, bi, and latent sexuality. My obsession with numbers kept me fascinated by research data, but the unpredictability of the outcomes caused low-level anxiety. In my extensive research, I’d also gone down the rabbit hole of kink. Intriguing stuff. I’d read about dominant and submissive relationships.

Cole’s capable, domineering personality definitely attracted me. Objectively, I did fantasize about him sexually manhandling me. He’d asked me about pain kink, and now, I understood his question. He must have noticed I’d enjoyed the tattoo gun on my skin. But that wasn’t about being submissive.

Cautiously sitting next to me, Cole said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you that.”

“Are you sorry because you don’t want to know the answer or sorry because you think you upset me?” Most people didn’t say what they actually meant, and that was part of the reason I had difficulty forging real friendships.

Cole barked out a laugh and his smile flipped my stomach. His default expression resembled a frown, giving off an aura of severity and annoyance. But his facial expression masked his pain, in my opinion. His smile transformed all the severity into soft lines of pleasure. To be on the receiving end was almost too much.

“Your mind works like a computer verifying data.” The light in Cole’s green eyes showed warmth, not irritation, a welcomed change.

“That annoys most people. But if you’re serious about answering my questions, I’d like your advice,” I said.

He might be off-limits, but he opened a door that I very much wanted to walk through.

“Not annoying at all. Truthfully, trying to figure out what’s in your mind keeps me up at night, so I’m happy to help,” he said, and I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of his confession, but his expression stopped me.

He’d leaned forward, his breathing hitched, and he sagged back.

I took a deep breath, hoping his acceptance of my thought process didn’t change. Most people thought my ability to over analyze things was quirky in the beginning, but they often changed their minds, eventually finding me aggravating. “Tell me what you think...” I explained my attraction to him and only him.

I hadn’t found other men attractive in my daily life or at Pink Titanium. My sister thought I needed to be certain a guy was attracted to men before my brain would consider sexual desire. Cole listened with an infuriatingly blank expression, but he didn’t interrupt, so I pressed on.

“After researching pain kink, I don’t think I fall into that category. Instruments of pain turn me off. I have high anxiety and trouble sleeping because I can’t shut off my brain. Only eleven percent of submissives find pain helps counteract psychological distress with endorphins similar to a runner’s high. The mild pain of your tattoo gun definitely helped me. The experience was transformative, and I crave it again so badly, like an addict. That makes me nervous, but I actually slept that night for six full hours. But I can’t imagine letting someone tell me what to do.”

I waited for a response from Cole.

His pupils had enlarged, his breathing heavier than before. All the possibilities of emotions that would cause that response started to spiral through my head. I didn’t want to analyze all of it.

“Knowing that, do you think I’m a submissive?” My voice wavered with uncertainty.

Cole scrubbed a hand over his face. “You went all in, didn’t you.” Another statement, not a question.

I felt my face fall. Sara, the only one who understood me, had no idea how to help with this.

Cole leaned in with a smirk. “I thought you’d ask something like ‘How did you know you’re bi?’ You surprised me is all. Maybe I should tell you why I asked the question.”

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