Page 7 of Becoming the Owners
Something a bit too smart flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t ask the obvious questions that were running through his head. “Every couple has limits, even vanilla ones, no matter what they call them. I don’t have any issue with your nearly pathological need for attention. If you want to run around in those shorts and ten-inch platform heels every night, I have no problem with it.”
Interesting.
“What are your limits?” He wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met.
I wasn’t sure if I liked that or not.
His head cocked again as he studied me. “For this specific topic or in general? I can send you my list if you want.”
Bizarre.
Completely fucking bizarre.
Of course he’d have other limits.
“This topic.” He’d email me his list. “You’d do that?”
Shit.
I hadn’t meant for that question to come out.
He was fucking distracting.
“Yes.” Brass Man didn’t even seem to think the question was odd, so he must’ve taught other people about this shit before. “If someone who says they’re into BDSM won’t show you their limits list right off the bat, run. They’re either just fucking around and calling themselves a Dom or they’re not to be trusted.”
Hmm, it was the first time frustration or something close to anger had flared in his eyes.
Ignoring the questions that brought up, since it wasn’t my business at this point, I nodded. “Understood.”
“I’d have to think about it based on what you said you wanted, but from what I think you’d want, the first things that come to mind would be my being there if you were to do anything like what you do in the cage, the dancing, the teasing, the…god, it’s almost like stripping but you’re already naked.”
He said the sweetest things.
My grin had him huffing, but he didn’t get sidetracked. “I’d want to watch, of course, not lying about that, but I’d also want to supervise. You get lost in your own head when you’re…let’s call it performing. It’s not atrusting youthing. It’s akeeping you safe and helping you make good choices in the momentthing.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I just raised one eyebrow.
The asshole smirked.
“It’s also amaking you feel safething.” His smirk faded as his professor face came back online. “You don’t trust the audience and you don’t like that feeling when you’re trying to let go. You use the cage to keep yourself away from the danger, but you still get a bit of the thrill you want.”
Asshole.
His eyes flashed with something that I thought was his Dom side, but I wasn’t sure what had him reacting and his words didn’t give me enough to go on. “It’s not enough anymore, though. You started coming a few times a month and then it just kept inching up. You’ve been here almost every night this week.”
“Stalker much?” It was a weak response and he knew it.
He didn’t call me out on it, though.
Shaking his head, he grinned. “You don’t get paid but he logs your time like a regular employee. So that’s not the stalking part.”
Pointing to the wrapper for my sandwich, he shrugged. “That’s the stalking part.”
“At least you’re honest.” My response was mostly just being a cheeky ass, but he took it very seriously.
“Always.” The sincerity in his eyes was hard to miss, but I’d seen assholes who believed their line of shit enough to feel that way too. “If I’m going to be worthy of someone’s submission, then it starts at being honest. I’m not going to be a dick about it, but I’m not going to lie and I’m not going to downplay my faults.”
Like watching me entirely too often.
