Page 30 of Malachi
“Then why did you?” he asked, his tone showing just how dumbfounded he was by my admission.
“I’m sorry,” I said with a laugh. “Do you think women here get a choice in the matter?”
“Well, I suppose I thought you hadsomesay in the matter. At least in the part of whether or not you wanted to get married,” he admitted.
“Nope. Not at all. Our parents decide if we are ready to be married off and they tell us who our husbands will be. That’s it. That’s the process. Well, that and the mothers of the church swooping in to tell us all about the horrors of the marital bed,” I added with a giggle.
“The horrors?” he chuckled. “Is it so horrific, then?”
“Well, the fact that I have yet to share an actualbedwith you while we engage in marital activities, I suppose I wouldn’t know,” I teased with a smile.
“Are you complaining?” His question was meant to be teasing in return, but I could hear the concern in his voice, regardless of how he tried to hide it.
“No, Malachi. I’m not complaining in the slightest.” I needed him to not only hear my sincerity, but to see it. I pulled away from him, turning to face him again, though this time I did not move to the other side of the tub. “I enjoy what we have. I only wish you would open up to me. I need you to hear me when I say that I want you. I just want you. Grumpy, snarky, sexy, manhandling you,” I admitted, my eyes searching his, showing him every ounce of truth that my words held.
“You say that now,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes and looking away from me.
“I say that now because it’s the truth. I just want you to open up to me,” I urged him, needing him to understand.
“There are parts of me you wouldn’t like,” he said, his eyes still unwilling to meet mine.
“And there are things Iknowyou don’t like about me,” I laughed off lightly. My hand found his in the water, linking our fingers together. “But I want to know more. Please don’t be afraid to open up to me,” I urged him.
It was a long moment before his eyes lifted, finally meeting my gaze with a rawness I was not expecting.
“Well, like I said, there are things about me that are difficult to explain. I like sex to be different than most men,” he began. I listened with bated breath, anxious and excited for his truth. “I like the rawness, the realness that we share out in those woods.”
“I do too, though it confuses me,” I admitted softly.
“I’m sure it does, and that is my fault. I should have been honest with you before I ever engaged in that kind of play with you,” he grumbled a bit, as though he were chastising himself.
“So be honest with me now,” I urged again, squeezing his hand in mine.
“I’m a primal Dom,” he admitted with a heavy sigh. His eyes searched my face for something, but I honestly didn’t have any idea what he was talking about.
“I don’t know what that is,” I said, hoping he would fill in the blanks for me.
“It means that I am a dominant, first and foremost, and the type of play I prefer to engage in is of the primal nature,” he explained, though his words left me with even more questions. I held my tongue and let him continue before I badgered him further.
“I am a part of a community called a BDSM community. It’s complicated, but in essence, it’s a group of people who engage in play — often of a sexual nature — that involves a power dynamic. One person is dominant, and the other is submissive,” he explained.
“Those words I understand, I think,” I breathed.
“Yes, they are often used in church to describe a husband and wife. The fundamental difference here is that there is consent.” And then he laid it all out for me. He talked for what felt like hours, explaining power dynamics, scenes, and the importance of consent.
I was ravenous for the knowledge he was giving me, and intrigued beyond measure. Thoughts and images of the things he described flipped and played through my mind. Ropes tied around women, smiles on their faces as they were pleasured to delirium. Kneeling before a man as he whispered words of praise and commands of pleasure. Even the thought of spanking, of impact as he described it, titillated my senses as much as it confused me.
“The thought of being spanked and enjoying it doesn’t make sense,” I murmured after his musings had quieted. The bath water was rapidly growing tepid as we soaked, relaxing together, his words resonating between us like a force unrecognizable.
“That’s because you haven’t experienced it,” he chuckled lightly. “Well, actually, I need to amend that statement. You do not need to feel pleasurable impact to understand the appeal of it,” he corrected himself. His arms wrapped around me, the fingers of one hand lightly strumming against my nipple absentmindedly.
“You’ve lost me again,” I sighed, trying to keep up with his thought process but failing miserably.
“We just finished one hell of a romp in the woods. I chased you. Toyed with you. I stalked you until I caught you, claimed you, and took you for my own,” he whispered low and sensually against the shell of my ear. I could not deny the way it made my core clench, my thighs shifting together slowly beneath the water’s sudsy surface.
“How did it feel? To be chased?” he asked me quietly. The feel of his fingers running idly over my skin had me shivering as arousal began to awaken in me again.
“It was exhilarating,” I whispered somewhat breathlessly.
