“Then leave. Pretty sure she won’t, though. There’s no way for you to know what’s going on with her until you’re face-to-face. Could be nothing, but it’s more likely something. You can’t deal with it until you know what it is.”
I see the wisdom in that. I have no idea if Cynnie is ghosting me because she’s done with me or because of Jun or for some other reason. Until she talks to me, I have no way of knowing, and this limbo is killing me.
“What if she tells me we’re done?” I ask, because that’s the possibility I fear the most.
“Ask again. Make damn sure. Some gals want to be chased. If it’s a hard no, then you’re done. Always respect a lady’s wishes. But just disappearing on you? That’s not telling you anything, yes or no.”
That idea lights a fire in my belly. Although it all went wrong in the end, Cynnie loved me chasing and catching her. Even pinning her down. I still feel like I did something wrong the last time I fucked her, but I’m no longer sure if it was pinning her down and railing her. She seemed to love every second of that.
“What do you think about the whole thing?” I ask, hesitantly. “The Daddy Dom thing?”
“What I think is probably not as important as whatyouthink, Maxie.”
“I’m struggling,” I admit. It’s hard to force the words out and that’s nothing to do with our pace.
“Because?” Mac asks.
“There are things about it that feel completely right. Like protecting my little. But there are things that feel ... not wrong but not a perfect fit.”
“Like what?” Mac asks.
“Logan dresses Emily in these little pink dresses all the time,” I say, fumbling for how to explain the pieces that appeal to me but also have little jagged edges that haven’t aligned in me. “I don’t want to do that.”
“I’ll be straight with you,” Mac says, with a huffing chuckle. “His pink fetish makes my eyes bleed. I don’t see the appeal. But it’s not what I think that matters. It’s what works for Lo and Emmy. Find what works for you, Maxie.”
“How do I know?”
“Experiment. If putting your little in pink makes you feel like you’ve spilled a bottle of Pepto Bismol, put her in black, or latex, or a cat suit. The limit’s your imagination.”
“What if what I imagine is really ... bad?”
Mac shoots me a side-eye. “Define bad.”
I shake my head. I can’t admit the things I want to him. Dressing Cynnie up like a cat and making her eat out of a bowl on the floor and use a litter box? Chaining her naked in my den wearing just a fox tail in her ass? I saw one when I ordered the butt plugs, and it was all I could think about for hours. Take that adorable baby girl out of her floral dresses and fringed dusters and make her do those things? She’d report me to the cops.
Mac huffs out a few breaths. “Max, who taught you about the birds and the bees?”
“Huh?” My mother certainly never said a word about sex or girls to me, although I learned more than I wanted to from listening to her with my many “uncles.” Uncle Max pounded the importance of safety and condoms into my teenaged brain, and gruffly told me one day to make sure I took care of my partner before I took care of myself. Otherwise, it was all playground bullshit. “I guess I just picked it up.”
“Right. Society’s filled your head with ideas of what sex should be. But they don’t fit anymore, do they?” When I shake my head in agreement, he continues, “Let all that noise go. Focuson what feels right. Whatyouwant. I promise your fantasies aren’t any darker or weirder than anyone else’s.”
“Jesus, sir, how can you know that?”
Mac chuckles. “First, stop calling me sir. Second, I can guarantee you haven’t fallen deep enough down the rabbit hole yet to top some of the things I’ve seen and done, so stop beating yourself up. I know you, Max. I don’t have any concerns about your fantasies.”
We’re coming up on my apartment again, so I drop to a walk and put my hands behind my neck, stretching out my chest and popping my back. Mac matches my stride, puffing a little.
“Need to do this more often,” Mac says. “I’m outta shape.”
I give that comment the snort it deserves.
“My knee’s killing me,” he continues. “You got an ice pack?”
“Yup. Come on up.”
Once he’s settled on the couch icing his bad knee and we’re both rehydrating, I slowly spill the worst of my guilt and shame over how things ended with Cynnie. I sit with my head bowed, my hands between my knees, waiting for Mac’s judgment.
His heavy hand falls on my shoulder.
