Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Nathan did care; he’d boarded the “you’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar” train.
“I love you, Ash. So fucking much. We’re gonna make it.”
I drew another deep breath and nodded once. “I love you too. We’ll get there.”
“One hour. You promised one hour.”
I chuckled and kissed his hand. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, but you yawned.”
“Because I’ve worked all day,” I laughed.
I pulled him close and kissed his temple next. Sure, I’d rather be home, cuddling it up on our couch with takeout, than standing in line to enter a kink club. But…we’d promised each other to make more of an effort to explore BDSM. It’d sort of become an afterthought since we’d moved to Boston.
Back in Philly, we’d found a decent community. Nathan had taken classes in kinbaku. He’d even taken college courses to learn more about nerves and whatnot. We had books on triage care and anatomy in our bookcase.
I’d been his test subject plenty of times.
Meanwhile, I wasn’t sure where I landed. I already had the best sex of my life with Nate. Man, did we go at it sometimes, with both of us coming out the other side with bruises and scrapes.
Even though Daddykink reeled me in—in theory—the thought of exploring playtime with others tied a noose around my neck. But eventually, we’d have to give it a go. Nathan was coming to realize that he wanted to explore dominance too, which wasn’t surprising. He didn’t have a submissive bone in him, and he could be a control freak.
After what felt like two fucking days, we entered the club and headed straight for the bar.
We were here to observe, nothing else.
The progressive metal wasn’t too loud, thankfully. We didn’t even have to yell for the bartender to hear us.
Different stations were set up around the club, hosting dynamics that engaged in breath play, predicament bondage, beatings, group sex, and whatever the fuck they were doing in stall four.
Sometimes, I worried that this was more of a lifestyle goal for Nate. For me, vanilla would always come first. I was drawn to kink, but I didn’t require it in order to be happy.
“Let’s go sit over there.” He spoke over the music and pointed to an empty table close to the wall.
I followed him with my beer, side-eyeing the kinksters who stared at me.
Did I have something on my face?
That guy was staring, so was that woman, and that little dude was gawking.
I scowled to myself and sat down next to Nate.
I leaned closer to him. “Why are people staring?” I wasn’t wearing anything weird. Jeans and a black button-down. Standard going-out clothes. Or so we had compromised. I liked my vintage tees, but I could admit it wasn’t wrong to try harder sometimes. Besides, the black shirts blended in better in a sea of leather.
Nate smirked and pressed a kiss to my jaw. “It’s a big moment to them. They just saw the sexiest man alive.”
Okay. He was batshit. I shook my head in amusement and took a swig of my beer. There was nothing wrong with my confidence; I knew I looked good. I also knew he was exaggerating.
“No need to butter me up, baby,” I drawled. “You already know you’ll get laid tonight.”
He was happy tonight. He’d been looking forward to this.
I touched his cheek and kissed him quickly.
“Are you ready to play a game?” he asked.
I felt my forehead wrinkle. “What kind of game?”
He straightened in his seat and nodded at the crowd of people. Most were focused on the scening stalls, but some were dancing too.
“I want you to pick out a cute guy,” he said. “Nothing more, nothing less. Pick someone who strikes you as a sub or a Little.”
What the fuck for?
I frowned and rested my forearms on the table, and I let my gaze travel the club from side to side. Most were here with partners. Both gays and straights. I spotted one guy, who I assumed was straight, ’cause he was clinging to his Domme, but I couldn’t deny he was attractive. Dark, messy hair, on the chubby side, infectious grin.
“All right.” I jerked my chin toward the bar. “The short stack in blue underwear, tugging on his Domme’s dress.”
Nate located him too. “Good choice. Could you give him a beating with a flogger and keep things nonsexual?”
I furrowed my brow. What was he getting at?
“Yeah, probably. Yeah.” I mean, of course. “Nonsexual intimacy isn’t an issue.”
“So beatings are safe,” he deduced. “Flogging, whipping—spanking?”
I shrugged. “I need more than my hand on a stranger’s ass to feel something.”
He cracked a smirk and inclined his head. “Fair enough. What about aftercare? After you’ve beaten him, he’s crying and wants to sit on your lap. You’ll need to hold him and console him until he feels better.”
I looked back at the boy and turned pensive. Aftercare was another matter. Another brand of intimacy and closeness. But I couldn’t foresee it causing any problems.