Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 99736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
The food gets stuck in the back of my throat, and I choke.
Anders tries to hide his amusement while I can’t breathe and beat on my chest.
“Need a hand?” he asks.
I wave him off and swallow the chunk of food because spitting it out would be gross, and the last thing I want to do is turn Anders off after that proposition.
Reaching for my water, I wince as it washes the last of my choking fiasco down.
“Did your therapist really say that?” I ask.
“Okay, well, not in those exact words.”
“What exact words did he use?”
“Well, he started by saying that we’re fine to continue what we’ve been doing so long as I’m comfortable with it and it doesn’t bring on any anxiety.”
I put my knife and fork down. “And dinner is done. Let’s go.”
Anders laughs and puts his hand up. “Wait. That’s not all. I said there’s quite a bit to go through.” That adorable blush of his that’s mostly hidden by his beard sneaks in.
“Like?”
“If we’re gonna do the whole … bondage thing, we’re supposed to set up limits and guidelines. Come up with a safe word.”
I purse my lips. “Isn’t that a bit extreme? I mean, we’re not talking hardcore BDSM here, right? Just a little … restraint?” Okay, now it’s my turn for my cheeks to heat.
What the fuck? I don’t blush over sex. Granted I’ve never done the whole being-tied-up thing before, but I’m definitely open to it. If it means I get to be with Anders, I’d be willing to try anything. Might draw the line at kissing his feet though. Feet are gross.
Oh, so you can lick someone’s butthole, but feet are gross?
I don’t know why that thought was in Anders’ voice, but it makes a point. Still, I stand by my opinion of feet. Most unsexy body part ever.
“Ed Shearon”—he snickers—“says you need to feel safe. Being tied up is putting you in a vulnerable position.”
“It’ll be a level playing field, then, right?”
“Exactly. I’ll need a safe word too so it’s easier for me to tell you if I’m struggling. And you should have one so if it gets to be too much, you can be untied fast. It’s the best way to do it. Clear and hard lines. The sex guy was pretty adamant on that. He was also adamant about me telling you all this even though I wanted to wing it and hope for the best.”
I want to lecture him about that, but he’s told me and that’s the main thing. “I think it’s probably best we leave it to the professional.”
“He’s not a hooker!”
“Hey, I just said he was a professional. I never implied he’s a whore. But, oh, man, this is going to be fun. So. Much. Innuendo. Can we also take a moment to appreciate that you have a sex guy? Like some people have a weed guy, a nightclub guy, numerous guys who can hook you up with whatever you need. We have a sex guy.”
“We?” Anders asks, his expression too stoic to tell if that makes him uncomfortable.
I clear my throat. “Uh, you.”
“No, no, I like the we comment. I didn’t know if there would be a ‘we’ after I told you … everything.”
“And have you?”
“Have I what?”
“Told me everything?” I’m fishing, so sue me. But I still can’t help thinking there’s something bigger Anders isn’t telling me.
I know anxiety and all his issues present differently in different people, but I’m struggling to find the connection between a mugging and sex unless there was some form of sexual assault involved. I’m not going to pressure him into telling me, but I want so badly for him to trust me with it.
“I’ve told you everything you need to know.”
Nice non-answer, Anders.
“So, the safe-word thing,” I say, steering the topic back to the important part, because I know I can’t push.
I understand a safe word is the right thing to do. Undertaking this type of relationship with anyone would need rules. Doing it with Anders, we probably need even more rules.
“Can we make it something easy and simple like ‘stop’?” I ask. “Because if it’s tosswinkle or something, I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep it serious.”
“Tosswinkle it is,” Anders declares.
Dammit. Definitely shouldn’t have suggested that.
“But nah, seriously,” Anders says, “I’m good with simple. We can do the basic red, yellow, green. Red for stop, yellow for slow down, and green is all good to go.”
“Simple enough.”
We stare at each other over the dining table, our plates still half-full.
Anders’ mouth turns up. “Negotiating a sexual relationship is weird.”
“Yup.” I enunciate the p with a pop.
“Let’s finish eating before we …”
“Break out the ropes and chains?”
“Maybe we can go chain shopping next week. I … uh, kinda made a stop at that place near the motorway on my way home.”