“Yes.”
Oh. “Okay, your proposition?”
Christian looks suddenly determined and businesslike. Holy shit. We’re negotiating a deal. I listen attentively.
“Let me ask you something first. Do you want a regular vanilla relationship with no kinky fuckery at all?”
My mouth drops open. “Kinky fuckery?” I squeak.
“Kinky fuckery.”
“I can’t believe you said that.” I glance nervously at Taylor.
“Well, I did. Answer me,” he says calmly.
I flush. My inner goddess is down on bended knee with her hands clasped in supplication begging me.
“I like your kinky fuckery,” I whisper.
“That’s what I thought. So what don’t you like?”
Not being able to touch you. You enjoying my pain, the bite of the belt . . .
“The threat of cruel and unusual punishment.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, you have all those canes and whips and stuff in your playroom, and they frighten the living daylights out of me. I don’t want you to use them on me.”
“Okay, so no whips or canes—or belts, for that matter,” he says sardonically.
I gaze at him puzzled. “Are you attempting to redefine the hard limits?”
“Not as such, I’m just trying to understand you, get a clearer picture of what you do and don’t like.”
“Fundamentally, Christian, it’s your joy in inflicting pain on me that’s difficult for me to handle. And the idea that you’ll do it because I have crossed some arbitrary line.”
“But it’s not arbitrary; the rules are written down.”
“I don’t want a set of rules.”
“None at all?”
“No rules.” I shake my head, but my heart is in my mouth. Where is he going with this?
“But you don’t mind if I spank you?”
“Spank me with what?”
“This.” He holds up his hand.
I squirm uncomfortably. “No, not really. Especially with those silver balls . . .” Thank heavens it’s dark, my face is flaming and my voice trails off as I recall that night. Yeah . . .