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“Which one?” he asks, staring at the—okay, it’s more of a huge mound—pile sitting on the end of the bed.

“All of them.”

“All of them?” he squeaks again.

I shrug.

“I thought you said you got a toothbrush and something for me to wear tomorrow?” he asks cautiously.

“I did. But then I saw a few other things too.”

“And you bought them? How much was all of this?” His eyes are wide and laced with panic.

“Not much,” I say, lying to him. I’d planned to just go to Target, but instead I ended up browsing in a few more stores too. It turns out I enjoy shopping for my boy. My need for control has never extended to buying clothes for my previous partners. Maybe because it was a limit for them, or maybe because I just didn’t care what they wore, unless we were at a club.

With Henry, buying things for him felt right. Not because I want him to look a certain way, but because I wanted to provide for him, to make sure he’s comfortable and has everything he needs.

“Why don’t you take a look? If anything doesn’t fit, or you just don’t like it, I can return it.”

“I need to pay you back.”

“No,” I snap, lacing the word with enough dominance that Henry freezes, his muscles so rigid he’s not even blinking. “If I want to buy you things, I will.”

“No,” he says, shaking himself from his stupor to glare at me.

Arching a brow at him, I tell him without words that I’m not willing to budge on this. “You’re mine, and if I want to shop for you, I will. Don’t ever suggest you need to pay me back for the things I give you. I’m serious, Boy. This is a hard limit for me.”

“A hard limit?” he splutters. “What does that mean?”

Jesus, his innocence is as enticing as it is terrifying. “A hard limit is something that is nonnegotiable. It could be something physical or mental or just something that you’re not willing to change.”

“And me offering to pay for things you buy for me is a hard limit for you?” he asks.

“Yes. If I buy you a gift, it’s a gift.”

“And if I bought you a gift?” he questions.

“Then I wouldn’t insult you by offering to give you the money for it. Unless it was extravagant and you couldn’t afford it. Is that a hard limit for you?” I ask.

“I…I don’t know.” His brows are drawn low, his now familiar expression of confusion clear on his face.

“Have a think about it. Think about anything else that is a limit for you too. We can talk about soft limits as well.”

“What is a soft limit?”

“Something that you’re unsure about. Something that you could be willing to try but have reservations about, or just something that you’re not ready for yet,” I explain.

“Do you have any soft limits? Or any other hard limits?” he asks.

“I don’t share. That’s a very hard limit for me.”

“Share?”

“I’m…this is monogamous.” I motion between the two of us. “You’re mine and I’m yours, and touching or flirting with anyone else is cheating as far as I’m concerned.”

Relief bursts through me when he easily nods in agreement.

“I won’t do anything physically that will leave a mark that lasts longer than a couple of hours. I don’t do blood, scat, or piss play.”