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“Like what?” I press, my cheeks heating as the question leaves my lips. “What kind of... dynamics?”
“Some… dynamics are very intense. Every time. Intense in a way that you don’t get used to.”
He studies me for a moment, his gaze steady and assessing, before continuing. “Some people like to incorporate pain into their dynamic. Spanking, flogging, things like that. For them, it’s not just about the sensation—it’s about trust. Control. Letting go.”
My eyes widen, my mind racing to process his words. “People actually like that?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I’m both horrified and... fascinated.
Cole nods. “Some do. And for those people, it can be deeply fulfilling. It’s not about hurting someone—it’s about connection, boundaries, trust. The combination of pleasure and pain is usually a pretty surefire way to bring these feelings on. What you’re experiencing, I mean. The more intense it is, the higher you go, the further you have to fall. So, for a lot of people, this is pretty common, and they have ways of dealing with them. Rituals, routines.”
I flush, the idea both intriguing and overwhelming. “Are you…?” I ask hesitantly, the words feeling awkward on my tongue.
“Into that?” He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “No.”
There’s a pause where I go back and forth, trying to decide whether to ask him my next question.
“Have you—” I can’t get the rest of the words out, but he apparently understands what I’m asking.
His green eyes meet mine, calm and steady. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t hesitate. “Have I tried it?” he asks, finishing my question for me. “Yes.”
I blink, not expecting such a direct answer. My cheeks flush even hotter, and I glance down at my hands. “Oh,” I whisper.
“It’s a consequence of being young and not knowing what you want,” he continues, his voice measured, like he’s explaining something factual rather than personal. “You try different things, and that’s what I’ve done.”
I swallow hard, my throat dry. Different things. I suddenly want to know everything. And absolutely nothing at the same time.
His is lips curve into a faint, almost wry smile, almost as if he can read my thoughts. “It’s about the pain, but it isn’t. Not really. It’s about the trust that comes with giving and receiving it. About pushing limits—mentally, physically—seeing just how far you can go, and knowingsomeone is there to catch you when you’ve reached it; that you’re safe.”
His words sink in slowly, and I find myself more curious than I should be. “But for you?”
He shakes his head. “For me, it’s not about pain. It’s about control. About pushing boundaries, but in other ways. Of course, there are some people who like a little more control and enjoy the ritual aspect of it, the honorary titles, the kneeling and worshiping and such. Some like total control, every aspect of someone’s life. I don’t desire that. I just need control in bed. Control of your pleasure, whether it’s withholding it or providing it.”
The casual way he says it, “control ofyourpleasure,” and remembering the way he’d teased me, tormented me, until I was practically begging for release, makes me want to crawl under the couch and hide forever.
“But there is a responsibility that comes with it,” he says, his voice dropping slightly, a note of something darker running through it.
I bite my lip, my thoughts racing. “Is that why you’re... here now?” I ask, gesturing vaguely at the sitting room around us. “Because of... responsibility?”
He tilts his head, studying me. “Partly. But mostly because I care about how you’re feeling, Annie. Last night wasn’t just about control or pleasure—it was about you. Your first time, your experience. That matters tome.”
His words hit me harder than I expect, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. The lump in my throat starts to form again, but this time, it’s different. It’s not shame or embarrassment—it’s something warmer, softer.
“I don’t know what to say,” I admit, my voice barely audible.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he says gently. “But I want you to know that what you’re feeling right now is okay. It’s normal. And it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you or what we did.”
His reassurance pinpoints exactly what I’m feeling. The shame of being into… that. I don’t know if it exactly releases me from the feeling, but it’s soothing.
“It’s just... a lot,” I say finally.
“I know,” he says simply. “And that’s why I’m here. To make sure you’re okay.”
I glance up at him, studying his face. There’s no trace of arrogance or condescension—just sincerity. It’s disarming in a way I didn’t expect, and for the first time since I woke up, I feel like I can breathe again.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
A small smile curves his lips. “Are you ready to eat now?”
“I’m still not very hungry.”