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He wanted to do this right. Wanted to be sure. Wanted me to be sure.

Now here we sat, morning light streaming through my kitchen window, about to negotiate terms like this was a business arrangement instead of the most intimate thing I'd ever done. I tugged at the hem of my purple unicorn pajama top, hyperaware of how ridiculous I must look. Messy bedhead, no makeup, wearing pajamas that would fit right in at a middle school slumber party.

Tyson, of course, had somehow managed to look put-together despite sleeping in yesterday's clothes. His tactical vest hung on my coat rack like it belonged there. He'd rolled his sleeves up, revealing forearms that made me think very non-little thoughts. The legal pad in front of him was already headed with neat block letters: "TERMS OF DYNAMIC - L & T - CONFIDENTIAL."

"First thing," he started, uncapping his pen with military precision. "Safe words. Non-negotiable."

The businesslike tone should have been a mood killer. Instead, it made something settle in my chest. This mattered to him. I mattered to him. Enough to do it right.

"Sparkles," I said immediately.

His eyebrow quirked up, lips twitching like he was fighting a smile.

"When I say 'Sparkles,' everything stops."

"Sparkles," he repeated with complete seriousness, writing it down in neat capitals. No mockery, no judgment. Just acceptance. "I like it. It's yours, yours alone to use."

The possessive edge to those words made me shiver.

"But also," he continued, pen tapping against the pad, "I need a nonverbal signal. For when you're . . ." He paused, choosing words carefully. "When you're deep in little space. Or when you’re a little tied up? Sometimes words can be difficult then."

My throat tightened. I bit my lip. Even thinking about either of those options left me breathless.

"Tapping out?" I suggested, demonstrating against the table. "Three taps anywhere on your body means full stop?"

"Perfect. Three taps, full stop, no questions asked."

I watched him write, the careful precision of each letter. His hands were steady now, so different from how they'd shaken last night in the shop. These hands had been to war, had done things he'd never talk about. But here, now, they moved with gentle purpose, creating safety with ink and paper.

"Cruz never..." The words stuck in my throat like glass. I tried again. "There was never a way to stop. Even when I was crying, when I couldn't breathe, when I—"

"Hey." His hand covered mine, warm and solid. "Look at me."

I did, finding his brown eyes fierce with conviction.

"There will always be a way to stop with me," he said, each word deliberate. "Always, Lena. The second you say 'Sparkles' or you tap out, everything stops. No questions, no anger, no punishment. Just aftercare and discussion about what went wrong."

"Promise?" I hated how small my voice sounded.

His hand tightened on mine. "I swear it on my brothers' graves."

The weight of that oath settled between us like a physical thing.

Tears pricked at my eyes. "That's... that's a big promise."

"It's the only kind worth making." He turned my hand over, thumb tracing my palm. "You need to know you're safe with me. That your consent matters. That 'no' means something."

"It didn't before," I admitted quietly. "He said safe words were for people who couldn't handle real submission. That if I really trusted him, I wouldn't need one."

Tyson's jaw clenched, but his touch stayed gentle. "That's bullshit. Safe words are what separate BDSM from abuse. They're what make the dynamic consensual instead of assault."

"I know that now." I managed a watery smile. "Took a lot of research and therapy to understand it wasn't my fault. That needing safety didn't make me weak."

"You're a strong person, Lena," he said simply, like it was fact instead of opinion. “The way you helped me when I had that gun . . . you’re incredible.”

I had to look away, overwhelmed. This morning felt surreal—sitting in my chaotic kitchen, negotiating kink contracts with a man who'd literally stood between me and danger just hours ago. A man who understood trauma, who carried his own demons but still made space for mine.

"Okay," I said, voice steadier. "Safe words established. What's next?"