Page 60 of Dual Surrender

“Not up to you.”

“It’s very much up to me.”

An unamused laugh tumbled out of my mouth and I glanced up at him, lips pursed. “What happened to your limits are my limits? What happened to you wanting me to choose for you?”

“This is too far,” he threw another part of our conversation back at me.

“You said work, friends, and money,” I reminded him. “Those were your rules.”

“You think fucking off to Colorado doesn’t fuck with my work?” he asked. “My money? My friends?”

I scrubbed my hands down my face. “What do you have going on at work this week?”

He didn’t answer, which meant nothing he couldn’t do from Colorado.

“Maybe 24/7 isn’t for you after all,” I suggested, falling backward onto the bed and staring up at the ceiling. How quickly had this man of mine forgotten what a peeled piece of ginger root burned like when shoved inside of his ass. The memories of a masochist were fleeting things.

“Maybe not,” he agreed.

I loved this man, but he was exhausting. He would be the death of me before Foster Golden; I saw that with startling clarity.

“What if you just call Colton and see if he’s up for it?” I suggested, scratching my temple. “Maybe go for a long weekend.”

And what did that say about me? Bartering with my submissive partner? Maybe he wasn’t so submissive after all. What if he really was only in it for the pain, but somewhere along the line he’d tangled up the two and thought one meant more than the other? I assumed it was Sam’s influence, because I’d never seen someone submit and yield so naturally, and we all knew Rich to be as much of a sadist as I was, even though I had no doubt he tempered it with his younger lover.

“Maybe,” he agreed, which felt like a relief.

“In the meantime, call Rich and Sam. See if they want to get dinner.”

“If you’re trying to turn me into a table again, it won’t work.”

I closed my eyes and flung my arm over my face. “I didn’t try to turn you into a table. You were wet and hard for it as soon as I put you on your knees. The rest came naturally.”

“I’ll call Sam.” Kevin said, stomping down the hallway and into the living room. I listened to him bang around in the kitchen, and I had half a mind to take out my frustration on Foster for the havoc he’d caused in my relationship. But I knew that was misguided. I knew the underlying tension would have simmered with or without his intervention.

Things with Kevin had been wavering since our anniversary, and the struggle to find new ways to play without jeopardizing what I’d thought to be a sturdy foundation was just proving to be more work than I’d anticipated.

Med school had been easier than this.

Kevin’s footsteps clomped back down to the bedroom, stopping again in the doorway. I hadn’t moved from my position on the bed.

“They said we can come over if we want,” he said.

“Do you want?” I asked.

“Do you care?”

I sat up and let out a long breath, hoping the look I gave Kevin matched the despondency I felt.

“Of course I care,” I said.

His angry expression flickered and he looked down. “I didn’t mean to come off that way.”

“Yes, you did.” I nodded. “It’s okay. Things are weird right now.”

“It’s not okay.”

“Then don’t do it,” I suggested with a shrug.