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no additional play partners

. . .

rysak

sweetiebird: Yes, I got yours. It’s shorter than expected. Am I really not allowed to see your face? Ever?

Mr. Good Time: No. That’s a hard boundary for me. I thought you’d be the most upset about the kissing.

sweetiebird: I’m not. I don’t think I like kissing. It’s kind of gross, texture-wise.

Mr. Good Time: Okay, then maybe start your list off with “no kissing,” too. It’s fine if we have crossover.

July 21, 5:19 a.m.

Mr. Good Time: sweetiebird?

July 21, 2:13 p.m.

Mr. Good Time: One more day to the tentatively scheduled meetup. Should I cancel the reservation?

July 21, 2:34 p.m.

sweetiebird: I’m sorry. You’ve gone out of your way to put me at ease and make the conditions safe. But I’m still going back and forth with myself about meeting up—even if it’s just an initial discussion to see if we want to move forward.

Mr. Good Time: That’s understandable. You’ve never played within this dynamic.

sweetiebird: I’ve never played, period. This feels like going to the Galápagos for your junior year abroad when you’ve never even been out of the country.

Mr. Good Time: I bet. Why don’t we start with the boundaries list, then confirm meeting up from there. Keep in mind, nothing’s set in stone. You can add or detract whenever you want, even after we meet.

sweetiebird: Good idea. But I’m experiencing a freeze response about where to start with the list.

Mr. Good Time: If you want, I can walk you through it.

sweetiebird: Yes, I think I’d find that helpful.

Mr. Good Time: Start with the three things that come to mind first. Don’t overthink—just write and press send.

sweetiebird: Okay…

1. no hurting me in ways that leave scars

2. no calling me a bitch or a slur or anything like that

3. NO ADDITIONAL PLAY PARTNERS. (No judgment if that’s somebody’s yum. Polyamory just gives me the ick.)

You were right, btw. Coming up with the start of a boundaries list did make me feel better.

July 21, 5:34 p.m.

sweetiebird: Mr. Good Time?

July 21, 6:34 p.m.

sweetiebird: Was there something wrong with my list? Do you not want to meet up tomorrow? I would really appreciate a reply—I value clear communication, even if it’s negative.

July 21, 9:09 p.m.

Mr. Good Time: Sorry, I got busy at work. Yes, I’d still like to meet in person. Is 8 p.m. okay?

The last message was a lie.

I’d been intrigued by the prospective sub I’d been texting with for weeks. I’d never done scenes with an American before, and the ten-part questionnaire—complete with fifteen sub-questions—she’d sent in response to my profile had caught my attention.

Despite the blackout on identifying information, we’d discovered we had a lot in common: same party affiliation, same views on Indigenous rights, same preference for BBC shows over Canadian and American ones.

We even shared the same hot take that the Netflix Anne of Green Gables adaptation was the best version yet—and that we’d both been gutted when it was canceled too early.

And perhaps, most importantly, we both like dark romance novels and preferred to keep our sex lives strictly separate from our work and personal lives.

But the no-additional-partners boundary had thrown me for a loop. Of course, I wasn’t looking for anything long-term with someone I met on Fetder—especially considering I had a maul to take into consideration now.

Still, to a full Ayaska, saying polyamory gave you the ick was like telling a Buddhist monk who’d invited you to dinner, “Sorry, Siddhartha gives me the ick.”

Technically, your views didn’t change what he planned to serve. But it might give him pause about whether he’d enjoy your company.

But in the end, I decided it didn’t matter. This first meeting was meant to be informational—just a vibe check to see if a second encounter was even worth discussing.

And honestly, odds of my bear tolerating her scent past a one-night scene were slim. I didn’t care, as long as the woman was into my dynamic.

But my bear could be picky.

In the private elevator of the Tourmaline penthouse suite I liked to use for scenes, I pulled on my red-skeleton ski mask with more curiosity about the one-of-a-kind prospect that had swiped right on me than anticipation.

Prudes could make decent scene partners, but sometimes it wasn’t worth the effort to train them. I wasn’t expecting much when the elevator dinged on the top floor.

Then the doors opened.

And my bear stood all the way on its hind legs inside of me.

Sweetiebird had checked 5'4", Black American, More to Caress, and Average Looks on her faceless Fetder profile.

Everything was true… except the Average Looks.

The most appealing woman I’d ever laid eyes on stood on the side of the elevator doors, waiting.

And she smelled like honey.

this summer

Bear hindsight being 22/20, I knew I was in trouble from the start. I only occasionally had meetings in Vancouver—usually on the way to or from Victoria.

But suddenly, I was jumping at any excuse to go to the city.

Want to meet with me about fracking? Something my people would never allow? Sure. I’ll tell you hell no in person.

Freshly graduated bear, hoping to pick my brain about a career in politics over coffee? Tell me when and where.

Need a last-minute keynote for your NDP fundraiser—even though I never take or raise campaign money? Of course. I just have a hard out at 9 p.m.

Sweetiebird didn’t want anything to do with my lifestyle.

But I’d take any excuse. Any excuse to see her.

We both called her my little s submissive. But I was her dog. Desperate to be near her in whatever capacity I could—even if we were doomed.

Until she asked me to do the one thing I couldn’t do: give her a baby and be okay with not being its father.

Contrary to my opponent’s claims, I did take Ayaska values seriously.

I found that out the hard way—when I had to leave her crying in a hotel room because what she wanted didn’t match what I could give. Because our values didn’t align.

The next seven months were an excruciating slog of work and regret.

So imagine my shock when I walked into my totem den and found my sweetiebird canoodling with one of my maul mates—the faint scent of cloves and cardamom still clinging to her soft, honey-brown skin.

“Okay, but what does any of that have to do with not having ever kissed her or even licked her sweet pussy?” Callum interrupted. He was crammed into the passenger seat of Twinkerbell, my brother’s tiny, lime-green Chevy Spark, which we’d borrowed to chase after our mate.

“Kissing is incredibly intimate,” I bit out. “I was already having a hard enough time not biting her. What do you think would’ve happened if I let myself kiss her?”

“We would’ve gotten our perfect maul mate sooner,” Callum muttered. “I can’t believe you kept her all to yourself for three years!”

“How many times do I have to tell you, I didn’t think she wanted this.

She was enrolled in grad school in Vancouver.

She had a life plan that didn’t involve moving to some middle-of-nowhere mountain town.

And did you not hear the part where she put no additional partners at the top of her hard limit list? With three nauseated face emojis!”

“And you put kissing on yours! ” Callum shot back.

“If the two of you were half as good at communicating as you thought you were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.

You would’ve figured out that the moment she started wanting a baby was the perfect time to bring up letting us all fuck, bite, and forever her. ”

He had a point.

I scrubbed a hand down my face. “I’ll fix this.”

“For fuck sure you better. Our maul depends on it.” Cal crossed his arms. “Because I’m Team Honeybee. If she decides you’re a dealbreaker, we’ll divorce your ass and find another Ayaska to take your place.”

“There is no other Ayaska who’d take my place,” I growled.

“Fuck there isn’t,” he growled right back. “She smells like honey, looks like heaven, and doesn’t put up with anyone’s bullshit. Don’t act like we wouldn’t have tens of Ayaska guys lining up to maul her.”

“No,” I said. “I’m telling you—there is no other. Because I’ll kill whoever you get to replace me before I let her go.”

Stunned silence.

Then a slow grin spread across Callum’s face. “Now that’s the attitude I want to see—oh hell, here comes the bus.”

Brenda tooted the horn as she rolled past in her big empty shuttle, headed down the two-lane road to pick up more locals hoping for a free morning ride to Barrington.

“That means she’s already been dropped off.” Callum let out a growl that was fifty percent frustration and fifty percent worry. “She’s in the wind.”

Because of me.

For the millionth time since we failed to catch up with our mate before the shuttle pulled away, I cursed myself for blurting out that question about stalking and making her run.

“Not in the wind,” I insisted to Callum, nonetheless. “She doesn’t have her suitcase or the backpack with her phone. And the human bus from Vancouver doesn’t get here for another couple hours. So she’s stuck at Barrington’s until we come to get her.”

My reasoning made sense. Still, I pressed Twinkerbell’s gas pedal to the floor, ignoring the posted limit and anti-speeding signs to careen down the road. The fear in my chest eased just a little when I saw the sign for Barrington’s in the distance.

Only to seize again when I saw the scene playing out in front of the pumps when we pulled into the lot. A huge red bear tackling an Iron Claw to the ground.

“Holy shit! Is that Gid?” Callum said beside me. “What’s he doing?”

The answer did not loosen the knot in my stomach as we sped through the parking lot toward the scene.

But not fast enough. Gideon killed the Iron Claw before we could get there, with two cold, intentional swipes of his heavy paw, then roared after the biker who fled before turning his sights on our vulnerable human mate.

In a blood-slick flash, the unredacted report I’d ordered on him three and a half years ago from an old buddy still working at the CSE flickered through my mind.

Gideon had been a highly valued asset with a specialty in explosives—close-quarters sabotage, bridge collapses, and tunnel traps. Basically Bob the anti-Builder black ops.

Until he discovered his commander had deliberately sacrificed a Canadian humanitarian unit to cover up a botched weapons exchange with American defense contractors in a Middle Eastern country where we weren’t even supposed to be.

That commander was dead now. Along with two of the cleanup team sent in to neutralize Gideon and contain the story.

I’d seen the pictures. Knew what his bear was capable of. And decided he could be useful for political “influencing” missions that required plausible deniability—and a complete lack of conscience, as long as no innocents were involved.

He kept himself sealed tight inside the identity of one of the Red Outsider Twins.

In fact, he masked so well that if not for the flat, numbed-out silence radiating from his side of our shared bond bite—as opposed to Callum’s free-flowing emotional channel—I wouldn’t be able to tell the two of them apart.

How many times had I thought to myself that he and sweetiebird would get along?

It hadn’t occurred to me that he could hurt her in his bear form—until he swung his red head around from the biker back to her.

The doors to Barrington’s were right there. Maybe she could make it.

“Run!” I yelled, bringing the Chevy Spark to a screeching halt in front of them and ripping open the door.

But she only stood there, staring at the beast and his maw full of sharp teeth.

Right before she hugged him.

“Thanks for saving me.” Her voice floated to us as Callum and I jumped out of the tiny car. “I really appreciate it. Please don’t murder me, too.”

My heart nearly gave out. What was she doing? He was going?—

I stopped short when the bear she’d bent down to hug around the neck became a man, his forearms and face splattered with blood as he wrapped her tight in his own embrace.

Only to suddenly draw back to cup her face in both of his hands.

“Baby, did I scare you?” His eyes scanned her face, as if upsetting her worried him more than the now faceless dead biker at his feet.

Or the crowd of open-mouth Bear Mountains locals, who were staring at the naked, bloodied male with his arms wrapped around a tourist.

“My heart rate is definitely up,” she admitted with a breathy laugh.

He did not laugh back.

“I never—I never wanted you to see me this way. I try…” His voice broke on the last line. “I try to keep him contained. But sometimes I can’t control my bear.”

“Oh,” she said, her expression softening. “So that was you unmasked?”

Gideon let out a chuff, his own expression softening. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“In that case, nice to meet you.” She leaned forward to hug him again.

“I know how hard it is to let people see how you really are. Thanks for showing me. For saving me. And you know, don’t be upset.

My sense of fairness overrides my gross-out reflex.

I’m just so grateful you didn’t get hurt. Wait…”

Now she drew back and cupped her hands around his cheeks. “You’re not going to be blamed for this, are you? Please tell me this falls under one of those exemption laws Callum was telling me about— ommmpph !”

She cut off when Gideon did something I never had. Kissed her. So passionately, it made my gut roll with jealousy and even more regret.

Why had I let myself be so scared of falling for her? Why had I held back? Why, instead of walking out of that hotel room, hadn’t I explained that what I wanted most for Christmas was to bring her home to my maul and give her the baby she so desired, along with forever?

“Well, well, well,” Callum said, finally speaking up. “Look who’s the messy one now.”

Sweetiebird—Lark—pulled back from the kiss with snort.

“Don’t make him feel bad….” She started to chastise Callum with a teasing smile.

But then she saw me.

And the smile slid right off her face.

I’d been so relieved to find her, unharmed and in the arms of my second maul.

But when the scent-match human I’d been trying to resist for three years looked up at me…

There was nothing but hatred in her eyes.