Page 65 of Love By Design

“No marks that will show at work,” he bit the words out like every one of them was a fight. “Don’t ignore me as a punishment.”

“I would never.”

“I’m not a huge fan of canes, but I would like to be.”

My dick surged to full-mast. “I love canes.”

“Good.” Silas chewed his lip between his teeth. “What about you?”

“I won’t abide a brat, Silas.”

“Understood,” he said, nodding quickly. “Anything else?”

“I’ll use red if anything needs to stop, same as I expect from you. Also, aftercare is a non-negotiable. I’ll always make sure we have time for it. That I have time for you.”

Precum leaked against my underwear.

I’d always enjoyed the discussion and the negotiation of a scene, the way talking about what I was about to do was like foreplay in and of itself. The hint of arousal with it all, the tease and the promise. But this, like all things with Silas, was so much more than that. The man in my lap was dangerously close to consuming me, and he didn’t even know. Could he tell how affected I was by the sight of him? The proximity of him?

“Yes,” he said, and I shuddered, realizing he was agreeing to my limits, not commenting on a thought he’d never heard. “Does this mean you want me to call you Sir now?”

Very back in the present moment, I trailed my hand down his cheek, over his arm, down his side to his waist. I held him hard, held him steady, encouraging him to grind down into my lap to chase the friction he was after.

“Have I earned it?”

Silas exhaled against my mouth, breath quivering as it ghosted across my lips.

“I think so,” he whispered.

Something burned and expanded in the middle of my chest, pressing against my sternum and my ribs. I swallowed hard to keep whatever it was inside of me, unsure about the repercussions of letting it out.

“Then, yes.”

“When?” he asked.

“Whenever you want, Silas. Or whenever I tell you. But it doesn’t have to be all the time.” I dug my thumbs into his hips. “I do very much love the way you say my name too.”

He let loose a sound that was half-groan, half-sigh.

“What do you want from me, Marshall?”

Anything.

Everything.

“I want to kiss you,” I admitted.

“What are you wa?—”

I didn’t bother letting him finish the sentence. I no longer needed permission. Our mutual consent was a band wrapped around the both of us that we’d always wear. I’d check the tension on it often, make sure it was still comfortable and right, safe in the ways that mattered, but we had our understanding now.

I slanted my mouth against his and gave him exactly what we both wanted.

CHAPTER 21

SILAS

Kissing Marshall felt a lot like coming home.