Page 21 of Stand Your Ground

I barked out a laugh. “That was nothing.”

“I beg to differ.”

“And did we learn something?”

He frowned at that, wrapping himself up a bit more in the blanket before he kicked back. “Tune into the nonverbal cues. Take my time, don’t rush, let her know I enjoy it. Make her feel safe to let go.”

“And?”

“Suck the clit like it’s my sole purpose for walking this earth.”

I laughed again, tilting the bottle to my lips. “We’re off to a good start.”

When Carter finished his water, I offered him the wine, and we sat for a while in comfortable quiet, passing the bottle between us. I imagined we were both a little in our heads, wondering how the hell we’d found ourselves here. We hadn’t just crossed the line of our friendship, we’d bungee jumped over the damn thing.

Now that we’d both come and were floating down from the high, reality was sinking in.

Still, I didn’t have regrets, and I didn’t feel any rolling off of Carter. He looked… pleased — not just physically, but pleased with his performance. I liked the sated curl of his lips, the sleepiness in his gaze.

I liked that I’d given him that.

“So… have you been an actual Domme before?” he asked after a while. “Like…”

“With a submissive?” I angled my head toward him. “What do you think?”

“I think that contract seemed pretty fine-tuned.”

“Then why are you asking?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just… curious. How did you get into it?”

It was an unwanted and natural reaction, the way fear pricked my spine and sent chills racing over me. Carter wasn’t doing anything to make me feel unsafe, but the very nature of what he’d asked did so, anyway.

I couldn’t answer honestly without revealing a part of my past I preferred to keep buried.

So, I took a sip of wine to compose myself.

And I lied.

“I dated a guy when I was younger who was into it. He liked to be degraded and controlled, used. He asked me to try with him, to be his Domme.” I shrugged. “And I liked it.”

“Do you ever like to be the submissive?”

“Never,” I answered immediately, but again, it was a lie.

There was a part of me that was curious what it would feel like to relinquish control in the bedroom, to switch and let a man use me and degrade me in a safe, consensual way.

I thought it would be hot.

But I also didn’t think it was possible to achieve.

My trust for the opposite sex had been eviscerated.

“Now,” I said, changing the subject as I tilted onto my hip and turned toward Carter. I leaned my chin on my palm, elbow propped on the stone ledge of the fireplace. “Tell me about this puck bunny who let you fuck her ass.”

Carter nearly choked on the sip of wine he was in the process of taking, and when he saw my smile, he mirrored it, shaking his head.

“I don’t know what more there is to tell.”