“Right,” he stated, his big body adjusting again, now like he was settling in further, intent on giving her the same attention he would a flight attendant who gave the safety address.
That being no more than a courtesy.
She fought the shiver his actions created but allowed the irritation.
“Your safe word is kitten,” she stated.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“You’re open to any kind of play,” she went on.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“It’s important and now’s the time to share should there be anything you wish me to shy away from, Olivier. Especially as this is the first time I’ve played with you.”
Something in his eyes flashed. Blue eyes that were the color of nothing and everything. Not sky. Not sea. Not midnight. A pure blue that only existed in the unchartable depths of a rainbow.
She felt that flash snake up between her thighs, taking residence in her womb.
He wanted this conversation done so she would play with him. He wanted the preliminaries over so they’d get to the good stuff.
He wanted her.
She stared into those blue eyes and for a moment felt mesmerized.
For God’s sake, Leigh, she berated herself in an effort to pull it together. Rainbow?
“Olivier,” she prompted.
“I’m open to anything,” he confirmed.
She threw her hand out, indicating the padded vault, the displayed tack … the stall.
“Anything?” she pushed.
He held her gaze like a dare. “Anything.” Again his lips twitched. “Mistress.”
She quieted and took him in.
Aryas would not let a voyeur past the front door. Amélie fancied he’d paid secret spy guys like the gentleman in the Bond film who created all the devices that got James out of a bind to set up a force field that would instantly eject anyone who wished to use the Bee’s Honey as a curiosity or to get their rocks off observing and not participating (thus not embracing the lifestyle). Certainly not someone who found the whole thing amusing.
“Am I amusing you?” she whispered, the whisper holding a tremor that was not of fear but of anger.
His face set hard and his two words were so firm, the boulders again came tumbling.
“Absolutely not.”
“Then can you explain your humor?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Sure. You are un-fucking-believably beautiful. You’re also un-fucking-believably hot. But I wouldn’t guess with the acres that make all of you, every inch of it so damned sweet, you’re a walking wet dream, that when you get riled you’re also un-fucking-believably cute. And there is no way in fuck five minutes ago, you told me a gorgeous redhead was gonna lead me to a room and make me her pony, I would be cool with that. But standin’ here with you, I’m totally fuckin’ cool with that.”
It took a good deal, and she expended every bit of effort she needed to accomplish it, but at his final two points, Amélie didn’t blink.
Instead, she decided to finish this part up.
Immediately.
“I must confirm you have no boundaries or rules.”
“Got no rules or boundaries, babe.”
Her voice held ice when she demanded, “You will refrain from calling me endearments I have not expressly allowed or you have not earned the right to use by pleasing me.”
He was ready to roll, too, so he didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, Mistress.”
“And I’ll remind you not five seconds ago you mentioned you wouldn’t be…” she hesitated, as if using slang was beneath her (when it wasn’t), “cool with pony play and I would mark words like that as a boundary.”
“Mistress,” he said softly, “there is a lot of shit that goes on in rooms like these that, if you told me somewhere out there in the real world I’d be deep in it, I would not be cool with it. That’s the point of this gig. Am I right? You close yourself off to anything, you put your own damned self in a situation where you might be closing yourself off from everything.”
He had a point.
An excellent one.
And that point proved he was no newbie.
She nodded.
“Right then, is there anything specific you don’t particularly enjoy?”
“Humiliation,” he stated instantly. “And, obviously, Mistress, if you agree, I don’t wanna be on display.”
There was a good deal there.
The instantaneousness of his first reply smacked the room like a boundary he refused, for some reason, to admit he had.
The second part of his reply—precisely the way he communicated it—was not in the normal language of an experienced sub. If you agree would be if it pleases you.
Again, it gave the uncomfortable impression of an untried toy.
However, watching him closely, the ease with which he held himself, the line of his frame that only tightened when he’d said the word humiliation, the obvious changes happening at the bulge of his groin as they moved through this conversation, bringing them closer to their purpose for being there, she suspected he did it deliberately.
That play was unusual. It was affecting, furthering his clear stamp as an alpha-sub, something she found magnetic. It was respectful and thus it didn’t earn her censure.
But there was something wrong.
Before she could put her finger on it, he finished, “And I’m not real big on ass play.”
It took more of an effort to control her reaction to that.
Not everyone enjoyed that.