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“I want that, too.”
“What?”
“I want you to dominate me,” he murmured. “I… I want to fall apart. And I want you to put me back together.”
Just then, there was a look between us, of understanding, of desire…
And in that same moment, another lightning strike lit up the room…
Just before all the lights in the cabin went out.
7
SAM
What the hell am I getting myself into?
Of course, I knew about BDSM. I’d heard enough about it while dating in Atlanta, but I’d never experienced it, never had a chance to explore it. It’d mostly been an issue of trust, as in, how was I supposed to trust anyone to tie me up, blindfold me, or gag me? I would’ve been way too freaked out to ever enjoy myself, much less even allow it to happen.
But there was just something different about Damon.
I trusted him, implicitly, with everything. I realized that might’ve been an idiotic move, trusting a Mountain Man I barely knew in a rather isolated cabin, but I couldn’t pretend like I wasn’t interested in being dominated by him, either.
Take me apart. Put me back together.
The idea rattled around in my brain as Damon confidently moved around the room, placing candles in each corner for light. The candles made everything seem so much more intimate, so much more delicate. I hadn’t moved a muscle since he’d told me that he wanted to dominate me, breathlessly waiting for him to tell me when I should make my next move.
When he had finished setting up the room, he turned back toward me, his face covered in shadows. I shivered at the sight, but there was no fear in it. The only thing coursing through my veins was pure adrenaline, an excitement that I was barely able to contain.
“I want you to take your clothes off,” Damon said, his tone stern and unwavering.
I reached a hand toward the bottom of my shirt, but Damon caught my wrist in his grip, his expression serious. “I didn’t say where I wanted you to start. You should learn to wait for instructions.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know the rules—”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to punish you. This time.” Damon smirked before the seriousness returned. “But you should be addressing me properly.”
“Addressing you properly?” I couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow. “What do you want me to call you? Mr. Anderson?”
“I want you to call me Sir.”
“All the time?”
“Whenever we’re in bed together, yes.”
“But we’re not in bed right now,” I replied, my brain trying to work through the specifics. “I’m just trying to understand if it’s a space thing or a respect thing. Like, if I don’t call you sir while we’re taking a shower together or something is that going to count against me—”
“You’re testing me right now, Sam.”
“A little bit, yeah.”
Damon smirked again. “I should’ve known you were going to be a brat.”
“A brat?”
“Just a different flavor of submissive,” he explained. “And apparently, the exact flavor that you are.”
“So, I’m a brat because I have questions?”
