Page 22 of At His Beck & Call

I frown at him.

Is this a joke?Shouldn’t he be ripping my clothes off or something? Why is he wasting his time trying to teach me how to breathe?

As I take the watch out of his hand, there is no contact between our fingers, which feels deliberate.

I stare down at the watch, the secondhand ticking around each number with calculated precision. After a little while, I realize I’m doing what he said, breathing with it.

I’ve tried breathing exercises for anxiety before, and it never made much difference, but this, in the dark cocoon of his office, with him watching me, is a whole new experience.

Slowly, my heart begins to settle again, the ball of fear in my chest dissipating and fading. When I look up at him, there’s something new in his eyes, something that looks an awful lot like approval.

“Better?” he says, as if he’s discussing the weather.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head as I hand the watch back. “Don’t apologize. This is all new.” He reattaches it to his wrist and returns to his previous position. “Are you ready to talk a bit about what we’re going to do?”

I nod, unable to speak as his smoldering gaze meets mine. It’s hard to keep my focus on him, the look so intense it sends a little shudder through me.

“How do you feel about being tied up?”

Jesus. Straight in, then.

I glance around the room as if ropes are going to fall from the ceiling and begin coiling around my wrists.

“I don’t know,” I reply honestly. “Sorry. That’s probably not helpful.”

“That’s actually extremely helpful.”

Tension bleeds out of my shoulders at those words, and the satisfaction returns as he watches me relax back into the chair.

“Would you be opposed to trying it at some point? Not today. I wouldn’t introduce it so early. But I’d like to know your thoughts.”

I think about it. Seriously. Imagining being immobilized by him, unable to get away. That thought isn’t entirely unpleasant. And that makes zero sense to me right now.

“Possibly. Maybe just my hands?” I say tentatively.

He nods. “Noted. And how do you feel about toys?”

“Uh… like… sex toys?” I say, my cheeks suddenly burning with a ferocious intensity that I find mortifying. His lips quirk into the smallest hint of a smile.

“Yes. Like sex toys. Dildos, plugs, vibrators, that kind of thing. Have you used them before?”

“No.”James didn’t care about my pleasure.

“Hm. Alright. Same question. Would you like to try them?”

“I don’t know.” Another nod. “Maybe?”

Fuck this is embarrassing.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed about,” he says, and I look up at him. “Whatever we do in this room is private. This is a safe space. And you should never feel as if you can’t say what you want to here.”

“Am I allowed to ask you questions?” I ask.

“You can always ask. I may not always answer, though.”

“What about if it’s, um, like, what you’re into?”