Page 316 of A Vicious Love

The sentence entered me quietly.

Then it did damage.

I had heard men confess worse things under knives and felt less immediate violence. The ugliest part was how plainly she said it. As if that had been filed somewhere in her head under ordinary adult truths. Women endured and men took and everybody called the absence of screaming consent.

I caught her chin and brought her eyes back to mine.

“No.”

She blinked at the tone.

“No, baby. That is not how this works.”

“I didn’t mean with you.”

“Yes, you did.” I kept my voice low, but something dangerous had entered it anyway. I could hear it. So could she. “You meant once sex starts, a woman becomes polite furniture until he is finished.”

Her lips parted, but no argument came.

That told me plenty.

I leaned closer. “You will never be polite furniture in my bed. And you are not giving me colors because you’re inexperienced. Do you hear me? I am not normal.”

A shaky breath left her.

“Our relationship sure as fuck won’t be normal either,” I continued. “I told you what I want. I want your knees. Your trust. Your rules. Your body trained to settle when I touch you. I want to own spaces inside your head that no one else gets near. That is serious, Sienna. That requires language sharper than maybe and softer than no.”

Her hand moved to my wrist.

Good girl.

Still reaching for me.

I covered her fingers with mine. “Green means keep going. It means you feel good, safe, present. Yellow means slow down, adjust, talk to me, something is too much or changing too fast. Red means everything stops. Instantly. No questions before the stop. No sulking. No punishment. No making you feel guilty because my body wanted more than yours could give.”

“What if I say yellow and I’m only embarrassed?” she asked.

“Then I slow down and help with the embarrassment.”

“What if I say it because I don’t know what I’m feeling?”

“Then I stop moving and we find out together.”

“What if I say red and then change my mind?”

“Then I hold you until your body catches up with your mouth, and we decide after that.”

She stared at me. “You wouldn’t be angry?”

“No.” I shifted so I was closer to her. “When I ask for your color, I’m not leaving the mood. I’m building the mood the way I want it built. Honest. Safe. Mine. Yours. No guessing.”

She looked down at my hand covering hers. “I’m happy to use yes and no.”

“That isn’t enough for what I am.”

Her gaze lifted.

“There will be moments,” I said carefully, “where I tell you to say no because you’re teasing me. Or because you want to feel me overrule a little protest you gave me on purpose. There may be scenes one day where no belongs to the game. If we agree to that. If you want that.” My thumb moved over her knuckles. “Colors never belong to the game. Green, yellow, red stay clean.”