Page 94 of Key of Kink

“Stay?” he repeated. I didn’t hear disbelief in his voice.

He wants confirmation. Because that didn’t sound like me.

“Yes.” Maybe it was my imagination, but I heard the crack in my own voice.

Fracture.

No one stays the night.

It was a rule for a reason. It provided a clean exit point, so there would be no blurred mornings, no domesticity. No softening that lingered past the scene.

Except tonight had not been a scene, and that was the part I couldn’t escape.

Tonight had been heat and want and urgency, clothes stripped off in seconds, my mouth on his skin, his mouth on my cock. Tonight had been driving myself into a tight arse, watching him unravel as I pushed him closer to orgasm. Seeing his face when my cum pulsed from his hole.

Tonight had been the best sex of my life. I’d let myself go, and that was the most destabilising thing about all of this.

Quinn was studying me, and I wanted to know what lay behind those calm eyes.

“It makes sense for you to stay.” That sounded better. It’s me being practical. Sensible.

He nodded once. “Okay.”

I’d expected teasing remarks about rules. Hell, I’d anticipated teasing, full stop, and its absence took me by surprise.

I finished preparing the tea and pushed a mug towards him. “You’ll be sleeping on the floor next to the bed.” Inside, I breathed more easily.

I did it. Situation normal. A line drawn.

I hadn’t invited him into my bed. If he was on the rug, then this was still defined. I still sounded like me.

Quinn didn’t even flinch. “Okay.”

I hadn’t expected that simple acceptance either.

I’d dealt with a lot of men at Obsidian. I’d witnessed subtle calculation from subs who believed power exchange could be extended into leverage.

There was nothing like that in Quinn’s unguarded expression.

“I’ll sleep wherever you tell me,” he said in a quiet voice.

I told myself I was relieved. This is the wise thing to do. Dialling it back was the only way to go after the incendiary fucking in my living room.

Control restored. We have containment.

Except it didn’t feel like either of those, but more like paper pressed hastily over a crack in plaster, hoping the fracture wouldn’t widen overnight.

Quinn finished the washing up, and picked up a tea towel.

“Leave them to dry,” I told him. I managed a smile. “Drink your tea.”

“I’m all about the tea,” he quipped.

I laughed. “You’re the first submissive I’ve ever met who said tea should be part of aftercare.”

His eyes glinted. “And speaking of which… Two scenes now, and still no tea.”

His choice of words landed with a thud.