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"Three taps. Like your free throws."

Her eyes narrowed. "You've been watching my free throws, huh?"

"I have been watching zero free throws, I'm extremely busy, I'm on my phone the whole..." She lifted an eyebrow. "Three bounces. Every time. It's very weird, by the way. Very serial killer."

"Three taps," she repeated. "Say it back."

"Basketball, or three taps."

"Good." Her thumb stroked along my jaw. "What's off the table?"

"Is this a menu? Are you handing me a menu right now?"

"Yeah."

She meant it. She was standing there fully dressed and visibly turned on, and she was genuinely going to make me answer. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so I settled for honesty, which was a whole new experience for my mouth.

"I don't know," I admitted. "I haven't done a lot. More than vanilla, less than, like, Fifty Shades. I liked what I've tried."

"Holding you down?"

"Yes."

"Marks?"

I thought about my neck tomorrow. About the people who'd see. "Yes."

"Hitting? Spanking."

My face went hot. "I've never... but I've thought about it. A lot. Like, a concerning amount."

Her eyes went dark and pleased. Heat.

"Then we find out," she said. "Slow. I'll check in. You use the word if it's not good." She tipped my chin up. "You hate it, you tell me. You love it, you tell me that too. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Rules, if you want them. Your hands go where I put them. You answer when I ask you a question. You don't come until I say you can." She paused. "You can say no to any of it."

My stomach dropped through the floor. "What happens if I break one?"

"Then I start over."

"Start what over?"

The corner of her mouth curved. It was the smile of a woman who knew exactly how long the game was and had no intention of rushing the fourth quarter.

"All of it."

I swallowed. "You're kind of terrifying."

"Want to stop?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then say yes."

"Yes."