Page 37 of Praised
“Six in one.”
“I want to talk about the Sir thing,” I said, knowing that I had to just get the words out instead of beating around the bush. The Sir thing had taken up most of the thoughts, well that and the hot fucking grip of his asshole. But the Sir thing, and I’d called him that the night before and he hadn’t told me no. I didn’t think I’d done anything to earn it, that I’d done anything different from before, and he’d been clear the night we met it was a privilege earned, not freely given.
“What about it?” He asked, expression open and blank.
Like his stupid house.
“Tell me about it,” I said. “Tell me all about it. Like I’m five.”
“If you were five, we wouldn’t be talking about it.” Flynn smirked, but he knew what I meant. “I honestly am not sure where to begin.”
“You’re a big boy. Do your best.”
The coffee was finally a tolerable temperature and I took a more substantial drink while Flynn visibly gathered his thoughts. While I waited, I looked around, trying to appreciate the space a little more than I had on first glance. It had been unfair to describe the yard or the house as generic. There was character to be found; it just didn’t match my understanding of the man.
“Well, Rose, you met me at a kink club so I’m hoping I don’t have to explain that part to you?”
Smug asshole.
“I have a first grade understanding of it,” I said. “Figuratively, obviously. But a lot that I saw there was way over my head.”
“Not mine,” he said, “but it didn’t appeal.”
“You like the praise thing? You’re a talker?”
“That’s one way to put it.”
My stomach growled so loudly, it stopped him in his tracks.
“Are you hungry?”
“I could eat.”
The fact of the matter was, I was starving. Normally I grabbed something after work before crashing, but the only thing I’d grabbed last night was my dick.
And then his.
“Let me get some fruit or something.” He stood up, knee cracking. “Or do you want eggs? I can make an omelet.”
“You don’t need to go to the trouble.” I stood up to join him and he tried to wave me back into my seat.
“There’s more to the Sir thing than just talking dirty in bed.”
My breath hitched in my throat, and my knees bent without my approval. My ass was back on the cushion before the weight of his words had even fully processed their way through my brain.
“I’m not submissive,” I said, not for the first time.
“Could you be?”
I stood up again, the question entirely unexpected. The answer was no, because I’d fought too many people for too many years to give up control to a man I didn’t know anything about.
“I’d prefer to not,” I said.
“Come inside with me while I make you something to eat.” Flynn held out his hand for me, and I took it, even though I’d stood up to go. It was one thing for us to dance around the semantics of casual and serious, but submission was more of a hard line and one I had no real interest in negotiating.
“I’d prefer to not,” I said weakly, shoulders hunched inward.
Flynn studied me silently, head cocked and the inside of his cheek pinched between his teeth like he was reviewing the terms of a business deal or a contract, not a partner. Not me.
