Page 151 of Terms of Exposure
But I was fully committed to the theatrics.
His large hand covered mine, increasing the pressure as he pressed slow, claiming kisses up the center of my back.
"New rule," he whispered against my ear. "You don't give me rules anymore."
He punctuated the command with a firm squeeze.
I yelped—more delighted than offended—my smile curving despite my best efforts to scowl.
"Daily check-ins, mandatory rest time, three square meals, sleeping in the bed instead of the couch, immediate communication?" I made a face at him in the mirror. "And now this? You're practically a dictator."
He threw his head back and laughed, Adam's apple dancing beneath his short scruff.
"You have no idea how intense this stuff can get, love." He shook his head, amusement softening his expression. "Right now I'm practically not even a Dom."
A rare dimple appeared.
"Honestly, I'm more of a babysitter."
I spun, smacking him in the chest. "How dare you."
He made a show of rubbing it, a grin curving his lips. "New rule—no hitting the Dom."
"So you can hit me and I can't hit you?"
"Listen," he lifted both hands, all faux innocence, "we can stop the spanking if you want."
I glanced down at my toes, grumbling. "No, it's fine."
"That's what I thought."
He kissed my forehead.
"Now tell me all your rules again."
"You can't be serious." I shifted my weight onto one hip.
He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms across his broad chest. "Serious as a heart attack."
I sighed dramatically.
"Fine. Check-ins. Rest. Meals. Sleep. Communication…"
I paused.
He leaned forward, cupping his ear. "Go on."
"No setting rules," I muttered.
"And?" he said, enjoying this far too much.
"And no hitting."
I stomped my foot like a toddler mid-tantrum.
He reached for me, tilted my chin up, warmth softening the edges of his smile.
"That's my girl. Now tell me I'm a good babysitter."
