Page 67 of Dangle

“So, sex is limited to you…” I stated, my eyes falling to the notepad in front of me while my voice trailed off at the end because the question I wanted to ask felt like it was none of my business.

“Ask.”

My gaze flew to his. “What?”

“Ask your question. I can tell you have one.”

My brow pinched. “That’s fucking creepy. You know that, right?”

He laughed as he stood and turned back to the stove. “I’m waiting, boy.”

“Do the rules go both ways?” I asked, barely louder than a murmur.

The thought of him with another man both excited and pissed me off.

“Some of them. But I think the one you’re asking about is sex with others, and yes, that goes both ways. I don’t fuck around and neither do you.”

“Will Ewen be okay with that?” The words were out of my mouth before I realized the thought had even formed in my head.

Silence. Complete and utter silence came from the man on the opposite side of the island. His lack of response was only broken by the sound of him doing something to the food cooking on the stove. It made me nervous, and not the anxious, excited nervous that just being in his presence made me.

“I…” I began to apologize, but his gaze lifted to mine, and I clamped my mouth shut. Impulsiveness would eventually be the end of me. Sometimes I wondered if I would ever learn to temper that part of me.

The sound of the clock that sat somewhere in the room ticked away—second by second—providing backup music to the sounds of Slone finishing up our meal. He flipped off theburners, opened the oven, and pulled out freshly baked bread, all while I watched him. He turned and opened a drawer to his left. Out came serving utensils and flatware. Another drawer opened, and he produced a couple of dinner plates and then a couple of bread plates. His gaze met mine as he slid them over to me, then settled the flatware on top.

As much as I wanted to say something, I bit my tongue. I’d already messed up by letting my mouth run away without putting it through any sort of filter. Or even thinking. My gaze followed the jut of his chin to the dining table.

Standing, I moved off the barstool, stopping when he cleared his throat. His gaze traveled from mine to the notepad and pen I’d forgotten about. Smiling at him softly, I mouthed, “Oops.” I grabbed the notepad with my free hand and moved to the table. I wanted to put his plate beside mine, but I set it down across from me so we could look at each other.

Slone startled me when he reached around me, placing a serving bowl between our plates. The man moved like a ghost. He set down a platter next to the serving bowl. He left me there only to return a few minutes later. This time his front met my back as he crowded against me, his body warming me. The bread he’d made was placed on the table. A bowl of butter sat next to the sliced loaf. The food on the table looked so good, but all I wanted to feast on was the man behind me.

The scrape of a chair distracted me from the trip to the gutter my mind had been on the verge of. His lips pressed against my temple with a whispered, “Sit.”

Why was I still standing?

I slid into the chair he held, keeping my eyes on the plates and food sitting before me. He walked around the table and sat at the place I had set for him. A napkin—a real, cloth one—appeared, and I lifted my gaze. I grabbed the napkin, but he held it and my attention.

“Ewen will have no issue with us being together,” Slone said, his gaze locked on my face.

I took the napkin from him, placing it in my lap while I contemplated his words. I wanted to believe him. And based on what I’d seen from him so far, I felt I could. He’d been so honest with me. Still, I found it hard to trust him. Because I found it impossible to trust anyone. I nodded, still a little unsure.

“I promise.”

The way the words sounded, the way they rolled off his tongue, the emotions they evoked—somehow, all those things combined made me feel safe. They made me trust the man. So, I nodded, then picked up my fork, spearing some roasted veggies and a piece of flatiron steak. I paused as I lifted it to my mouth and asked, “So, neither of us fucks around. What else?”

He smiled. “That depends on what you’re interested in. I play in some of the more hardcore kink practices, but it’s not something I need in a dynamic with a sub.”

I swallowed. I didn’t want him to think I was stupid or naive, but I didn’t even know what was considered hardcore kink.

“Trey? You with me?”

I nodded, unable to look up from my plate.

“Good, then look at me.”

A quick, deep breath in and out, but still I wasn’t brave enough, so I tried again. I expected him to force my chin up, but he waited. What was he waiting for?

“Outside the community, everyone believes it’s the Dom who is the one in charge. The one who controls the dynamics. They are wrong. So very wrong. It’s the submissive who’s in charge.”