Page 49 of Over the Line

“Yum. I like this,” she confessed.

He resumed pinching and pulling her nipples, mindful of using a much lighter touch than he had last night. “Grind yourself against me.”

Slowly, she lowered herself, then began rubbing back and forth. “Do I have permission to come, Sir?”

“Since you asked so nice, yes.”

A smile ghosted around her lips. Then their gazes met before she closed her eyes and let him take more of her weight.

Wanting to support her, he reached behind her.

This would have been a much better idea on a firmer surface, preferably where he could lean against something. But it was more fun and challenging this way.

As she found her rhythm, she increased her speed.

Michael responded by smacking one of her butt cheeks while digging a hand into her hair.

“Mmm. That hurts,” she said.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Are you crazy, Sir?”

He encouraged her as she ground out an orgasm, leaving his leg slightly damp. “You’re a hot little subbie,” he told her when the last aftershock had subsided, and she’d straightened her back.

“Thank you.” Her words held no gratitude. “But I don’t like that word.”

Why was it bothering her now? With a frown he studied her. “Talk to me.”

Water bubbled past them as her juices dried on his thigh.

“I tried it once. Didn’t like it. I prefer to be a man’s equal.”

He frowned.

She raked an unkempt strand of hair back from her face. “The word sub implies someone’s beneath you.”

“To me, it certainly does not.” He stepped carefully. This discussion vibrated with danger, and realization dawned.

If she believed that, it was no wonder she behaved as a brat, in the BDSM meaning of the word. No wonder she had very carefully drawn lines to keep men at bay and to get her kinky needs met. “Being a submissive, even twenty-four seven, would never diminish a woman I was involved with.” He took her shoulders in what he hoped was a reassuring grip. “In fact, to me, it’s a position of reverence. There are many women out there, but only one that I’d honor in that way.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Not convinced, Sir.”

“It didn’t seem to bother you when you were riding my leg.”

“You’re right about that. It didn’t. But it’s because I see you, this, as a scene, nothing more. I get my kink on, get off then I go home.”

“I see you, this, as a scene, nothing more.” Her well-aimed words made him wince. “You said you’d tried being a submissive and didn’t like it.” And the experience had left her wounded.

“It’s in the past.” With a sigh, she finished, “Which means it’s no longer relevant.”

“I disagree. You went through something you didn’t enjoy, and that affects what we share.” He struggled to keep anger from his words. “So yeah. It matters.” In fact, to him, it was a big fucking deal. “Now you equate submission with subservience?” he guessed.

“Among other things.” Fatalistically, as if it didn’t matter, she shrugged. “It wasn’t all bad. I learned what I like and what I don’t. I got out quick, and unscathed.”

The last part, he wasn’t sure of.

He wanted to suggest they dress, maybe sit on a rock, or return to the house where they could be more comfortable. But he didn’t want to shatter the moment.