Page 31 of Naughty November
Leaning back against the cushions, I undid my jeans and pushed them down. “I’m fine—just lost as usual.” I hauled my tee over my head too, then leaned back once more with my drink in hand. “Even though I never figured shit out in our community, it felt like killing the possibility altogether when we closed.”
“I get it.”
I liked having his warm voice in my ears. Way better than the speaker function.
I took another sip and closed my eyes.
I’d officially hit the sweet spot, where I was warm and halfway to drowsy. Life was good, I was chill, and I was ready for a few days in the sun with Reid.
“I don’t need to give you my two cents on the matter again, do I?”
Two cents on what? “On my inability to connect with a kink? And someone else, for that matter? I’m not sure you ever gave me your two cents.”
“Or you just tuned it out,” he chuckled lazily. He drank from something too. Probably whiskey. He was a whiskey guy. “You were always overthinkin’ shit.”
He was wrong.
“Easy for you to say,” I muttered. “You knew who you were in kink the moment you discovered it.”
“Not true. It took me over six months.”
Christ. Jackass.
He laughed a little. At least someone laughed at his sense of humor…
“That’s not what I was talkin’ about,” he said. “I mean… We always tell newbies not to box themselves in. Don’t worry about labels, ’cause chances are you’ll find several that’ll fit you to some extent.”
He had a point. We’d given hundreds of those speeches.
“Some obviously do identify strongly with a certain fetish,” he went on. “Whether it’s a Sadist, a high-protocol Master, a Little—whatever. But youdon’t, and you seem to wanna force somethin’ that ain’t there. I never understood why.”
I scowled at nothing. “So I could meet someone like-minded, of course. So I could feel at home in my core kink—so I couldhavea core kink.”
He blew out a breath. “This is what I’m talkin’ ’bout. You’re overthinking. You act like a life without fittin’ inside one of these boxes makes you incomplete or somethin’, and unless you find a core kink, you’re not gonna click with someone. It’s horseshit.”
Fuck you.
He didn’t get it.
The fucker wasn’t done either. “I want you to listen to me, Max. Someone who lives and breathes high-protocol is more likely to connect with someone similar. It’s obviously not foolproof, but we’re just talking the likeliest scenarios. A Master is drawn to slaves, yeah? Just like I’m drawn to masos and primal players. It’s in my damn DNA. It’s what attracts me. Andyou… Let’s say you’re a fetishist. You love BDSM, you love primal play, you’re a great Top, you’re both sadistic and nurturing. Do you fuckin’ need another box? Or can you stop and smell the roses for one goddamn moment and let that be enough? You already have an identity in kink.”
If that were true, how come I’d struggled to maintain a relationship?
Hell, my longest had lasted about a year.
I’d like to think I was good-looking. I wasn’t unpleasant to be around. I had hobbies and a solid career. I paid attention.
I’d never been cheated on, to my knowledge. No dramatic heartbreaks or relationships shattering to pieces. They’d simply…fizzled out. After weeks or months, I’d stand there with a partner, both realizing something was missing. And we’d part ways.
“Maybe I don’t wanna find a fellow fetishist,” I grumbled.
Reid snorted under his breath. “Because you want everythin’ black-and-white? Don’t answer that. You’re missing the point again. Fuck kinks, Max—connect with a person, not a fucking kink. With the right chemistry, you don’t know what the kinks are gonna look like beforehand anyway.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean that we change with the person we’re with,” he answered. “To a degree, at least. Take Corey, for instance. Y’all were good together, but you were basically friends. Your kinks lined up, and still, nothing. You lasted, what, two months?”
If that.