Page 63 of Lilacs and Leather
“Why can’t I just say ‘no’ or ‘stop’?” she asks, tone genuinely curious.
“Because ‘please don’t, stop’ between moans could sound like ‘please, don’t stop,’” I return without missing a beat.
Lydia’s mouth rounds into a small ‘o’ and she nods slowly, blush darkening. I let the implications linger in the air for a minute, and I can see the wheels turning behind her eyes. I blink, pulling back from their emerald depths.
“So, I use a traffic light system. If I ask you for a color, and you’re fine and on board with what’s happening, you’ll say you’re ‘green.’ If we need to slow down, or take a breather, but we don’t want the scene to end, we say ‘yellow.’ You can say that at any time, not just if I ask, for the record. Same goes with ‘red.’”
“What’s red?” Lydia asks, voice a little breathless.
“Red is our word for a hard stop. Whatever is happening stops immediately, and we move to aftercare. And then, after we’ve had a moment to collect ourselves, we talk about what happened and what went wrong so we can do better the next time,” I explain, trying to keep my tone as patient as possible.
“You keep saying ‘we.’ Why?” she asks, head tilting slightly as her brow pulls down in confusion.
“Because these are my words, too, love. If I need to pull the plug on a scene, because I’m not comfortable, or if I’m concerned for your physical or emotional well-being, then I want to be able to communicate that to you in a way where you know you haven’t done something wrong or that you’ve upset me,” I reply seriously, looking her in the face so she can see how much I mean the words.
Lydia blinks rapidly, mouth falling open as she digests my words. I shouldn’t be surprised anymore, considering what she’s told me about her ex, but the fact that my concern and consideration for her feelings looks to be a revelation makes my stomach twist with a spike of hot rage. She clears her throat a little, looking away from me as she gathers herself. I wait, letting her take the lead for a moment.
“What’s aftercare?” she asks after a moment of silence.
I smile, a soft thing that matches the warmth in my heart. I love aftercare, and I’m hoping that Lydia will, too.
“Emotions run high during scenes, and aftercare is a way for us to come back down gently. It’s a little different for everyone. Like, for example, Lucas doesn’t need much after our play, maybe a few reassuring touches and a little bit of praise. Maybe a little more if it’s a particularly intense scene. For me, I want to take care of my partner. I want to soothe any marks or bruises, run a bath if necessary, get food and water. Care tasks are my aftercare,” I say, picking my words with a little difficulty.
Lydia looks back at me with wide eyes, the concern gone from her brow. “Is… is cuddling aftercare?” she asks, voice small.
I nod eagerly. “It absolutely is, love.”
She smiles, and the expression makes my soul almost buoyant. “Then I’d like that. Dar—my ex wouldn’t… he’d usually just get up and leave, especially after he’d knotted me.”
The way her voice drops and her smile fades as she talks about the shit her abuser put her through makes me clench my jaw until I can feel my teeth grinding. He’s a dead man walking, even if he doesn’t know it.
“I won’t leave you until you want me to, Lydia. I promise,” I say emphatically.
She nods, her smile only a slight twitch of the corners of her mouth.
“I told you I like control, but I want to know what sorts of things you like,” I continue, redirecting to more pleasant things.
Lydia shrugs. “I’m not sure. My ex was a good ol’ Christian boy, so it was missionary or bust most of the time, and even that was slathered in a heavy coating of ‘lust is a sin and fornication is for reproduction.’ A lot of the stuff he did wasn’t stuff we talked about, like we’re doing, so I don’t know if I would like it if I was given a choice.”
I take a deep breath to contain my growl. It would be a miracle if I didn’t deck this bastard on sight.
“I think I know something you enjoy,” I say, dropping my voice deliberately.
Her eyes go as round and big as saucers, her breath catching. I see the little shiver as it passes down her body. I love seeing how responsive she is to me.
“You seem to like it when I praise you, when I tell you you’re a good girl. Is that what you want to be for me? My good, submissive girl?” I purr, laying it on a little thick just to see what she’d do.
Her spine straightens, head ducking slightly before she catches herself. The instinct is there, but she’s fighting it. And I want to get her to that space where she can just let go and float in the sensations. I want her to be putty in my hands, and I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge.
“I do… I do like it when you talk like that. I just…” Lydia trails off, eyes on the floor.
“Just what, sweet girl? This is the time to talk to me. I want to know what’s on your mind,” I push, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees.
Lydia takes a deep breath and drags her eyes back to meet mine. I can see the conflict there, and the way she bites her lower lip as she thinks has me fighting the urge to reach for her, to touch her, to soothe her. But I wait, letting her work through it in her head.
“I trust you, but I don’t want to be completely helpless, I guess. I want to try, but I don’t want you to be mad if I can’t… can’t do everything,” she says, starting strong but trailing off until her words are barely above a whisper.
Watching her shrink, retreating inside of her shell as she braces for my anger hurts more than I care to admit. Not able to fight it any longer, I move to kneel on the floor in front of her, taking her hands in mine. They’re cold, and I rub slightly to warm them. Her eyes go wide, but she doesn’t flinch away from me.