Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 95187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“It was originally an office, but I converted it.” I don’t mean to speak, but nerves have a way of getting the best of me where this man is concerned. This apartment is just as sparse as my office, a king-size bed on a simple frame, a nightstand, a small table with a coffee maker and two chairs, and a door to the bathroom. It’s…pathetic. Sad. “This was a mistake. We can—”
Icarus turns to me and grips my chin. The contact startles me into silence. He’s shorter than me, slight, but in that moment, I quiver in his grasp. His deep-brown eyes flick over my face. “Did you change your mind? Or are you just embarrassed because you think I give a fuck about your decorating skills?”
Warmth flares in my cheeks, and I know even without access to a mirror that I’m blushing fiercely. “I’m embarrassed.”
“Don’t be.” His tone isn’t exactly hard, but it leaves no room for disobedience. “We need to have a conversation before we move forward. I would like you to sit down so we can talk.”
Historically, when one of my past partners wanted to sit down and talk, it was a prelude to the end of our fling. Somehow, I don’t think that’s the case this time. Curiosity crawls through me, and I nod slowly. “Okay.”
“Good boy.” He releases me and turns away, as if he didn’t rock my world to the core with two little words. My head feels barely connected to my shoulders as I pull the door shut and flip the lock. By the time I take the seat he commanded, he’s perched on the edge of the bed. He’s already moving easier than he was earlier today, his wounds obviously well on their way to healed.
Icarus studies me. He’s a man with many faces. Charming and weak and strong by different measures. Dominant and fickle and even more I haven’t been exposed to. Which one is the real him? I have no business wondering, but I wonder all the same.
His gaze falls to my thigh, and I realize I’ve started tapping my fingers there. My flush deepens but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he props his hands on the mattress behind him. “How familiar are you with kink? The terminology, the power exchange, et cetera.”
“Familiar enough.” Difficult not to be when people use Olympian parties to share stories that make me blush. For all the importance the upper society puts on chastity and purity, it’s a paper-thin covering for giddy indulgence.
“Good.” Icarus nods. “Before we go any further, I need to know your limits.”
“Isn’t that what the safe word is for?”
“More or less.” He shrugs. “But the goal isn’t to force you to end the scene. The safe word is a nifty brake for when things dance too close to the line, or you have an unexpected reaction to something you thought you might want, or a thousand other scenarios. I may be a villain to Olympus, but I have no desire to be a villain to you.”
We’re just talking, but my heart picks up at the possibilities laid before me. “No lying.”
He blinks. “What?”
“Don’t lie to me. I…” The confusion on his face finally registers as I let my voice trail off. My throat threatens to close. “That’s not what you meant by limits, is it?”
He recovers quickly; I’ll give him that. Icarus shrugs. “It might not be on a traditional hard-limits list, but I don’t see why it can’t be on ours. I can’t be perfectly honest at all times, but I can promise to be honest in the bedroom.” He leans forward a little, his expression sharpening. “I would very much like to know what I can do to you, Poseidon. What you want me to do to you. You liked the spanking. Are you interested in different kinds of pain?”
“Yes.” The word bursts out like the worst sort of confession. “All kinds.”
“Poseidon.” There’s a strange mix of censure and pride in the way he says my name. “We’re being honest. Let’s walk through the list. Flogging?”
“Yes.”
His lips curve. “Paddles, canes, that kind of deep impact?”
There’s not enough air in the room. “Yes,” I whisper. I want it. I want everything.
“Mmm.” He surveys me critically. “Knives, branding?”
I’m so caught up in the possibilities he presents, I almost say yes before I catch myself. If I demand honesty of him, I can do no less than give it myself. As if I’m even capable of lying. “No. Maybe. I’m not sure.”
“Wax? A delicious little burn without the consequences?”
I shiver. “Yes.”
“Good.” Icarus still doesn’t move. I desperately want him to stop talking and start doing. I’ve negotiated ahead of sex before, but it’s usually more about what happens outside the bedroom instead what happens inside it. Finally, he says, “How do you feel about bondage, big guy?”