Turn around.” He didn’t need to raise his voice above a whisper for her to obey. The feeling of her hips brushing his jeans as she swiveled in his arms sent a throb of pleasure through him. He traced the balls of his thumbs along the curve of her jaw, lifted her chin, brushed them along her parted lips. They opened further, but without a sign from him, she made no move to respond. God, the electricity thrumming between them was going to make him explode if he didn’t have her right now.
But there were rules to this dance.
Pulling his thumbs out of her mouth with a groan, he weaved his fingers through her hair, looking down, forcing calm back into his ragged breathing. He took a small step back, connected to her only with the silk of her hair tangled in his hands, and the current that bound him to her.
“Say no.” His voice was hoarse with desire.
Her eyes flashed open, confusion creasing between them, pinning him with blue.
His tongue darted across dry lips. His fingers tightened on her hair, tugging her head back. Forcing her to read his face.
“No.” A flush as gentle as her whisper crept up her neck.
His hands were shaking. He pulled them away, balling them in fists in front of him, glaring down at them. If he fucked this up, he would break her as well as him.
“I need you to listen to me, Sam. The next time you say that word, I stop.”
BDSM, the dance of power and control, fascinates many of us. It can bring soaring release. It is the result of trust, and care. It can lay hearts bare. It also has a bad reputation, especially in the age of #MeToo.
For writers and readers who want a glimpse into the other side, I hope chapter 12 of 2010 brings a different perspective - without turning down the heat.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/19193608
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
