I stand up and offer him my hand. “That’s what I thought. So, you like books?”
“Um, yeah. You know how all dragons collect something? My hoard is books. Specifically pretty books. I’m particularly fond of old books in mint condition, but I like them all.”
That’s very endearing.
“What’s your favorite book?”
He stops and looks at me like I’ve just said something offensive. “How on earth could I choose a favorite? There are so many. Maybe if you narrowed it down by genre. Or year. Or maybe by author.”
I bring his hand up to my lips and kiss his knuckles.
“What?” he says.
“Nothing. I just enjoy your company. That’s all.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
He swallows hard and tries to shrug off the compliment, but his smile is a little too bright. He doesn’t have to tell me that my little compliment meant the world to him.
I guide him to the water and try to calm myself. This all seems too good to be true. A sweet omega who adores me. Who doesn’t mind that I can’t bond to him. Who has kinks so similar to my own it’s uncanny.
“I should have asked you this before pleasing you in the hotel room, but I’d like you to tell me about your sexual experience. On the list you gave me, what have you tried and what haven’t you tried?”
He bites his lip. “I, uh, haven’t done most of it. I’ve only had sex once. But there was a camera to ensure my inheritance, and Edward had to take Viagra. Even with the Viagra, he didn’t come. Neither of us did. He just penetrated me for a while, then gave up. So I haven’t really… It wasn’t actually sex. At least it wasn’t to me.”
How could Andrew’s parents allow something like that to happen? And if that was his only time having sex, how had he come up with his list?
A horrible thought occurs to me. Andrew seems to know everything about me, and his list matches my kinks perfectly. Did he only ask for all those things in a desperate attempt to get me to agree to his contract?
I stop and turn to him. “Andrew, why did you choose me? For a million dollars, you could have hired any number of escorts or hired knots. Or any porn star, for that matter. Why me?”
He ducks his head. “Your videos are my favorite. You perform all the stuff I like. And I… I wanted someone I could trust to be rough with me.”
I think he’s telling the truth, but watching kink and performing it are two different things.
“Has anyone been rough with you before?”
His shoulders scrunch together, and he grabs for his elbow. I want to reach out and tell him it’s okay, but it’s really important we have this conversation.
“My alpha father used to hurt me. It wasn’t sexual. I just didn’t have any control, and that was the scariest part. There was one time he held me down so violently I couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t know if I was going to die or not. All I knew was that my life wasn’t up to me in that moment. It was up to him. With you, I get to choose. You’ll be the Dom, but I get to set the boundaries. I know that sounds stupid, but—”
“No, it doesn’t.”
I got involved with the BDSM community for the exact same reason. The omegas in the pits were never in a position to truly consent to sex. They were in a perpetual medically induced heat. It would have been cruel to deny their needs under those circumstances, but I often wondered what they thought of the sex we shared together after they got out of the pits. It haunted me.
After we were rescued, it was difficult for me to have a sexual relationship with someone without constantly worrying about consent. In BDSM culture, consent is everything. You can ask a sub their color as many times as you want, and it doesn’t make the scene less sexy. You can have long conversations about your partner’s fantasies, and nobody accuses you of robbing the moment of its romance. Through the BDSM community, I’ve been able to heal.
“Tell you what, baby boy. I will be rough with you, but I need you to promise me that you’ll use your stoplight colors if you don’t like it. There’s no shame in backing off from something because it sounds better than it feels. Can you promise that you’ll always be honest with me about your limits?”
A tentative smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah. Okay. I… liked the window sex. It was good.”
We head toward the water once more. The sand becomes squishy between my toes.
“What about it was good?”
He blushes, but his smile deepens. “I liked feeling scared that someone might see, I guess. And I liked feeling your… well… I liked that you wanted me.” He untangles our fingers. “I mean, it seemed like you did. I’m sure you have your methods for getting in the mood. I didn’t mean to imply—”
I grab both of his hands and stop him again. “I do have methods for getting in the mood. One of them is to never work with someone I’m not attracted to. Make no mistake, everything about my body’s response to you was genuine.”
He relaxes, which is good. For now, I think he could use a break. This conversation has clearly brought him to his limit in terms of emotional intimacy, and that’s an important boundary to respect too.
“So, you said I need to narrow it down if I want to ask about your favorite book. How about this, what’s your favorite genre?”
He grins. “Gothic novels. Well, specifically classical gothic novels. Although, I include Rebecca by Daphne DuMaurier in that definition even though it was written much later than the heyday of the gothic genre. You have to include it because it’s so brilliant.” He speaks so quickly he almost stumbles over his words like he’s afraid I’ll stop listening if he doesn’t speak fast enough.
“Besides, it’s far more sophisticated than something like Camille. Rebecca’s almost a nostalgic reflection of the genre. Of course, Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey is my favorite because of its satirical value.”
I’m almost afraid to ask what he’s talking about. Before the breeding pits, I was raised in a red wolf shifter settlement. There, the only book we read was the Bible. Other than the occasional western novel, I haven’t read much fiction.
“What’s a gothic novel?” I ask.
His eyes light up like he’s been waiting his whole life for someone to ask. “Well, most of them take place in a big, mysterious castle on a bleak English moor. And there’s a brooding alpha who always has some secret. Like a mate hiding in the attic or dark past. The omega is usually a manny or an orphan or both. If you haven’t read one, you’re missing out. They’re so wonderfully dramatic!”
We walk along the beach as Andrew tells me about his favorite books. It feels like a window to a world I never had access to. I’ve never been particularly interested in the classics, but that’s mostly because they feel intimidating to me and maybe a little dry. The way Andrew describes them makes me wonder if I was wrong.
“Hey, baby boy?”
He stops his animated explanation of Jane Eyre. “Yeah?”
“Will you read me one of your books? Out loud?”
He smiles so big, I want to bottle up this moment and keep it forever.
“Yes, Daddy.”
How many boys have called me that? I don’t even know anymore. But it’s never sounded like that before.