By the time I was done, I’d picked out my safeword (“Mercy” because it was short, obvious, and also how I felt by page twenty), learned that there was a whole magical world of letting go and letting someone else do all the thinking which was a dream come true for me, and realized I’d probably need a glossary and a support group just to survive the soft and hard limits sections,
Which, by the way, I left mostly blank.
Not because I didn’t have limits.
But because… vocabulary.
Scat?
Gorean?
Sounding–as in being too quiet or not quiet enough??
Mummification??
Not kidding now. It actually said that.
This shit was real???
And then came all the acronyms…
TPE.
CBT.
SPH.
ABDL….
And, my personal favorite right back at them: WTF.
That was not a kink but my honest reaction to the whole document.
Still… I couldn’t stop reading.
It was detailed. Clear. Honest.
There were rules. Protocols. Boundaries. Expectations.
And somehow, it made me feel… safe. Like someone had actually thought this through. Like I wasn’t stepping into a trap but into something structured. Something with real meaning.
So help me God, I was gonna do this.
Worse things I’ve tried, honestly. (Looking at you, expired protein shakes and that one night I spent in a Walmart parking lot waiting for a girl who never
1/3
Chapter 19
showed.)
And this?
M
This wasn’t just about sex or control or being weird.
This was about him.
If it meant getting closer to Mr. A–Coach Mercer–Alden–or whatever the hell he was calling himself tonight…?
Then yeah.
I was in.
I was so in.
I knocked on his door just before sunrise.
The folder was in my hand, pressed flat against my thigh like it might catch fire if I held it wrong.
He opened it in one smooth motion, like he’d been standing on the other side waiting.
I didn’t wait for an invitation–I just shoved the folder toward him.
“I read it,” I said, trying not to sound breathless. “All of it.”
His eyes narrowed as he took it. “And?”
“I want in.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
Shit.
I hadn’t rehearsed this part.
“I’ve thought about it,” I said, trying to find the line between cool and desperate. “And this whole… trust and freedom thing? Kinda appealing. Might dig this whole submission deal, honestly.”
I shrugged, forcing a smirk. “Plus, if I can get mind–blowing pleasure without all the exhausting seducing and dating and pretending I care about someone’s dog… what’s not to like?”
He didn’t laugh.
Didn’t even smile.
Instead, he stepped back into the room and set the folder down–without looking at it.
2/3
4:25 pm P
PM
Chapter 19
“Go get some sleep,” he said flatly. “You’re obviously not ready. We’ll talk football in the morning.”
“What?” 1 blinked..
“You’re out, Noah. I made a mistake.”
My stomach dropped.
“You don’t take this seriously,” he continued. “This isn’t fantasy. It’s not a shortcut to orgasms or a way to skip small talk. And it sure as hell isn’t for guys looking to flirt with power and run the other way when it gets real.”
He turned away like that was it. Like the conversation was over.
But I didn’t move.
Not this time.
No sass. No deflection. Just… me.
“I need this.”
He didn’t turn around.
“I’m tired,” I said softly. “I’m so fucking tired of being the one who has to have it all together. The strong one. The smart one. The good son, the perfect athlete, the guy who never breaks. I’m tired of performing. Of pretending. Of needing nothing.”
My throat tightened. “I need someone to take control… because I don’t know how to do this on my own anymore. So please…” I swallowed hard. “Train me.”
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I personally feel Noah’s pain with that comment. I wish I could really find someone to take control. I’m tired of being that 1 and that’s real life…
7 days ago
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Dame
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
