“Are you enjoying this?”
“Very.” His voice drops with that single word as if taunting me further.
I want to curse him to the darkest pits of hell, but I force myself to inhale deeply and stay calm.
In. Out.
It’s not worth it.
In. Out.
He’s probably doing this on purpose to get a rise out of me and I’ll not give him the satisfaction.
“Where are your annoying, self-righteous retorts?” He continues to swirl the contents of his glass. “Cat got your tongue?”
“More like an unwanted existence has rendered me speechless.”
“Careful there. Just because I’m being tolerant doesn’t mean you should test the limits.”
“And what are those?”
“Sure you want to know? You’ll have to tell me yours in return.”
I reach for the appetizer for no other reason than to ignore the situation and stop my fingers from assaulting each other.
“Not interested,” I mutter.
“But I am. So why don’t you tell me why gagging and drugging are your only limits? Does that mean you’re fine with brutal flogging, spanking, breath and knife play, but can’t handle a simple gagging? What’s the philosophy behind that?”
My fingers tremble and I nearly spill the glass of water as I bring it to my lips.
“Can you not?” My voice is breathy, distorted.
“Can I not what?”
“Talk about that.”
“That? Oh, you mean your limits in primal play? How you like to be chased and used and abused like a dirty little slut?”
“Stop it.” I jerk up from my seat.
“Sit down.” His voice is nonnegotiable but calm as he slides his attention to my chair in a silent command.
“Please stop this.”
“Sit the fuck down.”
I slowly do, my heart beating loudly behind my rib cage. This is a dangerous man with dangerous actions. If I fight for the sake of fighting, he won’t hesitate to knock me into what he believes is my place.
“Now, answer my earlier question. Why are gagging and drugging a limit?”
I purse my lips.
“We can do this the amicable way or I can torture the answer out of you. I don’t have to say which option I’d like to try out more, do I?”
This sick bastard.
This bloody sick bastard.