Bonds of Courage by Lynda Aicher Page B

levels of masochism. Public displays are out. Humiliation and degradation are also a no. All edge play activities are hard stops. But sex in all forms between us is okay.” She looked up. “You’re sure about that?”
    “With you, yes.” He rested his forearms on his thighs and clasped his hands in a comfortable pose. The position stretched his T-shirt across his shoulders and had his biceps bulging in a display of strength.
    “I’ll remember that.” She ignored the rush of heat that simmered through her. “The write-in area is blank.” She handed the last page back to him. “You should add a few things. For one, I’m guessing you don’t want marks that would raise questions in the locker room. Right?”
    “Wow. Yeah.” He shuddered and quickly scribbled that down.
    “Kneeling should also be on your hard limits list.” She flicked through the pages, found the one that had it marked as okay and handed it over. “You have an injury that is aggravated by kneeling. There are other ways to show your submission that don’t require that.”
    He frowned. “But it doesn’t bother me that much. It just gets stiff after having the weight on it.”
    “Are you willing to risk it? What if a Domme leaves you kneeling for an hour or more? Could you handle that and still skate the next day?” She waited until he gave a small head shake. She hadn’t thought so. “Always be upfront with the person you’re playing with. Do you think we want to permanently hurt someone? We don’t. In fact, I’d feel like complete shit if I did anything that caused you pain that you didn’t want.”
    He hung his head, her chastisement received. “Sorry.” He looked up. “I didn’t think of it that way.”
    “Now you know.” She crossed her legs. “Are there any other injuries that I should know about? Your shoulders or wrists? Elbows? An old sprain that acts up? Anything at all?”
    He sat back and gave it some thought, which she appreciated. His frame consumed almost an entire cushion on the couch. His thighs stretched the denim tight and he wasn’t wearing skinny jeans. Not even close. Just the thought of him trying to force his solid legs into the thin-cut denim had her smirking.
    He lifted his head from where it rested on the back of the couch. “What?”
    She’d tried to contain her chuckle, but a small laugh slipped out anyway. “I was just picturing you in skinny jeans.”
    His faced bunched into a grimace of horror. “I marked dressing up as a no. I classify skinny jeans as falling into that category.”
    “Agreed,” she conceded before getting back to business. “Any other injuries I should know about?”
    “Not right now, but that changes weekly.” He resumed his earlier position with his arms braced on his legs. “It depends on the game and how physical they are each week.”
    She nodded. “Then you’ll update me before each session.”
    “All right,” he said. “Anything else?”
    “Safewords.”
    His smile spread into a wide grin that had his eyes flashing. “Still Chihuahua.”
    She was able to suppress her smile that time. “That’s a full stop on whatever we’re doing. No questions, no repercussions. Understood?” He nodded. “Is yellow okay for slow down when you need to pause or take a break?”
    “That’s fine.” He straightened, stretching his back. “What about you? Any limits or things I should know?”
    His asking showed he was learning. “Take my rules home and memorize them. My limits align with yours, but never assume anything. If you have a question, ask me. I’ll do the same. If something changes, tell me.” She picked up the papers and stood. “And never forget my most important rule. What we do doesn’t leave the playroom. Ever. I have no doubt we’ll see each other at the rink or other Glaciers events, but we’ll act no differently than we did before.”
    He rose, and she maintained eye contact the whole time until she was looking up at him. “Understood. But...”