Free Make Me by Tamara Mataya Page A

book down. Some other practices left me wary. I don’t think I’d ever be able to submit to someone 24/7 as a slave, no matter how much I loved them. I will always be my own person; I couldn’t live my life waiting for someone to tell me what to do, to seek permission for every move I made. That sounds exhausting and boring.
    I couldn’t give up control to someone like that, utterly, completely. My life has been more rigid since...a few years ago. How could I trust someone to make every decision for me? What if they made the wrong choice for me? That level of trust seems impossible. But who am I to judge? Maybe that would make someone else feel alive and safe. Feel wanted knowing that someone needs them to be at their beck and call every minute of every day.
    Inside the bedroom would be an entirely different story.
    Some of the bondage pictures took my breath away. The delicate intricacies of Shibari are like art work, but more than admiration, I long to feel the pressure of those knots against my skin. It’s disconcerting to be turned on by something completely outside the mainstream, like opening the door to what you thought was a boring old closet and finding an entire wing to explore instead. More than once I had to put the book down and think unsexy thoughts to avoid heading straight for the bag Darko left and helping myself to a battery-assisted orgasm.
    Or picking up the phone and tracking down Darko.
    What would giving up control with him feel like? Doesn’t that just make you someone’s puppet? It’s not healthy, right? I’ve been attacked before. Anything remotely rough should be off-limits and unappealing.
    So why does my body scream at me to trust him, to try to let go with him? Is it just sexual attraction?
    What would sex with him be like? What would it be like with anyone who knew what I wanted, but more importantly, knew exactly how to give it to me? Would he obliterate my mind like he did earlier, making me forget myself, forget everything in the world except for his body and mine? How intense could it get if I gave all my control to him, trusted him to do the things I’ve always wanted someone to do but never dared ask?

 
    Sloane spins toward the bag full of toys with wide eyes then back to me. Gesturing to the open bag in front of her, a couple toys laid out on the table, though still in their packaging, her gaze darts nervously around. “I was just, you know. Familiarizing myself with the equipment.”
    That blush I want to taste appears again, seeping up the skin of her chest and neck, and rests on her cheeks.
    I’d give my left arm to have shown up ten minutes later with a key of my own. Would she have backed out and decided her hands were safer? Would she have been naked on the bed, fingers lightly dancing across her clit? Or would she have impulsively taken one of the vibrators and put it to good use? Would I have walked in to the sight of her naked from the waist down, legs spread as far as they’d go while she wildly plunged it deep inside again and again?
    She points at my hand. “You brought food?”
    I could eat something for a couple hours. My cock stiffens, and I’m glad of the bags in front of me. “Yes. I’ve brought supper.”
    “Great. I just have to wash my hands.” She rushes to the bathroom and closes the door. I waste no time with supper, finding dinnerware, transferring the food from the bags to plates, and pouring us both a glass of wine from the bottle I brought. By the time she returns, her cheeks are a more normal shade and my pants fit better.
    I stand and pull her stool out. “Did you learn a lot today?”
    She sits and takes a sip of wine. “Yes, but I was surprised at how much I already know. A lot more of the lifestyle has invaded the mainstream than I’d have guessed.”
    I slide onto the seat next to her. “True, though it’s taken a very long time. Violence is more acceptable than sex on mainstream media. Showing people getting shot and blown up in