Kyler pressed a kiss to Mia’s forehead. “You can trust me to take care of you.” Sitting back, his gaze swept down her face, enjoying the pleased expression she wore. From the promise of his words or the kiss? He laid his hand against her sternum and slowly slid his palm upward until his thumb and fingers separated around the base of her throat. He applied just the slightest amount of pressure there.
She sucked in a breath, and that one reaction surged blood into his cock. Mia squirmed, rocketing his arousal even further.
“Be still,” he gritted out.
She froze, her eyes on his.
“How important is the breath play to you?” Her eyes dilated, her expression read as needy, and her breathing quickened. Her obvious excitement went a long way toward answering the question. And these reaction were exactly what he loved about it. But did she need it?
“I don’t have to have it, but…” She looked down, her eyelashes fanning out against her skin.
“Look at me and finish that sentence,” he said, his voice full of grit. Because against his fingers, her pulse was flying.
“But it probably excites me more than anything else, and it gets me off faster than anything else,” she said, her cheeks turning beautifully pink.
“Does it now?” Not that he really needed to ask. His grip tightened, just a little.
Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice breathy, full of desire.
“Say my name,” he said, wanting to hear it with all that arousal coloring her tone.
“Yes, Master Kyler.”
In a quick move, he slid his hand up her back and fisted her ponytail, tugging her head backward and her whole body closer. Hand still gripping her throat, he shifted them so that she was almost reclining, allowing him to look down into her face.
And he thought her pulse had been flying before.
“You like to be choked?”
“Choked to the point of not being able to breathe?”
His grip tightened. “Gagged?”
“Yes. Sir,” she added, as if she’d momentarily forgotten protocol.
Jesus Christ, his cock was like fucking steel. “Asphyxiated to the point of passing out?” he asked, his gut twisting.
“I’ve never done that. The idea of it…” He nailed her with a stare, allowing her the time to gather the words the little furrow in her brow said she was looking for. “It both excites me and scares me, but I’m not sure which more.”
“Thank you for the honesty. I won’t go that far, Mia. I won’t put plastic over your head and I won’t duct tape your mouth. I also won’t use any bondage position that hangs you primarily by the throat or neck. If any of those are things you need, I won’t be able to give them to you,” he said, hoping like hell she didn’t need them. Occasionally, he had a moment of discomfort—maybe even cognitive dissonance—about the fact that he was both a cop and a Dom who got off on bondage and submission and spanking and even role-playing scenarios that flirted with non-consent. Because he’d seen the trauma real abuse caused. But what he did was safe, sane, and consensual, and he drew the line where any of those three might be compromised, which in his opinion included the edgier breath play.
A fast shake of her head. “No. I don’t want any of that. I just want—” Her eyes went wide.
“What, little one?” Satisfaction at her answer mixed with curiosity about what she’d not said. He needed to know.
Her throat worked under his hand in a hard swallow. “You.”