Chapter 23: CRIMSON IS YOUR SAFE WORD

MIA

My phone rang while I was editing photos on Dante's couch and I almost didn't answer because I was in the middle of adjusting exposure on a tricky shot, but then I saw Yuna's name and realized with a jolt of guilt that I couldn't remember the last time we'd actually talked.

"Hey," I said, trying to sound normal instead of like someone who'd accidentally ghosted their best friend.

"Oh my god, you're alive." Her voice had that edge that meant she was half-joking but also genuinely annoyed. "I was starting to think you'd moved to another country without telling me."

"I'm sorry, I've just been—"

"Busy. I know. With him." She said "him" like it was an animal instead of a person. "How's the domestic bliss going?"

"It's good. Really good actually."

"That's what I'm worried about."

I glanced toward the kitchen where Dante was making lunch and lowered my voice. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Forget it. I'm just—I miss you, okay? We used to talk every day and now I'm lucky if I get a text back."

"I know. I'm sorry. Things have just been intense with the stalker situation and moving in here temporarily and—"

"Is it temporary? Because from where I'm sitting it looks pretty permanent."

I opened my mouth to argue but didn't know what to say because she was right. My apartment across the hall sat empty except for furniture and dust. My mail came here. My things were here. I slept here every night and woke up here every morning and at some point "temporary" had become a lie I was telling myself.

"I'll call you more," I said. "I promise."

"Sure. When he lets you."

"Yuna—"

"I have to go, I have a client meeting. Love you."

She hung up before I could respond and I sat there staring at my phone and feeling like I'd failed some kind of test I didn't know I was taking.

"Everything okay?" Dante asked from the kitchen doorway.

"Yeah. Just Yuna being Yuna."

"She still doesn't like me." It wasn't a question.

"She doesn't know you. If she did—"

"She's jealous." He came to sit beside me and pulled my feet into his lap. "You're happy and she can't stand that it's not because of her."

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" His thumb pressed into the arch of my foot and I felt the tension start to ease. "When's the last time she was genuinely happy for you about anything?"

I tried to think of an example and came up empty and that felt like a betrayal too, like I was letting him plant doubts about my best friend just because his hands felt good and his logic was easier than examining why Yuna's concern might be valid.

"I want to visit my parents next month," I said, changing the subject. "It's my mom's birthday and I haven't seen them since I moved."

Something flickered across his face for a second. Then it was gone and he was smiling again.

"Of course," he said. "I'll come with you. I'd like to meet them."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to." His hand moved from my foot to my ankle to my calf. "I want to meet the people who made you who you are."

He was so sweet.

That night he asked me a question I hadn't expected.

"What do you know about BDSM?"

I looked up from my laptop. "Um. The basics I guess? Why?"

"Because I'd like to explore that with you if you're open to it." He set down his book and gave me his full attention. "I have certain preferences when it comes to sex and I think you might enjoy them too."

"What kind of preferences?"

"Control, structure and explicit consent at every stage." He shifted closer. "I like directing things, knowing exactly what's happening and when, having you trust me enough to follow my lead completely."

Heat crept up my neck. "Like... tying me up?"

"If that's something you'd be comfortable with. We'd start small, establish boundaries and safe words and I will stop immediately if you want to stop. The entire point is your pleasure, not mine."

"But you'd be in control."

"Yes. But you'd be the one with all the power because you could end it whenever you wanted." He touched my face gently. "I would never push you past what you were ready for. This only works if you trust me completely."

"Can I think about it?"

"Of course. Take all the time you need." He kissed my forehead. "I just want you to know that part of me. I don't want to hide things from you."

Except he was hiding things. I knew he was and I could feel it in the way he watched me sometimes, the pauses before he answered questions and the phone calls he took in other rooms. But everyone had secrets and maybe this was his way of being honest about the parts of himself he could share.

"Okay," I heard myself say. "I want to try."

I stood in the doorway of the bedroom, heart hammering against my ribs. Dante was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirt unbuttoned, watching me calmly.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” I told him. “About trying… BDSM. I want to. I’m willing.”

His eyes darkened instantly, but his expression stayed controlled. He stood slowly and walked to me, cupping my face with both hands.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes. I trust you.”

He kissed me gently, then rested his forehead against mine. “We’ll go slow. You have a safe word. Say ‘Crimson’ and everything stops immediately. Understand?”

“Crimson,” I repeated, nodding.

“Good girl. I’m going to check in often. I’ll ask for your color — green for good, yellow for slow down, crimson for stop. I need honest answers always.”

“I understand.”