Rufus grins at me. “You know, we once did a show with a testy male lead and someone’s phone did go off in the audience during his ballad. He immediately dropped out of character, glared into the audience and snapped, “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Everyone in the audience whooped and clapped him. The director told him off, of course, though not very seriously.”
I start to laugh, picturing it, and Rufus grins even wider, and I realize I’m having a good time. I was worried this would be awkward or unfriendly or confusing, but it feels so natural. The butterflies have dissipated, which means I can eat my food and enjoy sitting so close to him.
Our main courses arrive, a cheese soufflé for me and steak frites for him, and once we’ve finished them, the dishes have been taken away and the waiter has poured us each a second glass of wine, the conversation we haven’t had suddenly becomes the elephant at the table.
I fiddle with the stem of my wine glass with one hand and a ringlet of my hair with the other.
“You’ve suddenly come over all shy,” he observes. “Have you thought about what I said last night?”
“It’s all I’ve thought about,” I confess. “But I don’t know what it means. The, uh, dom thing.”
“Well,” he says slowly, “dom is short for dominant, but you probably know that.”
I nod, picking at a crumb on the table. He covers my hand with his and waits until he has my attention again before going on. I’m suddenly afraid, but I take a deep breath and look up, into his eyes. They’re dark blue in the soft lighting, and they’re not exactly cold, but they’re unwavering and seem to look straight to my core.
“A dom’s job is to take charge of their sub, both during sex and in all other things. It’s about discipline and control, but it’s also about care. Mostly it’s about care, in fact.”
My breath has become shallow just hearing him talk like this, and there’s a tingling between my legs. “What do you mean, care?”
“Everything I would do, disciplining you, touching you, setting boundaries for you, would be to make you feel safe. Making you feel safe and good and happy makes me feel good and happy.” He spreads his hand, palm up. “It’s not just something I like to do. I...need it.”
I have only the vaguest ideas of what BDSM is and what dominants and submissives are, and most of my knowledge comes from pop-culture, which means it’s probably inaccurate. I thought it was all about canings and pain and rope. I had no idea that it could sound almost sweet.
“And if I was your sub, what would I need to do?”
“A sub’s job is to submit, no matter what. Especially when being disciplined, but at all other times, as well. It’s not a part-time thing. You’d obey me whether I’m there or not. You’d want to obey me.”
I chew my lip, thinking. It has felt good when I knew I was doing something that would please him, even when he wasn’t there to see it. But...submit to everything? He could get pretty demanding. “What if I don’t want to submit to something?”
He puts his thumb on my lip and tugs it from between my teeth. “Don’t do that. I can’t think. It depends on what you mean by don’t want to. If you don’t want to go to bed when I tell you to go to bed, it might be that you’re acting out because you want attention, or because you want me to fuck you or discipline you.”
My cheeks burn at his frankness, and I glance at the table closest to us.
He puts his finger on my chin and turns my head back to him. “They can’t hear us. Or you might not want to because you’re upset or worried about something, or you’re uncomfortable because I’ve done something to disappoint you. If I can’t tell the difference then I’m a very bad dom and have failed to understand what you need. I’d always listen to what you’re telling me, in words and actions, and you’d have a safe word to use in physical situations.”
I nod slowly, taking this all in. It sounds complicated being a dom. I would hate to have all that responsibility for someone else on my shoulders—but then, I suppose that’s why he’s the one offering to be my dom and not the other way round. It sounds awfully strict, though. “You would tell me when to go to bed?” I ask.
He smiles. “I would tell you to do a lot of things.”
“That’s very controlling.”
“That’s the idea. Why do you think I would have so many rules for you?”
I bat my eyelashes and smile prettily at him. “Because you’re bossy?”
He looks at my lips and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, princess. That’s a smart mouth.”
“You’re not my dom,” I say, still smiling.
“But you will regret that when I am.”
I realize that he’s right, that I might agree, so I drop the sass. “Okay. Why all the rules?”
He sits back and lays his arm over the back of the seat once more. His fingers brush my shoulder, and I shiver. “Do you remember how you felt when I came backstage the other week, yelling and threatening to fire you?”
I wince. “Of course.”
“That sort of thing works with most people. They go, oh, shit, he’s the boss, I better shape up. Or they become resentful or embarrassed enough never to want to be in that situation again.”