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“One more,” I say, lifting a finger. “You want to please me? Fine. But I’m not lifting a finger if you’re miserable. If this ever stops working for you, you open your mouth and say it. Clear?”

“Yes,” he breathes. Then again, firmer. “Yes.”

The way he’s looking at me—like I’ve written the word of God instead of a basic boundary—makes something coil hot and low in my stomach.

I lean back into the cushions, swirling the wine in my glass. “Relax, Calloway. I’m not about to have you sign in blood. Keep things clear, and we’ll be fine.”

For a second, I think we’re done—rules set, boundaries fixed. But then he shifts, glass wobbling faintly in his grip, lips parting and closing again.

“I… I have a rule too,” he says quietly.

I tilt my head. “Oh?”

His gaze drops to his lap, ears pinking. “Praise,” he says softly. “I… I want praise. That’s all. I just… I just want words.”

Praise.

I ease my glass down onto the table slowly, chest constricting as I watch him unravel in real time—cheeks flushed, pulse visibly thumping at his throat, knuckles bone-white.

“Praise…” I echo.

His chest jerks with a nod, eyes darting everywhere but me. “Just… um—’good boy.’ Like you’ve said before. And… tell me I’m doing a good job.” The words tumble out so fast they nearly choke him. He swallows, hard, face scarlet. “That’s… that’s all I want.”

Oh. Well, fuck.

I shift on the couch, thighs tensing up from the shift in the air.

“Alright.” I nod once. “I can work with that.”

The silence stretches, wine humming in my blood. I don’t rush to fill it. Truth is, I don’t even know what the next move is. I’m not used to being handed the reins like this. It’s hot as hell, but shit—it’s also uncharted territory, equal parts tempting and dangerous.

It’s Noah who breaks first, his voice quietly breaking through the room. “You said… to say if I wanted something?”

I tilt my head, arching a brow. “Yes…”

He hesitates, chest rising sharp, and for a second, I think he’ll fold back in on himself. But then he drags in a breath through his nose, straightens his shoulders, and forces it out in one rough rush. “I want to make you come. Right now.”

My pulse gives a wicked little kick, teeth sinking into my bottom lip.

Oh, we’re doing this.

“Tell me,” I say, voice low. “What you want to do to me.”

He stares, mouth opening and shutting, breath stuttering in frantic bursts. “I—anything. Any way you want. I’m yours to use. I—fuck, Sable—I want you.”

Beautiful.

I tip my glass back, swallow the last of it, then lean forward, setting it on the table with deliberate slowness. My free hand brushes his wrist, guiding him back into the cushions. “Sit. Hands at your sides.”

He obeys—fast. Shoulders tight, spine straight, fingers digging into the sofa.

“Don’t move unless I say.”

A strangled sound claws up his throat.

“Say it,” I murmur, rising to my feet.

His gaze skates helplessly over me, then locks to my mouth. “I won’t move unless you say.”