"Here." Marco climbed back onto the bed, shirtless, with a glass of water and a straw in his hands. I took it from him gratefully and sipped the water like I had a bad case of cotton mouth.
The sun had gone down hours ago, and I estimated that is was near ten at night if we'd fucked for round three at eight.
"I don't want you to think that I'm pressuring you. That's the last thing I would want to do," he said from his place under the covers beside me. His touch on the skin of my shoulder blades brought my attention back from the window as he traced the scars there.
"I can't be your submissive." He frowned, but allowed me the silence to continue. "I don't do blindfolds. I don't do restraints or impact play or any of the things I used to love about bondage. It's stupid to blame this on my trauma, but I do."
"It's not stupid."
"It is. I know sex isn't everything in the lifestyle, but I'm too complicated for it."
