The room’s a mess, but it’s not dirty. It’s full of things, like she’s made a life here for herself, and I’m glad for her. Never minded a bit of clutter myself in a place, just never had enough things to make it with. I lay her down on the bed gently, by the edge so she can sit up easily if she wants. Stand back a little so she knows I’m not going to jump her now that we’re away from fear of interruption. I bend over and start undoing my bootlaces while I talk. “You want to tell me now what’s off limits to do or touch, that’s fine. Otherwise I’m going slow.” I look up and grin at her, still tugging at the laces. “Very, very slow.”

I straighten up and step out of the boots and pull my socks off, leaving everything in pile a little ways away from us. Don’t go for my belt just yet, but I do shrug out of my shirt and lay it on the couch. As I do, I see the bruises that have come up from last night. Hope she doesn’t mind. If she asks about them, I‘ll tell her. “I start doing anything you don’t like, you tell me, and I will stop. Promise you that.” I look her in the eye again, make sure she knows I mean it.

“You can do anything to me you like, except pull my hair or cut me. Hard’s better than soft, slow’s better than fast.” I say this every time. Sometimes they even take me seriously. “And if you want to order me around….” I raise my eyebrows and hope she knows what I’m getting at.

Don’t know if it’s been five minutes, but I get down on my knees by the side of the bed and put a hand on her hip, not grabbing, just resting on the curve. “Will you let me help you with your boots, Miss Verite?”