My tone must have finally made it through his thick skull because his eyes snapped to me and pinned me to the seat. For a brief moment, the words "don't poke the bear" passed through my mind and stilled in fear. But I pushed it away, unwilling to let it stop me.
"Oh, you're ready for me? For what I need?" He asked in a low tone.
The gravelly sound gave me chills and made my body tighten.
"Yes," I whispered breathlessly.
His hand moved down to my neck, his fingers wrapping around it gently. He flexed his fingers a bit, not enough to actually hurt, but enough I knew the strength of his grip. I swallowed hard several times, trying to get moisture back into my suddenly dry mouth. His eyes still bore into mine, but there was no conflicting emotion, just a sudden sense of purpose as if he knew exactly what he was going to do.
"What is your safe word, little one?" He asked gently.
"Red, Sir," I murmured to him, my throat still refusing to put words together properly.