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"You're not an undercover reporter doing a story on my family, are you?" I smooth my hands over the sweatpants I'm wearing again. "Come, sit here."
She walks over quickly, her body covered by the dress shirt I wore to dinner. I prefer it on her, even though her hands have disappeared beneath the fabric of the arms.
I adjust her into the perfect spot before I circle my hands around her waist. "What new secret have you uncovered, Ms. Lane?"
"Secrets," she corrects me with a soft kiss to the mouth. "As in more than one."
I claim her mouth again, this time tracing my tongue over her bottom lip. "Tell me about these secrets."
"The first is that you're reading that new detective novel that everyone is talking about on social media." She trails her index finger over my chin.
"You saw it on the nightstand. That's hardly a secret."
"That's not the actual secret." She slides her hand to the back of my neck so she can pull me into a long, lingering kiss. "The secret is that you read the last page before you'd even finished the third chapter because you were so anxious to know the ending."
"Parli Italiano?"
"Yes," she whispers into my cheek. "I speak Italian."
"How much of that conversation did you hear?" I try to sound stern but it's futile. "More importantly, where did you learn to speak Italian?"
"I heard the last few minutes of it." She nuzzles her face into the crux of my neck. "I wasn't eavesdropping. You weren't in bed so I wanted to find you."
"I'm glad you did."
"My grandmother spoke Italian." She runs her fingers over my chest. "She loved an Italian man desperately when she was my age."
"So your grandfather is Italian?" I ask, pulling her even closer to me.
"No, the Italian man loved an Italian woman. My grandmother married a man from Ireland."
I laugh loudly. "Did the Irish man make her happy?"
"He was Irish." She tilts her head up to look into my eyes. "What do you think?"
"I think she loved him enough to marry him so he made her very happy."
"He did." She nods faintly as she cups my cheek. "Until the day he died."
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Isla
"That's only one secret, Isla." He brushes his cheek against my forehead as I rest my head on his chest. "What's the other secret?"
This one is harder. It's not playful and fun. It's also not my business but I don't do well with curiosity. It eats at me. It's only a question. The worst that can happen is that he'll tell me it's none of my business.
"It's about your fuck pad."
"Fuck. Pad," he says the words separately, decisively. "What is that?"
I sigh heavily in jest as I look into his eyes. "It's the place you take all the ladies to when you want to nail them."
His brows cock in unison. "Nail them? No. Don't. My brother talks like that."
I smile at the expression on his face. "We'll start over. I have a question about the hotel room that you use to fuck women."
"Why are we talking about that?" He shifts beneath me. "It's a hotel that is owned by my family. I use the room occasionally to entertain."
"Call it what you will." I tap his shoulder. "I don't care about that. I was wondering about the bedroom."
"What about it?" I hear the uneasiness in his tone.
"There's a chest of drawers there. It's locked."
He scrubs the back of his neck with his palm. "Yes, I keep that locked."
"What's in it?"
He leans back, slightly breathless. That reaction should be all the answer I need but it's not. "I'd rather not discuss this, Isla. At least not right now."
His legs move beneath me. I stand up sensing that he needs me to. "That's fine. I was just curious."
He rises to his feet too. "We need to preface that conversation with one about your experiences."
"My experiences?" My hands leap to my chest. "I'm not sure I'm following. What experiences?"
"You enjoy being bound," he says quietly. "Restrained."
I nod, shifting nervously on my feet.
He rakes both hands through his hair. "You responded when I spanked you. Pain gets you off?"
"It depends who is administering it," I confess. "I liked when you did it."
"What else do you enjoy?" He drops his hands to sides. "Tell me what else you've done that you've liked."
This isn't the discussion I anticipated when I walked into his office. I honestly thought he'd tell me that he keeps dildos in those drawers to use on the women he brings there. The worst thing I imagined was that he'd confess to me that he collects the used panties he's ripped off all the women he's fucked there. I never imagined this would be turned around on me.
"I was in a sex swing once." I dart my index finger into the air. "That was hot."
