Page 8 of Key of Kink

The room settled back into its familiar rhythms, but he still occupied my thoughts.

This isn’t finished, is it? I trusted my instincts.

He hadn’t come here to be led, but to decide. And the next time he showed up—because yeah, I knew there would be a next time—I suspected he’d get around to asking questions, voicing whatever needs had brought him to us.

Maybe he’ll ask me.

I was a man who stayed on the edge of things, letting others make the first move. And now a stranger was messing with my head, something no one had done in a long time.

Chapter Three

Quinn

The library always smelled of paper and dust and something floral someone had once decided was calming. Which it was, actually.

I slid the last trolley into place, checking the shelf numbers out of habit even though I knew they were right. Walthamstow Library at closing time had a particular mood, voices already lowered by the expectation of leaving, the day folding itself away neatly.

“Five minutes,” Veronica called from her desk, polite but firm.

A teenager groaned theatrically, and an older man nodded without looking up from his book. At the computers, people began to save and log off.

I returned to the main desk, logged out of the system, and shrugged into my jacket. My shift had been steady, uncomplicated. No raised voices, no lost children, and no arguments about fines.

A good day. A quiet day.

Veronica flashed me her usual warm smile. “See you tomorrow.”

I nodded. “Have a good evening.” In the year since I’d started working as a library assistant, Veronica had sort of adopted me. She didn’t fuss, thank goodness, but she did make sure I took my breaks, and now and then she brought in biscuits or cake that she’d baked. All her kids had flown the nest, and I didn’t mind being a surrogate child.

Outside, the air was cool and a little damp, the sky already dimming into evening. I headed down the familiar streets toward home, past the café that always smelled like burnt sugar and the corner shop that never seemed to close. The walk took ten minutes if I didn’t rush.

I never rushed. It gave my head time to settle, the quiet order of the library lingering in my shoulders as I walked. My thoughts drifted easily, unforced.

I was looking forward to my evening, not in an I-can’t-wait way, but in a steadier one, thrumming with anticipation, a warm, patient feeling. Obsidian wasn’t something I wanted to charge towards. It felt important to arrive calm.

Will he be there?

Yeah, that wasn’t a calming thought. If anything, it made my pulse race a little.

Down boy. That’s not why you’re going there, remember?

Maybe not, but he was definitely an incentive.

I stopped at the corner shop before turning onto Farmilo Road. Our Victorian terraced house was one of many on the long street that smelled permanently of someone else’s cooking. I let myself in and was immediately greeted by noise.

“Quinn!” Maya called from the kitchen. “Tell me you’re home because you’ve bought milk.”

“I have bought milk.” I kicked my shoes off. “Does that make me a hero?”

She stuck her head around the door. “Yes, but it also means you don’t have to drink your tea black.” She grinned. “And we all know how much you love that.”

I rolled my eyes as I handed her the plastic bag containing the milk. “Just because you drink perfume that doesn’t require milk.”

“Earl Grey is not perfume!” she yelled as she retreated into the kitchen.

I peered around the door to the living room. Sam was sitting on the couch, headphones on, focused on his laptop, typing furiously and muttering.

“This dataset is fucking cursed.”