Page 90 of Key of Kink

Quinn paused in the middle of grating cheese. “You’re staring.”

I smirked. “I’m assessing your competence with a cheese grater.”

“Uh-huh.” He went back to his task.

I stayed in the doorway, my mind at war.

You broke a rule.

Yes.

You crossed a line.

Yes.

Do you regret it?

The answer came too fast.

No.

That unsettled me more than anything else, because if I didn’t regret it, then this wasn’t an accident.

The pasta water boiled over and Quinn swore under his breath, laughing as he turned down the heat.

I knew what I was doing. I’d broken one of my rules, and I was trying to work out why. Only, the truth was both simple and catastrophic. I hadn’t brought Quinn home because I’d lost control, but because I wanted him here.

I just wasn’t sure what happened next.

We sat opposite each other at my small kitchen table, and it felt way too ordinary considering what had happened in the living room an hour before.

Quinn watched me expectantly as I took my first mouthful.

“It’s fine,” I said.

“Fine,” he repeated. “I think that counts as high praise coming from you.” Then he went quiet.

I wanted to fill the silence, not with talk about the club, or rules, or what we’d just done. Anything but that.

“Tell me about the library where you work.”

Quinn grinned. “It’s not a glamorous job.”

“Glamour isn’t the first word that comes to mind when thinking of a library.”

His eyes twinkled. “I could’ve made something up. Secret underground archive. Forbidden texts. Candlelight.”

“Quinn.”

He bit his lip. “Right. Okay.” He leaned back in his chair. “It’s Walthamstow Library. It smells like old paper and coffee, and during exam season, students.”

“Are you in charge?”

He guffawed. “I’m twenty. They don’t let twenty-year-olds be in charge of anything. My boss is Veronica. She’s in her late fifties, terrifying in a cardigan, and absolutely convinced she can read my emotional state based on how I shelve things.”

That got my attention. “Want to explain that?”

“If I alphabetise aggressively, she thinks I’m stressed. If I tidy displays no one asked me to tidy, she thinks I’ve met someone.” He paused. “She’s not wrong.” Then he smiled. “It’s weirdly comforting. She brings me tea if I look… wobbly.”