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Certainly he thought about her too much—her changeable nature, the half priss, half flagrant slut who craved attention and abandonment and everything else in-between—all at the same time. She was insatiable. Could he be enough for her?
She made him laugh. She made him want to stare at her for hours—paint, draw, sculpt her face in its hundred expressions.
Her hold on him was getting stronger—and probably why he was fucking Martine every time his loins got hot. It was a protection against loving Tessa too much, making her think too much of herself. The fact that she was always rattled by her rather predictable roommate worked in his favor.
Their pair waited at an intersection for some time; the three-colored signal changed three times before they inched forward enough to make it through the left turn, away from the jumbled mass of humanity at this ungodly hour.
Miles was lost in his thoughts of Tessa when she spoke, and her voice lifted him from a glowering reverie, jerking him out of a silence that was becoming uncomfortable for her.
“You know, Miles, I’ve always wanted to be the belle of the ball,” she ventured carefully.
He glanced at her suspiciously. “You’re asking about the soiree again, aren’t you?
“Yes, I suppose,” she admitted.
“You know what that means, don’t you?”
“Leather, whips, my rings. They should do. The marks, the bondage, aren’t they enough to prove my readiness? I can’t go on forever imagining this wild, horrid orgy of self-indulgence and not have it.”
“Of course you can, if that’s what pleases me.”
“Miles,” she was exasperated, sighing heavily. “You’ve whipped me silly, shown me off, given me to Damien and Martine….”
“Quit whining, slut.” He cut her off. “It’s more than those things.” He was exasperated too, mostly exasperated with not having made a decision since he was not an indecisive man.
“I just thought that this was what you were training me for?
“I’m training you for me, no one else.” He emphasized the me.
“But isn’t the big scene the place to be in S M society?”
“Sometimes. But I’m not committed to anything.”
“How about those pictures you have hidden the closet?” she ventured warily.
“You’ve been through my closets?”
“I’m very snoopy.”
“I guess you are,” he scowled, “I should paddle your butt for that.” Though he didn’t sound all that upset.
“Okay,” she agreed smiling. “But what about the pictures—those dark, black and whites, the costumes, they make me soak my underwear.”
“Underwear?” he asked.
“If I wore them,” she corrected herself.
“Those pictures were from another time.”
“A time that’s past?”
“I don’t do those anymore, art evolves; and you are the evolvement of my art.”
She smiled, liking what he said, but she couldn’t drop the matter of the soiree. “So, you’re not taking me, then.”
“I didn’t say that.” He clammed up. With his mouth shut tight, she wouldn’t get another word from him about it for days.
Chapter Fifteen
