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Because her breaths were coming in fast bursts, he decided to bring down her tension before ramping it up even higher in a few minutes, the ebb and the flow. The pace. The journey. The pain and the pleasure. And the way they could never be separated. “No. I’m happy to give you what you want without your misbehaving. I’d rather it, in fact. I want to give you orgasm after orgasm, making you scream from pleasure and not pain. That, Kelsey, you will have to ask for. You were going to show me around.”
She blinked, obviously reeling from his abrupt change of conversation, like he’d intended.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you about the mess.”
“I understand.”
As he followed her out of the kitchen, she pointed out the half bathroom and adjoining area containing a stackable washer and dryer. Then she took him into her office.
It was an absolute disaster of books, papers, photographs, prints, camera equipment and a desktop computer with an oversize screen. The walls were painted white. She had photographs spotlighted by track, gallery-type lighting. He recognized one as an Ansel Adams. Another, a portrait, might be the work of Annie Leibovitz.
Shelf after shelf contained cameras, all different types, digital as well as old-fashioned ones. Some were clearly collector’s items.
Most startlingly, she had several trash cans, all of which were overflowing with discarded work.
This room displayed a creative side of her that she kept carefully hidden, showing how exacting she was.
“It’s messy,” she said. “But I never seem to clean it up.”
“It’s because it’s part of your work in progress.”
She nodded. “I come back in here and pick up where I left off. I never start with a clean desk.” She rolled the globe of her wineglass between her hands. “I’ve never thought of it that way before, I guess. It’s as if I remember exactly where I was and what I was thinking. My photography is always unfinished. I can do something else to it, enhance one thing, blur another, change the focus, the saturation.”
“Trying to make it perfect?”
She shook her head. “I don’t have that kind of genius or patience. I just like to see what’s there.”
He wasn’t sure he understood at all. But he wanted to find out more.
Then she led him toward her bedroom. This room also had French doors and a patio. She had a queen-size bed with an inspiring wrought-iron frame. Though the bed was messy and an empty coffee cup had been abandoned on a nightstand, all of her clothes were hung up. Her closet door was cracked, and a number of dresser drawers stood open. One had lingerie spilling across the top.
“The bathroom’s over there…” She pointed then shrugged. “That’s all there is to see.”
“Except for the sex toys. Maybe some books?” He lazed against the doorjamb.
“Uhm…” Her face turned scarlet.
“Show me,” he said, his tone more of a command than an invitation.
He remained where he was, wondering whether or not she would comply. This, more than anything, would tell him what he needed to know about Kelsey Lane and how strong her submissive tendencies were.
A ghost of something that might have been nervousness or excitement, he couldn’t be sure which, crossed her face.
“I’m sure it’s nothing exciting compared to what you’re used to.”
“On the contrary. There’s nothing boring about you, Ms. Lane.”
She opened the bottom drawer of her nightstand.
From where he stood, he noticed she had quite an assortment.
Slowly she pulled out adult novelties and began to place them on the bed. She started with a purple dildo then added a vibrator with an angled head. Maybe for G-spot stimulation.
Next she brought out a thin paddle. The leather was likely faux as it looked more like a toy than a spanking implement. It had a word cut into it that he couldn’t make out, and she placed it upside down on the bed so he couldn’t read it. “What does it say?”
Her grip was wobbly as she turned it back over. “I… It was a gift at one of those adult-themed home parties. You know, you answer a trivia question right and you win a prize.”
“But you kept it. What does it say, Kelsey?” he repeated.
“Slut.” The word was barely a whisper, and she didn’t look at him.
“Really?” he asked softly. “What kind of slut?”
Her chin came up. “Mr. Donovan, I am not—”
“A fuck slut?” he interrupted. “For the right man? The right Dom?”
She sucked in a deep breath.
“I want you to be,” he told her. “The word can have a negative connotation, I’ll grant you that. But you see beyond it, don’t you? You know what it really means. A person who’s unashamed. Someone who enjoys sexual relations, who’s unafraid, uninhibited. Most of all, honest. I want you to be all those things with me. I want you to be proud of being my fuck slut. I want you to wear the word on your ass, want you to celebrate when I whisper it in your ear.”
