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“But—”
“I want it too,” he said steadily, as she’d come to expect from him. “But you need to be very clear that BDSM doesn’t necessarily involve sex. I have no expectations, and I don’t have to fuck you for us to enjoy the week together. Besides, you’ve had quite enough for one evening. I’ll tell you this, though. I will be jacking off in the shower, and I will be thinking of you.”
“Take a video?” She had never been all that concerned with sex. It didn’t really matter to her whether or not she had it. But with him, it did. She wanted to feel him in her, filling her. “Let me see it?”
“Another time.” He fisted her hair and pulled back her head. “Welcome to my world, Kelsey. Do you want more?”
Chapter Seven
More? What more could there possibly be?
All night, the question had consumed Kelsey, making her toss and turn.
It had been a mistake to try to sleep naked, as she had found out when she’d rolled over and the sheet had abraded her nipple. Around two, she’d finally gotten out of bed in frustration and donned a T-shirt.
This morning, she was still tender, even though they hadn’t actually had sex.
She pulled on a thong. Unable to help herself, she looked in the mirror at her ass. As impossible as it seemed with the way she tingled, there wasn’t a single mark or bruise on her body. She was strangely disappointed.
Her phone chimed, telling her she only had fifteen minutes until she had to leave if she wanted to be on time to catch the train.
The reminder prompted her to think about Nathan again.
He planned to let her drive his car and pick her up after happy hour.
How the hell had all this happened?
Last night’s image of a spiral returned to her, and she realized it was symbolic. Since she’d arrived at work yesterday morning, everything she’d believed seemed to have been challenged, from the fact she no longer worked for Mr. Newman to having Nathan Donovan introduce her to BDSM. His world, he’d called it. And she was hooked. To the point it was a challenge to think about anything other than their upcoming evening.
She finished dressing, telling herself that she hadn’t intentionally chosen one of her tightest, shortest skirts or her highest confidence-giving heels. Her hand trembled, just a little, as she applied her makeup. Today, though, unlike others, she applied red lipstick, just in case he was already at the office when she arrived.
Kelsey gripped the counter then frowned at her reflection and sternly told herself not to be ridiculous. What happened in their personal lives was separate from work. She was going to show up and do her job with the utmost professionalism. It made no difference whether or not Nathan was in his office when she arrived.
Then she realized the more she was lecturing herself, the more she was thinking about him and the more excitement arced through her.
With a frustrated sigh, she gave up and instead concentrated on the tasks she needed to accomplish in order to leave on time.
With seconds to spare, she dropped her makeup bag into her tote and shrugged into a blazer before leaving, phone in hand.
It took two attempts to get the lock closed. With a frustrated sigh, she made a mental note to call a locksmith. Maybe she could schedule something for later in the week, drive in, take a long lunch. Or perhaps come home early one day. As if. She hadn’t left the office before five in over a year.
She dashed to make the train. Once she reached her stop, she headed straight for Marvin’s.
“Morning, Kelsey,” Marvin said when it was her turn. “The regular?” he asked, pulling a paper cup from a tall stack.
“Please.” She fished a ten-dollar bill from the wallet in her tote.
He marked the cup with a capital M for mocha. “Just one?”
She nodded, and a jolt went through her when she realized that she’d never again need to buy one for Mr. Newman. And she doubted it would be a good idea to take one to the hospital.
“Whipped cream?”
She smiled. “Does the day end in the letter y?”
“Tuesday. Yep.” He scrawled her name on the cup and added a smiley face beneath it.
“You should have been an artist.”
“Mostly, I am. Flour is my medium. The finished goods are my canvas.”
That was true. The cupcakes were decorated in different colors, and frosting swirled and dipped. Even the scallops on the petit fours were perfect. He rearranged the cases throughout the day, ensuring everything was perfectly, temptingly displayed. More than once she’d bought something because it was gorgeous.
“Anything else? I have scones if you haven’t had breakfast. Maybe a slice of quiche?”
He knew her too well.
