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“Wow. You could train her right from scratch. No bad habits. No preconceived notions of what a Dom/sub dynamic is.”
“Shut up. She needs a protector, not a predator.”
Predator. With her, he felt like just that. He thought about her long brown hair and expressive green eyes and felt the same conflict he had at the party. Although he’d said otherwise, the girl was exactly his type—beautiful bone structure, full lips, strong but rounded in all the best places, legs that would make a model weep with envy. She inspired in him a strong desire both to protect her and to shock her. He’d shocked himself when he’d offered to be her BDSM tour guide, but walking away from that party without trying to see her again had been impossible.
He’d already thought of training her himself, but it wouldn’t be fair to her. She didn’t want to be a slave. Trying to mold her into one would be a disaster for both of them. His friend’s eyes narrowed as though he could read his thoughts. “What big, sharp teeth you have, Mr. Wolf.” Ambrose chuckled and rose, then walked out.
Banner trailed behind, texting as he went.
The guy sounds like a dickhead. Just ignore him. I’m not explaining what figging is. If you really want to know, Google.
He hit SEND then banged his shin hard on the planter by the administrative assistant’s desk and swore under his breath.
Belle snickered. “Don’t walk and text. Are you coming back later, or are you gone for the day?”
Another text alert summoned Banner’s attention back to his phone. “I don’t know. Do you need me?”
“Nah, take the rest of the day off. You came in early.”
The new administrative assistant, Tanja, sputtered and started to cough. Belle had been with him so long she could get away with almost anything.
“You’re the nicest employee, ever.”
“I know.”
Both men walked to the elevator and Ambrose grimaced. “The new paint job in here makes me claustrophobic.”
Banner looked at the freshly painted walls and the new table thingy with the glass bowl full of wooden balls that stood outside the elevator.
“Belle said it was cozy and soothing.”
“It’s dingy.”
“It’s cappuccino with an ecru pinstripe. Classy.”
“Baby poop smeared on the wall is classy? Who knew?” Ambrose picked up three of the balls and started to juggle them. While he was busy, Banner hazarded a glance at his phone.
Oh jeez. I just looked it up. I’m not sure if I’m more embarrassed about having asked you or having seen it. Mental note: never Google pictures if you don’t know what to expect.
He couldn’t help but be a smartass. So I take it you’re not into figging?
The elevator door opened, and he walked in, stumbling over the crack between floor and elevator.
“You’re not coordinated enough to text and walk. And your tongue sticks out when you text, idiot.”
His phone buzzed.
I don’t know. For the right guy I might try anything.
Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Didn’t she know she was playing with fire? His mind took her insinuation and ran with it, picturing her collared, leashed, and crawling to him. Crying from a caning. Begging to come.
If Ambrose hadn’t pushed the button he might have stood in the motionless elevator all day. He thought through his answer before responding.
You might want to be careful who you say that to. There are a lot of bad men out there.
There was a pause. Are you one of them?
Ambrose gripped his elbow and guided him off the elevator and through the lobby.
