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“Yeah. Weird.”
How could she ask if he was single without sounding desperate? Rejection stung like a bitch and she wasn’t in the mood to deal with that this early in the morning.
“So who are you bringing to the wedding? Do you have a . . . sub?” Fuck. She could’ve kicked herself. Way to not sound desperate.
“No. I’m single at the moment.”
“Me too.” Fuck again! Why had she said that? It wasn’t like he’d asked. God, she was being so lame right now. This guy was messing with her head. She was usually smoother than this.
“I was thinking of heading to The Catacombs tonight actually,” she ventured. Maybe she could still salvage this. “To see if I can find someone to play with. It’s been a long time.”
“Really?” His brow quirked.
“Yeah. I’m hoping there’ll be some new people. I’ve played with almost everyone and scared all the usuals away. Poor little things.”
“You haven’t played with me.” Their gazes met in her mirror, and the blatant dare in his made her bite her lip.
She paused. Then smirked. “I doubt you could handle me.”
Chuckling, he shifted in the chair. “Well, that’s a challenge if I ever heard one. Are you a switch?”
“I’m a brat.” It sounded like a warning. Maybe it was one. She was tired of too-serious Doms trying to crush her spirit and turn her into something she wasn’t. And she was tired of the newbies letting her walk all over them then storming away all butthurt when she wouldn’t cooperate.
“I enjoy brats.”
She snorted. “That’s what they all say. Next thing you know, they get all huffy when you tell them their pretty mouths shouldn’t be used for so much lecturing but rather getting busy with other things.”
He barked a laugh. “You’ve actually said that?”
She answered with a cocky smirk.
“You might be a sorry little girl if you got too much of what you asked for.”
Oh fuck. A rush of heat pooled in her pussy, making her knees almost buckle. She pictured it—spread out on a bed, legs wide, Ambrose between them, making her scream for mercy.
She realized she’d frozen with her clippers in midair, staring at their reflection. After setting the clippers down, she cleared her throat. “You don’t believe in playing nice?”
“I can when I want to. But there are times when I don’t want to be nice. Are you the kind of sub who likes to be made into a good girl by a mean Dom?”
“I’m the kind of girl who likes a Dom to have a sense of humor.”
He arched a brow.
Reluctantly, she added, “And to sometimes . . . convince me to be good. Once in a while. When the mood strikes me.” She gave him a sidelong glance.
“Cocky little thing,” he muttered, shifting in his seat again.
She wondered what he kept having to shift down there. But he wasn’t rolling his eyes or sighing at her teasing. Maybe he wasn’t like the others. She wished there was a tactful, smooth way to ask if he wanted to play.
“You’re going tonight?” he asked, rubbing his clean-shaven chin.
She nodded.
“Maybe I’ll go too. We could talk more. If you want.”
A small, giddy smile pushed through her mask of confidence. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
