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To show him she wasn’t afraid, she strolled casually over to the spanking bench and prodded the leather with her finger. She ran her fingertip over its texture.
“I don’t know. I guess I just don’t understand the attraction.”
“People play power games in relationships all the time. This is a more formal version of that. In some ways, it’s actually safer, considering limits are usually discussed ahead of time and people usually have safewords. In life, not everybody gets a safeword.”
“True . . . about the safeword, anyway. I don’t think I’ve ever played a power game in my life unless you count regular rivalry between students or workers.”
“Nothing? Not even handcuffs or spanking? I don’t know many adults who haven’t at least dabbled in it.”
Why was she even talking to him about this? She was making herself uncomfortable and warm in areas she didn’t want to think about. She definitely didn’t want to picture him handcuffing her to a bed. Wasn’t the plan for her to go home and look things up? She’d probably get more reliable information from the internet than she would from a guy who was looking at her in a way that made her shiver—as if he could have her anytime. Maybe he got away with that when it came to other women, but she was a slow-paced kind of girl.
And he was a client.
She realized she was checking out his tattooed arms again, and made herself stop. She didn’t even like tattoos! They looked right on him somehow though. Sexy.
“You said for some people it’s not even sexual. I don’t understand how that would work.”
“I’ve never been in one of those dynamics. You’d have to ask around.” He flashed one of his smiles.
“I’d never be into anything like this,” she said, maybe a tad haughtily—but the man really seemed to be laughing at her and it was irritating. That was probably oversharing, but she thought she should probably make that clear before they spent any more time together.
“No? Some things people do are more subtle—less extreme. You’ve never tried any of it? Not even had a man tell you to stand still so he could look at you, or tell you to take your hair down out of that bun?”
“No.” Why would anyone even care? Her hair was tidy when it was up, and it made her look powerful. Between her clothes and her hair and her makeup, no one messed with her. “The men I date like my hair just fine, and I do wear it down sometimes.”
“It’s just an example. No need to get your granny panties in a twist, sunshine.”
Jerk.
Before she could come up with a cutting response, he kept going.
“Choosing to take your hair down is a very different feeling from being asked or ordered to take it down. They’re all nuances, and you’d respond differently to those nuances depending on who was talking to you.”
She really wanted to put this guy in his place, but she was finding what he was saying creepily fascinating—and those wildly green eyes of his almost seemed like they were glowing when his gaze flicked over her.
“Hair is just hair. I don’t see what the big deal is—whether I decide to take it down or you tell me to. It’s not kinky.” There was no point in worrying about him catching her blushing, since she was already doing it. Hopefully, the dimness of the lighting was hiding the worst of it.
He smiled quietly. And she realized her pulse was racing.
“Even the silliest things can become part of a power dynamic. The way you wear your hair. Following the order to only use blue pens. Eating only with your left hand.?
??
His voice had become a low, husky whisper, and she could feel her hard nipples getting harder.
“Or you may not be submissive at all. You could be a Dominant.” His voice was like silk, and she felt like he was putting her under a spell. “You might prefer receiving or giving pain with no power dynamics thrown in. Or you could be completely vanilla—although I doubt it.” She’d assumed Dominants shouted, but his soft tone was light-years hotter. He could convince her to do almost anything for him if he used that voice on her.
No, no . . .
Inappropriate!
This was just an interesting theoretical conversation with a client about his business. No more personal than, say, talking to a guy who owned a tapas lounge or something.
Keep it professional, Juliet! Pull yourself together!
“You doubt I’m vanilla?” she asked, annoyed at how breathy she sounded. “Why do you say that?”
He shrugged. “You’re so uptight and in charge, I’m guessing you usually choose lovers who are biddable, but you’re dissatisfied with them even though they do exactly what you ask. You’re in charge in your professional life. In your personal life you’d probably prefer a partner who took charge.”
