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"What am I going to do with you, Ms. Bennet?"
I grabbed my clothes and brushed past him, smiling. "Anything you want."
He followed me into the bedroom and watched while I hung up my dress in the closet.
"Anything I want, hmm?" he said, his voice now clearly amused.
"You're the Dom."
I dried my body off, wiping my arms and then my torso, before drying off my thighs. He stood a few feet away and watched.
Before I could put on my nightgown, he grabbed me and pulled me over to the bed, then he pushed me down onto my back. He lifted me up onto the bed farther so that his mouth was right over my pussy.
"What I want is to eat you and make you come again."
I closed my eyes and covered my face with my hands so he wouldn't see me smile.
Then he did exactly what he wanted.
Later, as we lay together naked, our limbs entwined, he kissed my neck.
"So, other than the fact that you should have called me sometime during the night, how did your evening go? Did you meet other students?"
I sighed. How would I tell him about Sefton?
"It was OK."
"That doesn't sound like much of a ringing endorsement."
I took in a deep breath. "To tell you the truth, it wasn't much fun. I felt uncomfortable a lot of the time."
"Why?" He brushed a finger over my bottom lip. "What happened?"
"Claire went off and was a social butterfly. I was stuck with this man who made a few strange comments and innuendo. I only wanted to come home and wait for you but I was trapped."
"What man?" he said, his voice soft.
"Sefton deVilliers," I said, instantly regretting that I mentioned Sefton, but I remembered the fiasco with Kurt back before we left Manhattan. "He's the artist in residence at the Institute. He's offering an open studio course and offered me a spot but I don't know if I want to take the class from him."
"Why?"
"He made me uncomfortable. I told him I was engaged to you so he'd stop."
"Was he at the dinner, too?"
"Yes," I said, feeling a weight of guilt descend over me. "He was a bit suggestive…"
"Suggestive?"
I turned to him. "He asked me if I was a submissive."
"What?" Drake frowned and I felt his body tense under my hands. "How did that come up? What did you say to him?"
"Nothing," I said, feeling a bit defensive at this tone. I touched my collar. "He saw my choker and asked me what it meant. Do you think he was at the dungeon the other night and saw me, recognized my choker?"
"I don't know why else he'd think you were a submissive," Drake said, his voice low. "He must have been there." He shook his head and rubbed his eyes as if he was really tired. "That was presumptuous of him and not acceptable. People in the lifestyle usually only meet through known contact routes – online websites, personals, or through friends who are in the lifestyle. You don't ask a stranger and even if you've seen someone at an event, you don't mention it unless you're close enough. It's respect for privacy. Besides, we were wearing masks. That means we don't want our participation in the event to be publicly known. He knew that if he was there."
"He's a buffoon," I said, remembering Sefton's tone with me.
