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“When it comes to shallow flings, the lines aren’t always clear cut. People have different definitions of them. For instance, some believe exclusivity should be a given, some don’t. Some believe ‘shallow’ nonetheless includes dating, some don’t. Some even see flings as stepping stones to real relationships whereas others view them as dead-ends.”
I nodded, understanding. “Expectations can differ from person to person, which can cause problems for two people having a fling.”
“Exactly. But here, everyone knows the score. Everyone knows there’s not a single string attached to anything that happens here unless someone specifies otherwise. I prefer that clarity.”
I could relate to that. “Yeah, it takes a lot of pressure off all parties. I don’t find relationships easy. Or even flings. But I also don’t like one-night stands. It might not bother some people in the public eye that someone they picked up for the night isn’t so much interested inthemas in fucking a celebrity, but it bothers me.”
“Same here. Fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“No, it isn’t. Here, there’s no gawking. No one asks for pictures, tries to creepily touch my hair, or calls me stuck up when I won’t give out my number.”
“Is that the main appeal of the basement for you? The feeling of anonymity?”
“Thatand the private rooms. When you’re in the public eye, you can’t explore a lot of your fantasies because you can’ttrust that what you enjoy will remain private. You always have to be so careful of what you do and say because of how it can reflect on you, your career, and your family.”
He hummed in agreement. “All that attention and pressure can make a person feel very limited. I want the freedom to be me.” An intensity gathered behind his eyes as he leaned toward me. “And part of being me is fucking someone where I want, when I want, however I want.”
Every cell in my system lit right up at that declaration.
He straightened. “On that topic … shall we get moving?”
Well yes, yes that would work fine with me. I tossed back the last of my wine and then set my glass on the bar.
He took my hand as I slid off my stool and then led me across the lounge, walking slightly in front of me, shielding me.
My pulse raced as we made our way down the hallway toward the dome. Anticipation poured through my veins, hot and thick. My stomach felt light, fluttery, and giddy.
It had been a while since I wasthisattracted to someone. It wasn’t merely about his looks, it was about the power leashed within that spectacularly built body; it was about how controlled he remained even as he unchained said power in the ring. It was about how I could quite easily sense that this man could give me what I needed; would take charge in a way that not only pushed my best buttons but would make me feel safe andfree.
He wouldn’t require direction, wouldn’t ask for permission, wouldn’t hesitate to do and take what he wanted. But hewouldstop instantly if I asked. I knew in my bones that he’d never take advantage of any power I granted him over me.
Inside the dome, we shouldered our way through the many dancers as we made a beeline for the center box. He took out his membership card and swiped it in the lock, turning the little light there green as the door unlocked. People had to prebook access to boxes or rooms by phone or via email. Theaccess would then be applied to their card, allowing them to use it as a key.
I stepped inside … and just like that the mirrored walls were now windows. One had a wooden bench attached. Leather straps dangled from the ceiling among the not-too-bright spotlights.
It was spacious enough that we could easily move around without bumping into each other or the windows, but it still gave a person that feeling of being … not quite trapped, butcaptured.As if we were inside a small interrogation room or something.
Cole pinned his gaze on me, his feet planted, his posture strong; exuding such calm and authority and focus my mouth went dry. “Stand in the center.” It was a low-pitched order that rung with assertiveness. My body responded to it—nipples tightening, heart stuttering, lower stomach clenching, inner muscles heating.
I did as he asked, never moving my gaze from his.
He let out a satisfied hum. “Now I’m going to undress you. Stay very still. I’ll tell you to move when I want you to move.”
My belly rolled.Well, all right, then.
He didn’t rush. Didn’t fumble. Every movement steady, precise, and smooth, he gently pushed each strap of my dress over my shoulders, lowered the side zipper, and then let the dress drop to puddle at my feet.
His eyes gleamed as they honed in on my bra-clad breasts. He reached behind me with one hand and deftly unhooked the closure like a pro. Not allowing myself to consider just how much experience he evidently had with unfastening bras, I watched as it slipped from my body and joined my dress on the floor.
I felt my breathing speed up as his gaze drifted over me from head to toe, glittering almost feverishly. My breasts beganto ache, and I almost swayed toward him … but then he crouched down.
He caught the waistband of my underwear and slowly dragged it down my legs. His noseso closeto my pussy, he inhaled deeply. “Step out of the clothes,” he ordered, his voice thick. “The shoes can stay. Good.” He neatly piled my clothes onto the bench and then moved back to me, his gaze so hungry it made me swallow hard. “Now, hold onto the handles above your head. Hmm, very good. Stay like that. I want to inspect you.”
He wanted to, what?
Cole very slowly circled me as he probed, shaped, flicked, and traced … like I was a prized object he intended to learn every inch of. Each touch was clinical with an edge of sensuality that set me on fire.
He crouched down in front of me again, making my pulse kick up. He spread my folds, which were now warm and damp. He looked. Prodded. Explored in a distant, unmoved manner. I wouldn’t have thought such a thing would hit the right buttons for me, but it did.
