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"My brother plays cricket for England," I say, then squeeze my eyes shut. Did I say that aloud? I said that. Not even my closest friends know about Cade.
It’s not that I have anything to hide. It’s more to do with the fact that, given the kind of job I do—being a fixer, that is—it’s simpler to keep my family out of the limelight. Also, Cade attracts his share of attention, given the high-profile nature of his sponsorships. So, it’s simpler not to draw the media’s attention to our relationship. I’ve even managed to keep it off of my Wikipedia page. And now, I shared it with this man. This man, who I’ve known for barely a few days… Okay, more than that. But the sum total of time we’ve spent together amounts to a couple of days or less. Although it will be more than that by the time this interlude is over.
"Zara, you okay?"
I nod, still keeping my eyes shut.
"What are you afraid of?"
I snap my eyelids open. "Who said anything about being afraid?"
"Why are you upset?"
"I prefer not to tell people about my family. It’s how I protect them."
"Understandable, given the nature of your job. But it doesn’t explain why you’re so pissed off with yourself."
"I’m not—" He tilts his head and I firm my lips. "You’re right, I am upset with myself.” I glance away then back at him. “That was my first time.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Your first time with anal sex?”
My cheeks heat further, if that were even possible. “Why don’t you yell it out so the neighbors can hear you?”
His lips kick up. “Our nearest neighbor is miles away. And you have nothing to be embarrassed about enjoying it, baby.” He scans my features. “Do you know how it makes me feel to find out that I had one of your firsts?”
Did I hear him correctly? It shouldn’t mean anything to me, what he just said, and yet my body insists otherwise. My thighs quiver, and my knees threaten to turn to noodles. My toes curl and I have to reach deep inside myself to find the strength to stay standing. “H...how does it make you feel?” I finally manage.
“It makes me want to fuck you for days so you’ll not be able to walk straight. In fact—” He bends his knees and peers into my eyes. “I promise, before I’m done with you, you’re going to come at least ten more times."
"In the space of eighteen hours?" I scoff.
"Fine, so eighteen, then."
"An orgasm an hour?" I throw my head back and laugh. "Not even you can deliver on that."
"Make sure you keep count, baby."
He holds out his hand. I look at his outstretched palm, then at his face. "What are you going to do?"
"Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m going to do," he retorts.
"Can you give me a straight reply, for once?"
"Can you honestly say you don’t know what’s coming next?" He glares at me, and the threat in his tone slithers down my spine. He’s right about one thing—there’s a special thrill in pushing him, in being bratty and getting him to act all dominant with me. It fulfills that masochistic streak in me. Hold on, masochistic? Did I just label myself as masochistic? Did I just agree that I want him to be a sadist with me?
I’m not a prude when it comes to sex, honestly. But something inside of me stopped me from exploring S&M and everything it has to offer. And it wasn’t my strict upbringing, either.
My parents were very strict and did not allow me to date as long as I was under their roof. What they didn’t know about was the boys I smuggled into my room when they were away at the shop. My brother, too, had his share of girls parading through the house. By mutual consent, we never spoke about it. Then, when I was sixteen Olly was born, and all that stopped.
Once I left for university, I celebrated my freedom by hooking up with a variety of boys, and one of them was into S&M. I made it very clear I wanted nothing to do with that. And he never pushed the point, something that told me our relationship was going to be short-lived. He’s the guy with whom my relationship lasted for three months. I was the one to break up, as was normally the case. All of the men I’ve been with have respected my wishes. Not one of them pushed me to re-evaluate my boundaries, like Hunter has.
"What if I say I’d rather be surprised?"
"Do you want to be surprised, Fire?"
I hold his gaze, then place my hand in his.
27
