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“Oh.”
“And that’s all our scenes would be, finite sessions of physical and sexual release. I’m telling you that because I don’t want to be like your last Dom, who led you on and wasn’t honest with you. I’m being brutally honest. I know how I am, and I can’t offer you much outside of physical sensation and control.”
His expression softened. One of his hands lingered in the air, then moved downward to cup my chin. “I know that isn’t what you’re looking for. That’s why I’ve tried to stay away, but you keep drawing me back. I’d like to explore this tension between us. If you met someone else, someone who was interested in a more traditional relationship, you could end our association at any time.”
Our association.That sounded clinical and sort of sad, but the other part, exploring this tension, sounded necessary to me. I was glad Fort was willing to usher me into this edgy new world. Hurting. Spanking. Bondage. Force. Non-consent. Maybe even anal. I imagined, with him, it would be all the things.
“Can we go to your club?” I asked. “That place you told me about?”
He shook his head. “Not for a while. The club’s an entirely different conversation. Maybe once we have a few sessions under our belt.”
A few sessions.There was something really hot aboutsessions—Fort and me, sadism and perversion and sex.
Forget the relationship drama, the craving for love. For now, this was what I wanted. At least, I was pretty sure it was what I wanted. Before he left my place, he had me unblock his number on my phone. He said he’d pick me up the following weekend for the first of our trust-building sessions at his Blackwell penthouse. He told me to be ready for anything.
He also told me that if I changed my mind or felt any misgivings about going forward, that I was to block his number on my phone for good.
Chapter Eleven: Fort
Ispent thenext week berating myself for my lack of control, my stupidity. The more I knew Juliet, the more I understood she was a dangerous bundle of feelings and complications.
Why resurrect my complicated cravings for her? That’s what Dev had grumbled as he swilled free champagne at the art opening. “Why are you here, man? This is some stupid shit.”
Maybe. Probably.
I’d let Juliet into my personal dungeon next Saturday and see how far she’d let me go.
Maybe we’d both be surprised.
Chapter Twelve: Juliet
Fort sent acar to pick me up on Saturday evening. He didn’t come get me himself, and there was no dinner date beforehand, because this wasn’t about forging a relationship. This was about exchanging power and sharing physical pleasure, full stop. He’d been clear about that, and being fetched by a uniformed driver made it clearer.
It felt sexy and dangerous to be ushered into the black sedan, but it also felt weird, like I was playing a role that didn’t fit me, at least not yet. I pressed my legs together in the back seat, arranging my skirt just above my knees so the bows at the top of my over-the-knee socks would show. He hadn’t told me to wear socks with bows, but I knew he’d appreciate them. I already had a sense of what he liked.
There was a folded note card beside me on the seat with a bold, swirling ‘S’ on the front. ‘S’ forSt. Clair. ‘S’ forsession. I picked it up and opened it, scanning his message with dread and lust roiling in my stomach.Good evening, Sparkles. I hope you’re as excited to see me as I am to see you.
It wasn’t signed, but it didn’t have to be. All of this was his doing. All these arrangements and processes were under his control. Fort St. Clair, playboy and sadist. Juliet Pope, possible masochist in search of more orgasms, because it was sometimes okay to do questionable, irresponsible things because a man really turned you on, and because you felt like trying something new.
After a smooth, silent trip, the driver pulled up at the Blackwell. As soon as I left the vehicle, a doorman emerged from the lobby and greeted me by name.
“Good evening, Ms. Pope. I’ll show you to the elevator and key you up to Mr. St. Clair’s floor.”
Mr. St. Clair’sfloor? Fuck, he had a whole damn floor? And how did this doorman know my name? I was used to the clutter and informality of the Black Wall—my building was more art school dormitory than Manhattan real estate.
When the elevator opened, I was at Fort’s front door. I remembered this from the morning after my drunken meltdown, remembered him leading me onto the elevator and down to his car. That had been almost six months ago now. I swallowed and mashed my lips together, and tugged at my hair. I’d left it down, since I figured he’d take it down anyway.
Before I could knock, the door swung open. Fort ran his eyes over my fitted burgundy dress, then down to my matching over-the-knee socks. He smiled.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
I bit my lip, trying not to blush as I entered his apartment. It was as spotless and elegant as I remembered.
“Are you nervous?” He put his hands on my shoulders and squeezed them. “You shouldn’t be. I’m an experienced sadist.”
“Oh, Lord.”
“Come here. Have a drink with me.”
