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“Fine. I will.” I resigned myself with a heavy sigh, pulling away from him and heading to my bedroom. It wouldn’t do me well to show up in a trench coat and corset underneath. No, this conversation was not between Lady Luxe and Septus. This conversation was between Sadie Day and Thatcher Wells.
* * *
The soundof the doorbell echoed inside of Thatcher’s home. I waited, listening for any sign of him as nerves rose like a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. I nervously pushed a curl of hair behind my ear. It still hung in cascading Hollywood glam curls down my back.
There was no sign of him. I realized I didn’t even know if he had left the club or not. He could have stayed behind to play or socialize. I was an idiot, a fool, a complete fucking —
“Well, hello there.” Thatcher’s voice behind me scared the daylights out of me, making me jump with a loud yelp.
“You scared me!” I scolded, turning to see his smug smirk. He had changed from his clubwear into a button down casual shirt and a pair of jeans that he wore like sin itself.
“Sorry about that. Something got into my garden, and I was working around the side of the house. So, what brings you here?”
“What?” I asked, confused. All thoughts had left my brain, only to be replaced with the image of Thatcher beneath my hands, beneath my dominance. My pussy ached at the memory.
“You’re standing at my front door. Did you need something?” I didn’t miss the way his eyes moved down towards my chest and then back up again with a sensual slowness that made me want to cross the distance between us and do more than just talk.
“Oh, right,” I quickly said, pulling myself out of my momentary daydream. “I wanted to ask you to have coffee with me.”
“A date?” he asked, that smirk widening to a full on smile.
“No, not a date. I just think we should talk.”
“Oh, well, then let’s talk,” he answered, walking past me and opening the front door.
“Maybe sometime this week. We could meet for coffee somewhere,” I added, turning to face him, where he stood in the doorway.
“Or you could just come in,” he said with a smile, opening the door and making space for me to come in.
“Oh, um, well…” I stammered, feeling flustered. “I’m sure we could another time.”
“What’s the matter, Sadie? Scared? I promise I won’t bite.” The wolfish grin on his face had my stubborn streak rising to the fullest.
“I would have to disagree, Thatcher,” I replied with my brow arched high as I stepped through the doorway. “The mark on my inner thigh would beg to differ, as well.”
He led me through the house silently. I found myself acutely fixated on the feel of his large hand on the small of my back as we walked through the main hallway of the house towards the kitchen. I was surprised at how well it was decorated. The walls were tastefully hung with beautiful artwork.
“This is beautiful,” I murmured, stopping to look at a large canvas just outside of the kitchen.
“You like it?”
“I do! The artist has really captured something here. Their use of light and shadow is absolutely exquisite.” I looked at the other pieces that lined the hall, finding the same element in nearly every piece of work. “I see you really like their work. You have a lot of pieces.”
“What makes you think it’s the same artist?”
“I mean, it’s obvious, isn’t it? That same use of light and shadow, the familiar brush strokes. It looks like the medium changed with a few of them, but it’s definitely crafted by the same hand.”
“You have a good eye.”
“Who’s the artist?” I asked, turning back to face him.
“I am.”
“What?”
“I’m the artist.”
“Shut up, you are not.” I laughed it off a little, certain he was playing with me, but as he stood there stoically, with no humor in his expression, I realized the truth in his words. “You? You did these?”
