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“I’ve been working with Greta Boss.”
“Hmm, I don’t know her. But this is something else we have in common, although like I said, I’m not sure I could write a whole book.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“I don’t really write fiction,” I say. “The stuff I write for the magazine is usually investigative journalism or fluff pieces.”
“What’s a fluff piece?” he asks.
“Pop-culture pieces. Things our readers like. Stuff with a lot of information but not much substance. You know. Fluff.”
He approaches me, his eyes narrowing. “Do you consider the article you’re writing on the BDSM lifestyle to be fluff?”
“That’s actually a good question. I’ve done a lot of research, so I consider it investigative. But I can’t deny that while I wouldn’t call it fluff, it’s definitely got mass appeal.”
“Would it upset you to know I’ve never read your magazine?”
“Of course not. Our readership is mostly women, first of all, and you’re a scholar. We don’t write scholarly articles.”
“Just because I’m a scholar doesn’t mean I don’t like a little fluff once in a while.” He points to his shelves of commercial fiction. “Check me out. John Grisham, Stephen King, and Dean Koontz are some of my favorites.”
“You have any books on…BDSM?”
“Of course I do.” He opens a small barrister’s bookcase, takes out a book, and hands it to me. “This is one of the best ones out there.”
I run my fingers over the cover. “Alternative Sexual Lifestyles.”
“It gets into a lot of different things,” he says, “some of which might make you uncomfortable. I know they made me uncomfortable. The section on BDSM is excellent, though.”
“May I borrow this?”
“Absolutely, but I want it back.”
I wrinkle my forehead. “Of course I’m going to give it back to you, Hunter.”
“Right. I didn’t mean to imply that you wouldn’t. I’m just kind of weird about my books.”
“No need to explain.”
“Now…” He grins. “Let me show you my bedroom.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Hunter
I open the door slowly.
While my living area and my office are decorated in mostly antiques that I finished myself, my bedroom is another story.
It’s more contemporary, done in stunning black lacquer rather than natural wood.
My king-size bed is covered in a navy-blue down comforter, and my chest of drawers is the same black lacquer as the headboard and footboard of my bed.
Frankie’s eyes widen.
“Surprised?” I ask.
“Yeah, a little. I was expecting an antique bedframe and maybe a wardrobe. Definitely a highboy.”
“I just redecorated this room,” I say. “Now that I’ve met you, I think I know why.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“I hadn’t changed my bedroom at all since Teresa. I haven’t had a woman in my bedroom since Teresa. I kept my physical pleasures solely at the club. Then, a couple of months ago, for some reason, I had the desire to change my bedroom.”
“Did you have antiques in here before?”
“I did. A gorgeous cherry bedframe, and a high- and lowboy. But it always…”
“I get it. It always reminded you of her.”
“Yes and no. Yes, because she was the last woman I had here, and it was because of her that I turned off my emotions and decided to indulge purely in the physical. But I also decided not to have a woman here. So I kind of detached from the room. I figured it was a place to sleep. Not a place to have sex.”
“The fact that you changed it means you were rethinking that position.”
I shrug. “I’m not sure I was rethinking. But…it may have just meant that I was going to meet you.”
Her cheeks go pink, and my God she’s so beautiful.
“So you believe in premonitions, then?”
“No, of course not. But I can’t help but wonder if the universe was sending me a sign. That maybe I would meet someone I wanted to share this bedroom with.”
“And do you want to share it with me?”
“I do. I want to make love with you here, Frankie. That’s not to say I don’t plan to take you back to the club, because I do. But for the first time in a long time, I want to bring a woman home. To my bedroom.”
“Do you have any toys here?”
“I have a few. I got rid of most of them after Teresa. They were too much of a reminder.”
“That you’ve never used on her…” she prods.
“No, the ones that I still have I never used on anyone.”
“Do you want to use them on me?”
I draw in a deep breath, trying to slow the beating of my heart, the aching in my hard cock. “I do, Frankie. I want to bind you to the headboard of my bed, and I want to spread your legs and suck the delicious cream out of your pussy.”
She sucks in a breath.
“Does that turn you on?”
She nods, chewing on her lower lip.
“This isn’t a feeling I expected to have.” I walk toward her, glide my finger over her cheek. “I’m having feelings for the first time in a long time, Frankie. I’m not sure why or what it is about you. You’re beautiful, of course. You’re smart and engaging. But there’s something else. Something that seems to call to the inside of my heart.”
