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“Can I buy you a drink?”
I don’t look up. “No, thank you. I’m about to drive home.”
“But it’s only one o’clock.”
Pulling my eyes away from my phone, I tilt my head and stare at him. He is very handsome but not as young as I first assumed. From this proximity, I can make out the subtle crevices of his face, lines worn in over time, something a fresh-faced baby in his early twenties wouldn’t have.
For a moment, I get lost in the dark intensity of his almond-shaped eyes.
“It’s been a long night,” I murmur.
He pulls away just an inch before tightening the smirk on his face. Something in his expression falters as he softly mumbles, “Another time, then.”
There’s a moment’s hesitation before he turns away. I should let him leave and call it a night, but I don’t. Something in me has me calling after him.
“What’s your name?”
He pauses and turns back toward me. “Clay Bradley. And yours?”
My eyes are glued to his face again, drawn like a magnet to the sharp cheekbones and the narrow bridge of his nose. I stare at him the way I sometimes stare at my son. As if my eyes can drink their fill.
“You’re new here,” I say without the inflection of a question, ignoring his request.
He nods. “I am. Is it that obvious?”
With a soft shrug, I smile. “I tend to know everyone around here.”
“Are you a regular?”
“You could say that,” I reply sarcastically.
Clay takes this as his opening to sit down, leaning on the bar to face me. “And what is it you like to do here?”
He’s a good flirt. I’ll give him that. I’ve sat here at this bar and been hit on by more guys than I can count, but Clay has a charm that’s natural and undeniable. There’s something strangely genuine in his charisma.
“I’m a Dominatrix,” I reply, looking up from the bar. My response comes out more like a dare than an answer, but Clay doesn’t even flinch at the word.
Instead, he smiles. “I can see that.”
“I get a feeling I’m not quite your type,” I reply, leaning in and watching his lips pull into a smile he fights against. Licking his lips, he straightens his expression into a look of curiosity.
“You think I wouldn’t like to be with a Domme?”
A chuckle escapes my lips. “I didn’t say you wouldn’t like it. I said I’m not your type. There’s a difference.”
“So you think Iwouldlike it?” he replies. I notice he’s a bit closer than he was before.
I erase the distance between us, whispering only a few inches from his face, “Oh, I know you would.”
Technically…I don’t know that. Not everyone is submissive, and I would never speak to someone like this professionally, but we’re flirting. And he’s pushing me.
The closeness of our mouths doesn’t seem to affect him at all. “Prove it.”
“That’ll cost you,” I say, finding his eyes with my own. We’re mere inches apart as he smiles.
“That’s not a problem.”
“You’ll have to do everything I tell you to,” I add, still staring into his eyes.
