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“That’s not a problem,” he says again.
“And I’m not promising sex.”
This time, the corner of his lip twitches before pulling into a lopsided smirk. Then he reaches up and brushes a lock of hair from my face with his featherlight touch. A flurry of chills runs up my spine.
Then he leans in and presses his lips to the side of my face before he whispers, “That’s not a problem.”
I swear I almost feel light-headed.
Quickly, I compose myself so he doesn’t know how much he’s getting to me as I pull away and give him a strictly-business expression.
“Five fifty for one hour.”
His disarming gaze drifts down to my lips, almost as if he didn’t even hear me tell him my rate.
“You never told me your name,” he says, still staring at my mouth.
My lips part and I reply with confidence, “Madame Kink.”
There’s not a moment of hesitation. With a shake of his head, he leans in again. “No, I mean yourrealname.”
Myrealname.
I don’t like to give my real name to strangers, but this man is staring into my eyes like he’s looking right past Madame Kink. And I don’t have a choice. Later, I’ll wonder why I didn’t tell him no or laugh it off. But I’ll never fully understand why I make the most fatal mistake of all.
I let him see through the wall.
“Eden,” I whisper.
Rule #7: Don’t text your ex.
Clay
“Stand there,” she says in a soft but authoritative command. She enters the room, closing the door behind her. I watch as she walks to the back of the room, busying herself for a few minutes while leaving me waiting.
Finally, after pouring a glass of water and pulling a dark-purple riding crop out of the cabinet in the back, she saunters toward me. Her expression is blank. And I can’t explain why, but that grates on my nerves.
Give me a smile. A scowl. Anything.
“You sure are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” she says in a sweet and sexy tone. Her eyes are visibly grading my appearance in a way that throws me off.
“Pretty?” I murmur.
“I bet you’d like to please me, wouldn’t you?”
“I’d love to please you,” I reply with a crooked grin.
She ignores my flirtatious line, keeping her expression flat as she says, “Your safe words are simple. They work like a traffic light. Green means go. Yellow means slow down or pause. Red means stop. Are we clear?”
“Yeah,” I reply with a shrug.
“Madame. Yes, Madame.”
A snicker slips through my lips. “Yes, Madame.”
“Is something funny?” she replies seriously, stepping closer. This is not the same woman I just flirted with at the bar. As soon as we walked into this space, everything changed. I can’t quite tell yet if I love it or hate it.
“No, Madame,” I say, tugging my bottom lip between my teeth to keep from smiling.
