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“Then why are you drinking your way through a bottle of Maker’s Mark?”
“What do you want, Richard?” My head was already spinning from the alcohol, and there was a bubble of shame I couldn’t seem to puncture.
“I’m more interested in what you want,” he mused, picking up the bottle and pouring out another ounce. “Do you have any idea how hard you’ve been staring at those bodies onstage?”
I felt myself flush. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He chuckled and tossed back the bourbon himself. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Have you ever been tied up, Donovan?”
My mouth formed a hard line. The music and the lights that had all felt so comfortable earlier had become irritating. The club was too hot and too loud, too alive. I needed to leave. “That isn’t an appropriate question for a co-worker.”
He just laughed again. “I think you’re well beyond appropriate work conduct at this point. I was only asking because you’ve been watching the performance with such, hunger, that I couldn’t help but wonder if you’ve indulged in it yourself.”
This wasn’t the Richard I knew. The Richard that sat outside of Oliver’s office had always been a quiet, steady presence. This Richard was dangerous. This Richard was pulling me in.
“Occasionally.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but not exactly a lie. I had had sex with my hands bound, or with my partner in handcuffs, but nothing more than that.
Whether he believed me or not was hard to say. There was a gleam in his eye as he leaned towards me, brushing away the wisps of hair around my temple. “So have I,” he said. “I could tie you up, tonight.”
My eyes went wide. “You can’t be serious.”
He was close, too close. His face was only inches away, deep green eyes staring straight at me. The smell of honey and cinnamon wafted from him, seeping into me. “I am. You have no idea how good I can make you feel. Isn’t that what you want?”
There was only one answer I could give him. No. Absolutely not. I would tell him that I wanted nothing to do with him whatsoever and that he was crossing our professional boundaries. Just because we didn’t work directly with each other didn’t mean we weren’t colleagues, and that was not a proposal you make to a colleague.
I opened my mouth to tell him off, to tell him that he was out of his mind to think he could talk to me that way.
But all that came out was, “Yes.”
Chapter Two
Something was wrong with me.
I had gotten into a cab and gone home with Richard. Richard who was Oliver’s secretary. Oliver who was the son of my CEO.
We had spoken for maybe five minutes before I agreed to go home with him. Maybe I was just easy. Easy, and more desperate than I had realized.
By the time he unlocked his door my mind had cleared through the fog of the bourbon, but I didn’t run. His apartment was small, just a cramped studio - not that I was judging. Rent was a nightmare.
“Want something to drink?” he asked, nodding for me to sit on the couch.
“No, thanks.”
His apartment fell into the sweet spot between ‘messy’ and ‘neat.’ There were clothes folded but still stacked in a laundry basket in the corner, and a wide assortment of clutter on top of his dresser. But what I hadn’t expected were the flowers. He must have had dozens of them scattered around the room.
It fit him, somehow. I leaned back into the couch, letting my muscles relax. The room carried that same smell, honey and cinnamon. It was sweet, but not overly so. That fit him, too.
Richard had disappeared into a closet while I looked around his home but, finally, he turned, triumphantly holding out a bundle of rope.
I burst out laughing.
I was halfway into hysterics. The laughter wouldn’t stop and I clutched at my stomach as my abs screamed from the exertion.
By the time I regained control of myself, Richard was standing with his hands on his hips, giving me a disapproving stare.
“I’m so sorry,” I wheezed, wiping away stray tears. “You looked so serious.”
He shook his head, but I didn’t think he was mad. “Here I was, thinking about how best to pleasure you, and you laugh at my efforts.”
