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I looked up at the high ceilings, then out at the city’s lights as he led me to his kitchen. “Isn’t it bad to do…uh…what we’re going to do while under the influence?”
“Yes. It’s also bad to play without a safe word. But in this case, you’re in my hands and you’re going to be absolutely fine, even if you have a few sips of wine to ease your nerves beforehand.”
He popped the cork of an expensive-looking bottle on his counter and poured half a glass of red wine for each of us while I took in his effortless magnificence. Black sweater, dark jeans that molded perfectly to his physique. His sweater’s cuffs were pushed up his forearms, revealing tanned skin with a smattering of dark brown hair.
“Here you go.”
I took the crystal glass from his hand. His eyes went wide when I almost drained the thing.
“I don’t like the taste of wine,” I explained. “But I know it’s good for me to down some from time to time.”
He didn’t quite laugh. It was more of an exasperated smile.
“Do you feel up to a session now? Want a little more liquid courage before we start?” He lifted the bottle but I shook my head. He recorked it and stowed it in the refrigerator. “I didn’t even ask how your week went,” he said over his shoulder. “How’ve you been, Jewels?”
I’ve been a wreck, I thought silently, putting my glass on his marble counter. “I spent most of last week thinking about you.”
Damn it. Why had I said that out loud, after all his anti-romantic ravings? Probably because his jeans were incredible, and his sweater fit just right. I couldn’t read any annoyance—or pleasure—in his expression. He straightened and looked at me, pressed his lips together and managed a small smile that had my nipples tightening. How had I ended up here, with this perverted, sadistic, disgustingly handsome man?Because you got shitfaced at Underworld and stumbled around until he rescued you, I reminded myself.
That was months ago, a chance, accidental meeting. I was here on purpose now.
“I’m excited to scene with you, Juliet,” he said, moving closer, right into my personal space. A finger went under my chin, lifting my face to his. “But first, I want to be clear about three things.”
“You don’t want a relationship,” I said. “That’s the first thing.”
The finger moved from my chin to my lips. “Shh. That’s already been established. These are things specific to playing right now.”
“Oh.”
“First thing: You’re going to be safe. No irreparable damage will happen to you, even if it feels that way at certain moments.”
I nodded, wondering how numerous—and arduous—those moments might be.
“Second thing: We’re clear that this is a serious deal, not some slap-and-tickle game.” His gaze held oceans of warnings. “I need you with me, one hundred percent. I need you compliant and engaged the entire time, until I let you know the scene is over.”
“Yes. Agreed. I mean, I’m going to try.”
“And you’ll tough it out when things get hard? Because they’re going to get hard.” He shut his eyes when a strangled laugh escaped me. “You know what I mean. Get your mind out of the gutter. We’re not going there just yet.”
I tried to look appropriately serious. “I remember—it’s not all about sex.”
“No. Sex is part of it. There’s more though, which I’ll show you. Okay, final rule, Sparkles. You can close your eyes, stare at the wall, whatever you want, but when I tell you to look at me, you need to look at me. Do you understand?”
I nodded, cowed by the gravity in his gaze.
“AnswerYes, Sir,” he said. “While I’m in charge, you show respect, and you obey.”
“Yes, Sir.” My pussy clenched as his stare lengthened, and my thoughts spun off into lurid fantasies fueled by too many re-readings ofThe Story of O. His firm, warm grasp on my neck brought me back to reality. He kissed me, a hard kiss that tasted of fine wine, then took my hand and led me from the soaring-windowed living room into the central hallway. We passed the guest room where I’d stayed, and a room with closed double doors that must have been his bedroom.
“In here,” he said, as he reached the last door. I expected more towering windows and pristine white decor, but instead found myself in a cozy, richly furnished home office in warm wood tones. It was more of a library, since the walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, each one filled with books and random curios of high-quality design. A large, rectangular desk dominated the center of the room, containing only a laptop, a stack of two books, and a gleaming model of three identical pendulums in contrasting earth tones.
The room was Fort: luxurious, elegant, and sexy as hell. Was this where he’d torment me? I imagined myself in the throes of agonized passion, thrashing around on top of his desk. I’d have to watch out for those pendulums…
I drifted toward them, dying to set them in motion. They weren’t the click-clack balls that other people kept on their desks, the Newton’s Cradle with five hanging globes that whacked into each other with a tinny sound. These pendulums were conical, suspended from a burnished frame by long, slim wires.
“Can I touch them?” I asked. The frame was so beautiful, I wasn’t sure if it was an office toy or fine art.
“You can touch them if you can explain the difference between kinetic and potential energy.”
