The wine tasted sour in her mouth. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Kiki drank her wine thoughtfully. “What if—just hypothetically—what if he had done you? What if you’d fucked like bunnies all weekend long and then Monday morning he’d said, thanks for the good times, see you around.”
“He wouldn’t do that.”
“Because no man has done that ever.”
“Fine. I’ve been there. I didn’t go psycho about it.”
“And then you get laid off, downsized, or slapped for some mistake. Maybe he weighs in on your performance review and says how you shouldn’t use such big words talking to clients because it makes them feel bad.”
“Preposterous,” she replied, trying to make light of her rising annoyance.
“Tell me that you had zero thoughts just then that you’d want to protest. That you wouldn’t wonder if it wasn’t because he’d had you and tossed you aside.”
“He did toss me aside.”
“No. He took the high road and resisted the temptation you offered. Which makes him a damn decent guy, really.”
“I know.” She pushed her empty glass aside and dropped her head on her forearms. “That’s what bites about this. I really like him. I like him so much, Kiki.”
Kiki patted her arm. “I know and I’m sorry. Is it too soon for the ‘other fish in the sea’ conversation?”
“Yes. No. Tell me.”
“There are other fish in the sea.” Kiki swallowed down her last gulp of wine and signaled the waiter with her empty glass. “You’ll meet someone else. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week. You’re young, smart, beautiful. You have gorgeous legs and an amazing rack. Men will be lining up.”
She wrinkled her nose. “And here I thought you hadn’t noticed.”
Kiki tried for an eyebrow waggle, a look that did not work with her precisely arched brows. “You could date a lot more than you do and you know it. You’re picky.”
“I’m picky,” Amber glumly agreed, smiling her thanks at the waiter as he dropped off two more overfull glasses.
“I’m not,” he said, “and it still doesn’t do me a damn bit of good. The two boys at the bar there—pink tee and pinstriped dress shirt?—offered to buy this round. Sounds like I should tell them to fuck off?”
“Good call.” Kiki didn’t even look. “Tab is mine tonight. I appreciate you keeping the vultures off my poor dumped friend for the duration.”
“Don’t worry, honey.” The waiter patted her shoulder and strode off, calling over his shoulder, “There are other fish in the sea.”
“Great, now our gay waiter feels sorry for me. I’m losing track of the clichés. And I wasn’t dumped.”
“Isn’t that what I’ve been trying to tell you?” Kiki’s eyes sparkled with humor, then sobered. “Okay, seriously. What was it about this guy? It’s not like you were in love. I’m not sure you had enough time to call it a crush.”
“Isn’t the definition of a crush that it happens fast?”
“I think the crush part is intensity, not speed. Regardless—why take this so hard?”
She’d been asking herself that very question. Making herself take a long, close look at what she’d hoped for. The sense of tremendous possibility she felt had been within her grasp and yanked away. “You know what we were talking about the other night?”
“No idea. Was I drunk? Refresh me.”
“It’s weird to talk about, but I got this vibe from him that he’d be into...control, you know? Maybe ’cause he’s older or my boss—I thought of that—still, there was this kind of flirtation we did and I thought he’d be really good at that. Like we got each other that way.”
“A dom/sub thing, you mean.”
“As if you know much about it.”
“Hey, I read the same books you do. I must have been drunk because I thought you were joking about Prince Fetish. You’re saying that’s what tripped your trigger with this guy? That you could get your kink on with him?” She gazed reflectively into space. “I could see it. I mean, I only met him the once, but he does have that you’ll-kneel-for-me-and-you’ll-like-it thing going.”
Even hearing her friend give voice to it gave her a rush. A weird feeling, right there. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”
“Why?” Kiki swirled her wine. “These days it’s practically not even kinky. You’re dead boring if you haven’t been tied up a little bit. There’s nothing wrong with you for wanting to explore that.”
“I didn’t say I thought there was.”
“But you’re embarrassed.”
“I don’t know what I am. It’s just that, this isn’t like telling you I really want a guy who’s blond, doesn’t work in banking and has a good sense of humor. It’s an out there thing to want in real life. In the books you’d turn out to be in a BDSM relationship and you’d hook me up with your dom’s freaky billionaire friend who happens to be free.”
Kiki sipped her wine, held it behind pursed lips, giving her a long and enigmatic stare. Then burst out laughing, snagging a cocktail napkin to wipe the wine splatter off the table. “Sorry! But the look on your face. Couldn’t resist.”
“I’m so happy my personal torment provides you with entertainment.”
“I know. I’m a cruel and heartless friend.” She tapped her French-manicured nails on the table, thinking. “I make that this is a thing with you and you’re not going to be satisfied until you find a way to work it out. You fixated on the wrong guy bec—”
“I did not fixate on him.”
Kiki returned her gaze evenly. “I figure you’ve got three choices—you can keep searching semi-randomly, trusting to your subdar or whatever it is, go through a forum slash dating site venue or go to one of these clubs, check it out.”
“It sounds so skeezy.” She imagined some kind of basement nightclub, with people dressed in black leather and latex. “And kind of scary. Do I look them up on Yelp?”
“We’ll do research and I’ll go with you.” Kiki nodded and pulled out her phone. “I’m making a reminder, because this time I’m definitely drunk and might not remember. That said—want another round?”
“God yes.”
* * *
Granted it had been some time since he’d been part of the scene—and that had been back in London, which was both more discreet and more open about it all—but Alec was amused to find several groups listed online. He’d briefly thought of ringing up Tessa to ask her if she had any contacts, illustrative of his state of mind right there, that he’d considered it. Not that they’d fight. In fact, he’d welcome that instead of the polite distance that seemed to be all they could drum up for one another.
Of course, Tessa felt betrayed that he hadn’t understood her needs. Or rather, that he’d understood them all too well and had declined to participate in some. He’d thought it had been the right thing to do, to give her the freedom to explore them with someone else, to set her free of their promises and wish her well. Instead it had dropped the bottom out of their marriage, that he hadn’t been jealously possessive.
You’re only playacting. If you were really my dom, you’d want to keep me to yourself, under lock and key.
He’d never been able to explain to her how repugnant he found that. He’d never wanted her to be his slave, had never gone along with her fantasy of being locked in the closet the entire weekend while he went on holiday. It had seemed—no, it was—crazy unsafe. And hardly fun for him. Sex was about being together, wasn’t it? When he’d met Tessa, he’d enjoyed her passion for art, for managing her gallery, as much as their shared interest in exploring kink. They’d been compatible in so many ways that it had been the heart of irony that the sex eventually broke them up.
Ultimately, he hadn’t been able to give her what she wanted. What she
insisted she needed. And had broken her heart when he offered to open up their marriage.
He’d thought staying together, maintaining their marriage under any conditions was more important than all else. Not so for her. Thus breaking his heart. Though he’d never let her know that. Better for her, to follow her path where it led. Which, last he heard, was as a pony slave on some compound in Sweden. So very likely he couldn’t have called her anyway.
Disheartening to pick a group at random and plan to visit a munch. It felt to be something only a desperate man would do. But then, wasn’t he? The Incident—he liked to capitalize it in his head that way—the Incident with Amber had been a wake-up call. She’d handled it like a champ and stuck out the weekend, and the work every day after. He’d hurt her, something he bitterly regretted, that he’d let things go that far, but she’d held up.
At least, she possessed enough poise and composure that no one else should notice her emotional state. He did, as if he’d somehow, just by touching her that one time, by engaging in that truly uncomfortable conversation, plugged into her mind and moods.
There was an artlessness to her. It might be a product of her youth, but it might also be an essential part of her nature. A kind of frank and open honesty that, combined with her eagerness to experience what life had to offer, made her shine with a unique vibrancy. It would be interesting to see how she would be in another ten years or twenty, to witness the ways she became more honed and polished. And how she remained as freshly open to the world.
Participating in how she responded to being sexually dominated, as he felt sure she wanted, would be a magnitude beyond that.
It would be some other man who would know her that way.
And it was better to work off his pent-up frustrations with women experienced in submissive play. The need lurked in him, obviously, seething and building where he hadn’t recognized it, waiting to sabotage him by surfacing at some unexpected moment, as it had with Amber. Touching her had been bad enough, but the way she’d tipped her head back, offering him her throat in such a perfectly yielding gesture, albeit unconsciously done—she had no idea how close he’d been to wrapping his fist in that convenient ponytail and holding her head back while he untied her halter and feasted on her alluring breasts.
Being away from her only created the illusion that he wasn’t perched on the precipice of control. She had simply been a convenient target, with her youthful beauty and naïvely teasing ways. It wasn’t her, he told himself for the umpteenth time. All his attention had been on work, on the office, and she was part of that. Desire follows attention, thus the solution would be to transfer his attention elsewhere. Somewhere discreetly removed from his business circles.
So, though he found himself curiously dreading the experience—odd, since it should lead to some much-needed sexual release—he made plans to attend a Saturday munch out on Long Island, driving himself there for extra discretion.
Hopefully to shed himself of this gnawing need.
Chapter Seven
“What the hell is a ‘munch’?” Amber asked Kiki, torn between laughter and frustration. Why did all of it have to be so weirdly difficult?
“It’s sort of a first-timer’s orientation session to BDSM,” Kiki said.
“Kind of a dumb name.”
“I only do the research, but I do it well, so shut up. It’s usually lunch and we can go, chat, hang out, and the people in the group or club kind of vet you, to make sure you’re not psycho or unstable, that kind of thing.”
“What do I wear?”
“This is your first question?”
Amber rubbed her forehead. “You’re right. I just can’t get these images out of my head of people wearing black leather or rubber. You know.”
“I’m pretty sure this is a street clothes kind of thing,” Kiki replied in a dry tone.
“Right. I’m not going to pass the not-a-psycho test, am I?”
“You are pretty wound about this.” But Kiki sounded understanding, even kind. “You don’t have to do this. Wait until you’re ready.”
“I think I do have to.” The fantasies had been eating at her all week. Even the sound of Alec’s voice floating down the hall had her flushing. A glimpse of him, jacket swept back and hands tucked in his pockets as he frowned and discussed something with Jean, had sent her turning on her heel and going the other direction. At this rate she might as well look for another job. Even if she could find one as good, she suspected she’d blown it with Alec regardless. He’d feel like he’d driven her out of the company and would refuse an affair.
And then she might not even enjoy the reality of that kind of sex. She had to find out and this was the safest, most direct route that Kiki had found.
“Besides,” she said into Kiki’s dubious silence, “it’s just munch, right?”
“Ha-ha.”
* * *
The group met in an incongruously bland restaurant better known for their all-you-can-eat salad bar than anything else. Kiki confidently made her way to the back room, reserved for private parties, while Amber trailed behind feeling a little ill. Where was the excited thrill she’d expected? This was just uncomfortable and vaguely tawdry, despite the clean, well-lighted restaurant. Nothing compared to the erotic thrill of the executive conference room and Alec Knight’s burning caress on her throat.
Which probably showed how twisted up she was.
Heads turned in their direction when Kiki opened the glass-paned doors, a middle-aged woman hastening their way. She wore a sexy dress, but nothing over the top. Fingering a choker of bright silver links, she looked Kiki over. “Do you have an invitation?”
“Kassandra Kurosawa and Amber Dolors. I emailed.” Kiki might have been crashing a launch party at a competing publishing house—something she’d dragged Amber to more than once—with the attitude she pulled.
“And your interest?” The woman effectively barred them from entering further.
Kiki gestured languidly at Amber. “My friend is interested in signing up, or however this works.”
“Not you?”
“No. I’m her field-trip buddy.”
It might have been better had Kiki chosen a less juvenile metaphor, but she was clearly amusing herself with the entire adventure. “You’ll have to wait out at the bar then,” the woman replied, not unkindly. “Your friend will be safe with us. You can keep an eye on the doors.”
Kiki turned her back on the woman. “You know where to find me,” she said, scratching her temple with a slight wrinkle to her nose. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Don’t worry.”
Tempting to take her up on the signal to bail, especially given the people in the room beyond. They looked more like the sort who’d show up to one of her mother’s couples’ bunco parties. Disconcertingly bland and quite the opposite of erotic, with their piled-high salad platters and large iced teas. One pretty woman with long blond hair wore a black leather dog collar, but that was as far as it went.
“Do you want to get a plate or talk first?” The woman asked.
“Talk?”
She smiled. “I thought so. I’m Mitzi and this is my Master’s group. Let’s you and I sit over here.” She guided Amber into a chair by the door, well away from the others.
“I meant,” Amber explained, “that I didn’t know what we’d talk about.”
“Do you have any experience with this at all, honey?” Mitzi looked very earnest and more than a little like a preacher’s wife, with her powdered bosom overflowing her low-cut dress. “Are you even old enough to drink?”
“I’m twenty-two,” Amber said, stung by the implication. “I look younger than I am.”
“And are still very young, no matter how you slice it.” Mitzi patted her hand. “I’m going to be honest with you. You’d be better off finding a boy your age
, have some vanilla sex, then let him tie you up a little, maybe spank you. Work your way up. Don’t be in such a hurry.”
“That’s a lot easier said than done.”
“Oh, honey.” Mitzi rolled her eyes and tossed her hair. “Believe me—I know. Been there and did not get to do that. It’s not at all easy to find a partner, or partners, to play with.”
“Well, that’s why I’m here, to find—”
Mitzi was already shaking her head. “No. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Nobody here will touch you. You’re too young. Too innocent. You don’t know what you’re doing, and this is an ethical community. No one wants that kind of liability. Even if someone brought you to a party, you’d never get past the lobby. You look like a fifteen-year-old virgin.”
The realization that none of the men in the room attracted her did little to assuage the mixture of angry resentment and dull disappointment. Some foolish part of her had expected to find Alexander Knight’s twin brother here and he would have...thrown her over the back of his horse. Still looking for her fetish fairytale.
“What am I supposed to do?” she heard herself asking in a plaintive voice.
Mitzi gave her a pillowed Chanel-scented hug. “What I told you. Your best bet is to date. You’re young and lovely. Play the field, play with kink. Don’t try for hard core too soon. When you’re ready, you’ll know. Now I think it’s time for you to go.”
Kiki, eating a spinach salad and chatting up the bartender, gave Amber a sharp look. “Bust already?”
“You have no idea.” Amber slid onto the bar stool, too bummed to think about eating.
“They’re all perverts in there anyway,” the blond bartender in a blue Ralph Lauren polo shirt offered. “Not a place for a nice girl like you. I get off in an hour and I have a buddy—you girls want to hit a happy hour somewhere?”
Under His Touch Page 6
