Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“Everything.”
“Greedy,” she says.
She’s teasing, but I feel it. I feel greedy in a way I haven’t in a long time. I want to know what happened with this guy. I want to understand why she’s cold and distant.
What sort of person devotes themselves to love—creates a dating app designed for forever relationships—when they don’t believe in it?
“What was it you didn’t like?” I ask.
“I guess there’s no coy way to say it.” She brings the drink to her lips, sips, and lets out a sigh of pleasure.
It’s a sound I’ve never heard from her. A sound I never expected to hear.
Deanna Huntington wants things. Deanna Huntington groans over a perfect cocktail. And a perfect experience with the first half of the word, no doubt.
“He wanted a Domme,” she says.
“And you?”
“What do you think?”
“I can see you in thigh-high boots, cracking a whip.” In only thigh-high boots. I see it far too vividly, actually.
“I look hot as hell in thigh-high boots,” she says.
“Do you have pictures?” Where the hell did that come from?
“They’re only for people I’m fucking.”
“There are other people?”
“Not part of the deal.” She mimes zipping her lips.
“So, what? Thigh-high boots and whips and telling him what a bad boy he was?”
“And orgasm denial.”
Fuck.
“That was his main thing.”
“Complete denial?”
“Teasing until he couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Did you like it?”
“On occasion. But it got old. I started to crave vanilla stuff. Missionary. Eye contact.”
“Freak,” I say.
She blushes as she laughs. “I know. I should be more creative. But that’s not my strong suit.”
“Maybe you need help.”
Her eyes go to my chest.
“Someone who can create what you like, not what he likes.”
“Are you offering?”
Yeah, let’s go to the bathroom right now.
What the hell is wrong with me? Deanna is beautiful and sexy in that smart, sarcastic way, but we’re only friends. We’re not even friends.
“And you?” she asks. “Are you another vanilla-loving freak?”
“This is about you.”
“It’s only fair,” she says. “I said something. You say something.”
“There’s not much to say.”
“No, I suppose you’re in New York, going to orgies. No. One of those masquerade parties. Masks and nothing else.”
“Sounds like a story.”
“One of your grandma’s.”
“At least five,” I say. “Should we ask her for recs tomorrow?”
“Of course.” Deanna laughs. “She writes the best stuff. I can’t get into anyone else. They never write their heroines hard enough.”
It figures Deanna would love Grandma’s tough women.
“She gave me this series she called the HBICs. The Billionaire’s Millionaire. All these high-achieving women paired with slightly richer men. Because the publisher didn’t believe readers would fall for a poorer guy, even if the poorer guy was worth two billion.”
“I know that one.”
“And The Billionaire and the Maven. I love that one. The whole series.”
The one set around high-achieving women.
She has a book type.
“And you?” she asks. “Any Dommes in your past? Or were you the one holding a whip?”
My head goes to all sorts of places it shouldn’t. Dangerous places. But cursing the mental images only brightens them.
Deanna Huntington, in only her boots, utterly in control as she slides onto me.
Not going there. “Do you see anything as romantic?”
“No. I want a sex story.”
“It’s not that interesting.”
“Neither was mine.”
It came with some powerful visuals. But, sure, I can move through this. “Faith.”
“Was it a relationship or just sex?” She doesn’t add I know you’re too into Lexi for another relationship, but it fills the air anyway.
I wasn’t, then. At least, I didn’t think I was. I thought I was over her. “We were friends with benefits. We both agreed to a course of experimentation. Dirty talk, pictures, bondage.”
“You tying her up or the reverse?”
“Are you looking for your next sub?” I mean the words as a joke, but they send my blood rushing south anyway. This is too much talk about sex. I need to discuss something else.
She takes a long sip, looks around to check the coast is clear. The bar is still empty. The four people on the dance floor are still swaying. She leans in and whispers, “Are you asking?”
I ban the mental image from my mind. “We did it both ways. We tried a lot. And it went well. For a while.”
“The suspense,” she teases.
“She wanted to have a threesome with another woman. Her request. And what guy turns that down, right?”
“It’s a common male fantasy. I’ve seen the data.”
Does her app really collect data on sexual fantasies? She must know a lot of secrets. “I helped pick the woman, I organized the meeting, I went out for drinks. But even after three margaritas, I felt stiff.”
She raises a brow.
Right. “Tense. Awkward. I tried to get into it. I kissed the other woman. I watched them kiss. But when it was time to touch her, I couldn’t do it. No matter how much Faith insisted it was fine. More than fine. Sexy. I felt sick. I stopped things and we got into a fight and that was it. We made up a few days later, but we never really got past it.”