“Despite what you may think, I’m not mercurial.Rules would be discussed and agreed upon, and so would my range of punishments for breaking them.”
Across the room, they regarded each other.Him with interest and unusual protectiveness.Her with wariness in her wide, unblinking eyes.
“So let’s be clear.What happens if you’re rude to me in future, like you were a few minutes ago?”
That alluring blush was back again.“Maybe a spanking?”
God, what she did to him.His erection pressed insistently against his fly.
She brought her other hand up so that she was cradling the glass between both palms.
“More effective for you than anything else, such as a timeout?Or maybe a sincere apology from your knees?Writing out a hundred times that you’ll be better behaved in the future?”
Her mouth was set.“Those would probably piss me off, which probably wouldn’t get you the results you desire.”
“Good to know.”He smiled.“So what’s your most prevalent fantasy?Lying across my lap?Bending over and linking your hands behind your knees?Being secured to a spanking bench?”
Her eyes went wide, unblinking.“You have one of those?”
“I do, indeed.”
Nervously she brushed stray wisps of hair back from her face.
“Happy to show it to you.”Frozen hell.He couldn’t get the image out of his mind.The gorgeous Ms.Lane, naked, that hair in long, glorious disarray, strapped down, legs spread, pussy exposed, helpless to escape his paddle.
He hadn’t had many women in his playroom, but he would love to show her all of his toys, introduce them to her, give her experiences she’d only fantasized about.
Nathan gave her a moment to compose herself—and fuck, he needed one too—before reminding her, “I’m waiting for your answer.”
“Over the knee seems more personal, and I want to experience that sometime.And your spanking bench seems interesting.”She shifted.“Uhm, does it have to be for a punishment?”
Because her breaths were coming in fast bursts, he decided to bring down her tension before ramping it up even higher in a few minutes, the ebb and the flow.The pace.The journey.The pain and the pleasure.And the way they could never be separated.“No.I’m happy to give you what you want without your misbehaving.I’d rather it, in fact.I want to give you orgasm after orgasm, making you scream from pleasure and not pain.That, Kelsey, you will have to ask for.You were going to show me around.”
She blinked, obviously reeling from his abrupt change of conversation, like he’d intended.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you about the mess.”
“I understand.”
As he followed her out of the kitchen, she pointed out the half bathroom and adjoining area containing a stackable washer and dryer.Then she took him into her office.
It was an absolute disaster of books, papers, photographs, prints, camera equipment and a desktop computer with an oversize screen.The walls were painted white.She had photographs spotlighted by track, gallery-type lighting.He recognized one as an Ansel Adams.Another, a portrait, might be the work of Annie Leibovitz.
Shelf after shelf contained cameras, all different types, digital as well as old-fashioned ones.Some were clearly collector’s items.
Most startlingly, she had several trash cans, all of which were overflowing with discarded work.
This room displayed a creative side of her that she kept carefully hidden, showing how exacting she was.
“It’s messy,” she said.“But I never seem to clean it up.”
“It’s because it’s part of your work in progress.”
She nodded.“I come back in here and pick up where I left off.I never start with a clean desk.”She rolled the globe of her wineglass between her hands.“I’ve never thought of it that way before, I guess.It’s as if I remember exactly where I was and what I was thinking.My photography is always unfinished.I can do something else to it, enhance one thing, blur another, change the focus, the saturation.”
“Trying to make it perfect?”
She shook her head.“I don’t have that kind of genius or patience.I just like to see what’s there.”
