That guy was staring, so was that woman, and that little dude was gawking.
I scowled to myself and sat down next to Nate.
I leaned closer to him. “Why are people staring?” I wasn’t wearing anything weird. Jeans and a black button-down. Standard going-out clothes. Or so we had compromised. I liked my vintage tees, but I could admit it wasn’t wrong to try harder sometimes. Besides, the black shirts blended in better in a sea of leather.
Nate smirked and pressed a kiss to my jaw. “It’s a big moment to them. They just saw the sexiest man alive.”
Okay. He was batshit. I shook my head in amusement and took a swig of my beer. There was nothing wrong with my confidence; I knew I looked good. I also knew he was exaggerating.
“No need to butter me up, baby,” I drawled. “You already know you’ll get laid tonight.”
He was happy tonight. He’d been looking forward to this.
I touched his cheek and kissed him quickly.
“Are you ready to play a game?” he asked.
I felt my forehead wrinkle. “What kind of game?”
He straightened in his seat and nodded at the crowd of people. Most were focused on the scening stalls, but some were dancing too.
“I want you to pick out a cute guy,” he said. “Nothing more, nothing less. Pick someone who strikes you as a sub or a Little.”
What the fuck for?
I frowned and rested my forearms on the table, and I let my gaze travel the club from side to side. Most were here with partners. Both gays and straights. I spotted one guy, who I assumed was straight, ’cause he was clinging to his Domme, but I couldn’t deny he was attractive. Dark, messy hair, on the chubby side, infectious grin.
“All right.” I jerked my chin toward the bar. “The short stack in blue underwear, tugging on his Domme’s dress.”
Nate located him too. “Good choice. Could you give him a beating with a flogger and keep things nonsexual?”
I furrowed my brow. What was he getting at?
“Yeah, probably. Yeah.” I mean, of course. “Nonsexual intimacy isn’t an issue.”
“So beatings are safe,” he deduced. “Flogging, whipping—spanking?”
I shrugged. “I need more than my hand on a stranger’s ass to feel something.”
He cracked a smirk and inclined his head. “Fair enough. What about aftercare? After you’ve beaten him, he’s crying and wants to sit on your lap. You’ll need to hold him and console him until he feels better.”
I looked back at the boy and turned pensive. Aftercare was another matter. Another brand of intimacy and closeness. But I couldn’t foresee it causing any problems.
“Walk me through your thought process, please?” he requested.
I raked my teeth across my bottom lip. “I’m thinkin’ about the intimacy level and where I’d potentially run into problems. Checking his body for injuries, holding him, telling him he did good, staying in touch for a few days to keep an eye on things…communicating with his Owner?—”
“Oh, but he’s single. In our scenario,” he clarified.
I stiffened. “Why?”
“Why not?”
Because… Because single players were naturally more open to accepting attraction.
“I don’t want any complications, fictional scenario or not,” I told him. “You know what? Call it a boundary. The day we decideto include someone else for whatever play we have in mind, he needs to be partnered up.”
Approval flashed in his eyes, and he grinned softly. “I actually think that’s a great idea, honey.”
