Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“Fair enough,” she says, keeping her grin in place.
Besides, even as pretty as she is, she’s not really my type. I have a thing for redheads.
But it’s not just the hair that drew me to her friend.
It’s her eyes…and something else I can’t put my finger on.
My gut is telling me to pay attention, and I never ignore my gut.
“Are you a Dom?” Lotus asks.
“Guilty.”
“Blossom is a submissive.”
I nod. I already knew that. A good Dom can tell a submissive from one look.
It’s not the fact that she’s focusing on her hands, and it’s not the fact that she’s acting oddly timid. Submissives aren’t shy or hesitant. They’re obedient. They can be bold as fuck when given a command, making sure to carry it out exactly as they’ve been told because that’s what pleases them and their Dom.
I can tell she’s a submissive simply by the way she’s sitting. Legs crossed, shoulders back.
She waits to be approached.
But the rest of her body language means something else. The way she keeps fiddling with her hands…
Something is bothering her.
And I can’t just sit here and watch it from a distance anymore.
I finish my glass of water and stand. “It was nice to meet you, Lotus.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” she says.
Then I walk toward the table where her friend sits. I stand above her. “Good evening.”
She looks up at me with those whisky-colored eyes. “Good evening.” She clears her throat. “Are you…okay?”
“Only slightly embarrassed,” I say. “But I’ve been through worse. I’m Ronan O’Connor.”
“Blossom.”
“May I sit down?”
She nods slowly. “Sure.”
More details of her strike me now that I’m up close. The way the fabric of her black dress complements every curve, making everything about her appear soft and touchable. The way her hair catches the light and shines in several different shades of terracotta. And that mouth—those glossy lips on that pert little mouth.
“I met your friend,” I say once I’m seated. “Lotus.”
“She’s engaged.”
Why would that be her first response? I can guess. Blossom doesn’t want me near her friend. Good.
“I know, I saw her ring. But I’m more interested in your relationship status.” I move toward her left hand, and at her nod, I take it. It’s cold. Is she still nervous? “I don’t see a ring.”
“That’s because I’m not wearing one.” She lets out an uneasy chuckle. “Not on my left hand anyway. This ruby on my right hand is my birthstone. A gift from my father.”
I sense there’s a story there, but I don’t know her well enough to pry, even though, for some reason, I want to. My curiosity is roaring.
“Are you involved with anyone?”
She pauses a moment. Then, “No.”
I can’t help it. I let a slow smile spread across my face. I don’t usually allow my feelings to be known to a submissive. I don’t usually even have feelings for a submissive, other than fondness and genuine regard for her wellbeing and pleasure. Blossom is different.
I’m not sure why, but I want to find out.
“I’m not involved with anyone, either,” I tell her.
She stares at me as if she can see inside my brain. “I don’t recall asking.”
“No, you didn’t.” I lean closer to her, still holding her left hand. It doesn’t feel quite so cold anymore. “But I’m not the kind of man who waits to be asked, and I think you know that.”
Her cheeks blush, and in the dim lighting of the club, she looks even more beautiful.
“This is my first night here,” I offer. “I only moved to New York a couple of months ago, and I researched all of the underground leather clubs in the city before choosing this one.”
“Oh? What attracted you to Black Rose?”
“I know the owner. He and I have done business together.”
“I see.”
“But that’s not the reason I chose this club. That’s just how I heard about it. I chose it for its privacy. Its security. They take a lot of safety measures here, make sure everyone who comes in here feels at ease. It feels similar to the club I attended in Glasgow.”
“So you’re truly Scottish?”
I glance down at my tartan. “Guilty, I’m afraid.”
Her eyes spark with interest. “How come you don’t sound like Jamie Fraser, then?”
“Jamie who?”
Her gaze falls on my chest…and then lower. “From the Outlander series.”
“Never read it. Or watched it.”
Her cheeks redden further. “I suppose you’re not one for romance. But anyway, I meant you don’t sound Scottish.”
Right. “I grew up here in the States. My mother’s American. I did all my schooling here.”
“I grew up here, too,” she says. “On Long Island, I mean.”
“But you live here now?”
“In the city? Yeah. I’ve been here for years. I love it.”
Interesting.
“You know, in most other circumstances, I’d ask if you’re willing to participate in a mild scene with me. See if we click.”
She opens her mouth, but I gesture for her to stay quiet.