Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Abel turned to me, visibly thrilled. “You’re gonna love Kit. He’s so funny.”
I was always game for making new friends!
I’d clearly struck gold with Abel already. He and Mister Madigan had come in for dinner at the steakhouse, and Alessia had introduced us. One thing had led to another… We’d hit it off, and he’d told me about their community.
I’d never been part of one before. I’d explored in college, but honestly, I’d been so focused on my studies that it barely counted.
Now I was much older, twenty-five and a half, and way more settled, so it was time.
A low rush of conversation flowed alongside the music, and Abel and I scooted closer together so we could strategize the way only awesome brats could.
Judging by the talk on Discord, approximately fifteen members would participate next weekend, and that was about half of the community. It was also roughly the same number of people here tonight. Maybe a few more.
I’d mingle later.
Filling out the form with limits and safety procedures came first, and I knew how this worked. They were understandably strict about rules, and to make sure you’d read everything properly, each box was ticked differently. If you marked a box with an X, you had to do it all over again.
A for advanced play.
M for masochist.
P for primal.
Another M for mindfucks.
I for interrogation.
Check, check, check, check…
“R for rough, check!” I called out happily.
A few Doms chuckled nearby.
They didn’t mess around with safety, so there were like a million things to check—and/or add personal notes to. The letter N was always no, and I had some of those too.
What I didn’t have, sadly, were many prospects in this community. I’d bonded somewhat with two men who were available, Master Waylon and a switchy switch named Cal, but it was mainly platonic. Sometimes the chemistry just wasn’t there.
I leaned in so Abel could hear me. “Would you be okay if your Daddy plays with me again? Nonsexually, obviously.”
“Of course.” He frowned. “But I have a good feeling about you and Mister Griffin.”
Ew. No. Not that name. He could be perfect for all I cared, but that name was ruined for me. I’d worked with a Griffin, and I was supposed to work with him again. That was enough.
Moving to Camassia Cove had admittedly been 90% due to Adam Grady. I’d attended the same culinary institute as him in New York, where he still had quite the reputation so many years later. Then, by a random stroke of luck, I’d gotten an internship at one of the restaurants he’d worked at in Atlanta way back, and it’d made me want to meet him. And work for him. Then I’d arrived on the scene, only to find out a second-star chef with an excellent reputation was here. Griffin Lawson.
Mother of Christ, my crush had been overwhelming and instant. Like, weak-in-the-knees hardcore.
Until he’d killed it. Possibly broken my heart a little too.
He was such an asshole. There was no pleasing him. He was all demands and attitude.
I’d gotten a reprieve when he’d left to expand his business in Europe, but now he was supposedly back. Adam had delivered the horrible news yesterday.
I would’ve left if I hadn’t already fallen head over heels in love with this town—and my job. I fucking loved working for Adam and Alessia. Adam was a great mentor, while also giving me space to create my own future. We had our thing; I was his sidekick without living in his shadow.
“I don’t know why you look grossed out,” Abel commented. “He’s a primal Daddy Dom and Sadist. What more do you need to know in order to at least talk to him and see if you hit it off?”
Wait, who? Oh. Mister Griffin? No. Fuck no.
“I need him to change his name,” I joked. “Can he do that?”
Abel just looked confused.
I guessed I had to explain. Or remind him, rather. “Didn’t I tell you I kinda work with a Griffin who’s a total douchebag?”
His forehead wrinkled. “Um, you didn’t say anything about a douchebag.”
Oh.
Right.
I did tend to be nice. I didn’t like talking shit about people—but yesterday’s news was making me cranky. Okay? So all the truths were spilling out.
“Well, he is,” I stated. “I can’t play with a Griffin. Sorry. He’s evil by name association.”
Abel snorted softly, though his confusion didn’t fade one bit. “You talk as if you don’t know they’re the same person.”
What?
It was my turn to be confused.
“What do you mean, the same person?” I questioned.
“Mister Griffin…?” He pressed. “You did mention him once, and I told you he’s a Daddy. Remember?”
I scowled and thought back on… Shit, that was months ago! How was I supposed to remember what he’d said? Either way, I must’ve assumed he meant, like, hot like a Daddy? Like a Daddy type? ’Cause I said that crap all the time. Adam was a hot Daddy too. So was Mister Madigan, Master Ryan, and freaking George Clooney. In no fucking way had I thought Abel was being serious, as in, Griffin was a Daddy Dom!