And for once, Matt didn’t laugh when he caught me staring.
He wants me to look, I remembered. I gathered a shaky breath and stared at my leisure as I padded up to him, ignoring my embarrassment. This is my future husband. I’m allowed to admire his … body. And what a body it was …
“This again,” he said, accepting the box. With marked impatience, he whisked off the ribbon and overturned the lid. And there was the whip, coiled in its velvet bed. Matt tilted his head and glanced at me. “You’re pale.”
“And?” I shrugged.
He lifted out the whip, dropping the box. With the coiled leather, he tilted up my chin. My eyes widened; my mouth dried.
“Just an observation, little bird.”
He trailed the cord down my throat. I gulped. He nestled it into my cleavage, stared a moment, and then undid another button, exposing the lacy cups of my bra.
He stroked my swelling breasts with the whip. It felt … unkind, rough.
I shivered.
Matt stepped away suddenly, unfurling the whip and watching it trail across the floor.
“For the life of me,” he said, “I can’t guess why you would … give me this.”
His narrowed eyes landed on me.
Because of fucking Katie! I couldn’t say that now, though. Not yet. It would ruin the moment. And we were having a moment, right? The journal … the whip …
I floundered in silence.
“Unless it’s something you’ve been wanting.” He rewound the whip slowly. I focused on his long fingers, his strong hands, working deftly with the plaited cord. “Come.” He strolled toward the office. After a beat, I followed him, staring at his back … his ass.
Goddamn it, he had me all worked up, and he probably knew it.
“My aunt and uncle owned a stable for several years. They bred Friesian horses. You know the breed?” He stepped into the office and I hovered near the door.
“No.” My voice was small.
“Mm. Doesn’t matter. Aunt Ella had us all learn to ride. I swear, she was determined to raise the last Renaissance men…” He glared at the ceiling, the walls, the floor, a question in his gaze. What the hell was he doing? “There were always whips in the barn. Seth and I used to sneak them out and mess around with them.”
He tested the weight of the whip, snaking it over the floor.
“One of my exes was into this sort of thing,” he added. “Whips, that is. Not horses.”
“Bethany?” I whispered.
“No, she and I didn’t do any of that.” He watched me carefully, his expression guarded. “Not for lack of trying on her part. I made the mistake of telling her how I played with other partners. She nagged me about it, pushed for it constantly. But I didn’t want that with her.”
“Why … why not?” I couldn’t conceal my shock. Bethany was the one pushing for kinky sex? Katie had lied to me, or she was misinformed. My cold panic turned to a burning blush. Fuck. Now I was pushing for kinky sex, giving Matt a whip, all because of some stupid misleading remark from a total stranger. Hannah, you idiot!
And nowhere in that black journal had Matt mentioned whips. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Restraints, yes. Riding crops, yes. Plugs, pain, punishment, shame. But not whips.
“I want it with you,” he said.
My mouth fell open.
Before I could sputter out … something … he nudged me into the hallway.
“Stand out there.” He grinned at me like a boy. “Look at the darts.”
The darts? My spinning mind took its time making sense of Matt’s words. The … dartboard. In his office. I looked at it. Two darts protruded from the board. Matt drew back his arm in a tight, controlled motion—the tail of the whip curled into the air—and a loud popping sound filled the office. I yelped and jumped.
When I opened my eyes, Matt was glaring at me.
“You missed it,” he snapped. He pointed to the floor. One of the darts lay on the hardwood. “Done right, it sounds a lot worse than it feels. Or so I’m told.”
Again, and with a patient expression, he raised the whip.
“Cover your ears and watch,” he said.