He cleared his throat as he approached her. And to get his head back on straight—and to make sure hers was straight, too—he strode up to her, wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and kissed her hard. Harder than was strictly necessary, and his grip was rough, too. But he needed it—to feel her, taste her. He didn’t care that they were standing on the sidewalk in front of a café with other people milling about.
When she opened her lips for him and moaned softly, he slid his other arm around her waist and pulled her in close, knowing she could feel his erection. Fuck it. Let her feel it. But it was far too good, and unless he planned to take her down right there on the sidewalk, he had to stop.
He pulled his body back, tore his mouth from hers and whispered against her lush, pretty lips, “Well, hello there, lovely.”
She laughed. “You are . . . Jesus, Duff, you are an original.”
He loved hearing the desire rough in her voice—every part of him, not just his ever-hard cock.
“I am that. But so are you, sweet Layla. Shall we go in and have some tea and talk?”
“Tea and talk with the incorrigible Duff Stewart?” she asked with a teasing light in her eyes. “Isn’t that rather like having tea with the Devil? But yes, let’s. I sort of like the idea of having tea with the Devil.”
“Adding a mark to the ledger, princess. Your ass may have to pay for that later. If we’re able to come to agreement, that is.”
“If I agree to let you take it out on my ass? Hmm . . . maybe. But I do like the title of ‘princess.’ Or you may refer to me as ‘Your Highness.’”
“You are really asking for it, aren’t you?”
Her smile was saucy—as saucy as she was. “Depends on how this talk goes.”
He shook his head as he opened the door of the funky café, with its barn-wood walls and iron-and-wood tables, the alligator and deer bones mounted everywhere. He liked the place. He also liked how damn good this girl made him feel. That she seemed to have gotten to a space where she was simply accepting his dominance, without appearing any less strong herself.
At the counter they ordered iced coffee for her, iced tea for him. He paid, despite her protests, and carried both drinks to a table in the back. Luckily there was enough room, with the tables close by being empty, that he could fit his big body into the chair and stretch his legs out. He was just as glad there would be no one else nearby to overhear their conversation.
“Cheers,” he said, clinking glasses with her.
“Cheers,” she answered, taking a sip of her coffee. “So, how are things going at the new shop?”
“Quite well. Thank you for asking. But is that what you really wanted to know?”
“What? Of course. I mean, why wouldn’t I?”
“Because I can see from the way your pulse is beating at the base of your throat that what you really want to know is when we’re going to get down to the business at hand.”
She arched one elegant brow, but he could tell from the pink flush rising on her cheeks that he’d hit it on the mark.
“Not even any small talk first?”
“All right, then. How was your day, Layla? How is your work coming along?”
She really did blush then, the pink turning to scarlet under her creamy brown skin. She glanced away momentarily, and he wondered what sore spot he’d happened upon by chance.
“Okay. Let’s skip the damn small talk,” she said.
He sat back in his chair, took a slug of his iced tea. “Ah, that’s more like it. I knew you’d see things my way.” He finished by sending her a cocky wink and a grin.
“You really are incorrigible.”
“I’m a lot of things.” He set his glass down and leaned in, taking her hand in his with just the tips of his fingers. Keeping his voice low, he said, “I am, Layla. I am a Dominant. A sadist. A creative player. An intuitive player, or so I’m told, and it’s something I aim for. I’m a wicked, wicked man who has only the most evil intentions when it comes to you. And I believe those are the very things you like about me. But I am also utterly responsible in my kink practice. So shall we bypass all this other nonsense and begin our negotiations? Tea with the Devil?”
He watched her swallow hard. All of the feisty humor seemed to have gone out of her for the moment. She blinked a few times, and he waited to see if she’d pull her hand away—he had only the gentlest of holds on it. But she didn’t move.
She said in a small voice, “Yes. Let’s get started.”
Smiling, he caressed her fingertips with his and watched as her shoulders relaxed. “Right, then. This is how we’ll go about it. I’m going to ask you a series of questions, and for each one you will tell me if you’ve ever tried it as a bottom or as a Top, and how you felt about it from either end. Then tell me if it’s a yes, no or maybe. Easy, yes?”
“We’ll see.”
Keeping his hand over hers to help read her, he said, “We’ll start easy enough, get some of the basics out of the way. Rope bondage?”
“I don’t tie well, so I usually use leather or metal cuffs as a Top. I’ve been tied a few times, but really more as a practice exercise. It doesn’t do a lot for me. But I suppose it’s a maybe.” She shrugged. “Maybe one of these days I’ll understand the thrill other people get out of it. I think it’s not enough sensation for it to really register with me. And since my experiences with rope were more about letting friends practice their knots, there wasn’t much of a power exchange. I suppose I don’t know how I’d respond if that element were a part of it, but the idea has never been one I’ve lingered on.”
“Answered very thoroughly,” he commented.
Her gaze was direct, a little challenging. “I’ve been through negotiations a time or two, you know.”
“I do know. I am not underestimating your experience as a Top, as a Dominant. But I’m much less clear on what bottoming was like for you. Along with your limits and desires, I’ll need to know more about your experiences as a bottom and as a submissive—the submissive headspace you reached, as well as any sensation play you’ve done, which as you know can be two separate things.”
She glanced away, looked back at him. “There may be a few things I don’t want to discuss with you.”