She laughed. “Jeans and a T-shirt? What’s your not vanilla getup then? Leather? Mesh? Duct tape?”
An eyebrow arched. “And here I thought you weren’t ready to play yet.”
Blood rushed to her cheeks.
“What about your costume?”
Slightly embarrassed, she straightened the cat ears she’d thrown on last minute. “The corset’s not mine.” It was too tight and too pink. Janine had insisted though. A matchmaker and a fairy godmother. Wasn’t she lucky?
His gaze roved over her naked shoulders then down to her waist and back up again. His smile was sinful but authentic. She could almost feel his fingers running over her exposed skin. But it wasn’t creepy, like other men, it was sensual and complimentary. And it made her feel all shivery inside.
“I like it,” he rumbled.
She tugged on the top, feeling self-conscious. “I’m not really the dressing-up type.”
“No? Well, cross that off your fetish list.” His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled.
She almost rolled her eyes. Not another pushy one. She wasn’t ready to talk turn-ons with this guy yet either.
“Relax,” he said, chuckling. “I’m teasing you. I’m not interested in bringing you home to fulfill your deepest desires or whatever bullshit line Vince fed you.”
For one crazy moment, she was offended. Why didn’t he want to take her home
and recite cheesy pickup lines to get into her pants? Wasn’t she pretty enough?
“You’re a beautiful woman, obviously,” he said, “but I doubt you want what I do.”
That struck a nerve. It was the same sentiment Janine had expressed. Proudly, she straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eyes. How did he know what she wanted, anyway? He didn’t know her; she barely knew herself. She hated when people made assumptions—a product of working with the people she had as clients.
“And what’s that?” she asked.
“A slave.”
She felt the blood drain from her face. “Oh.” Janine had a friend who was a slave. She wasn’t allowed to talk, or sit, or even look at people without permission. No fucking way. That wasn’t for her.
He chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”
“It’s kind of hard-core for me. I mean, I don’t even know if I’m a sub or just a bottom or what.” She shrugged, a bit disappointed in the turn of events. “I could even be a Domme. I haven’t tried any of it yet.”
Knowing what he was into had moved him from harmless to slightly dangerous in her mind. His polite air was probably a smokescreen for what he was really like. Visions of him towering over a helpless girl, whip in hand, popped into her mind. She didn’t want to be the girl, but she’d buy tickets to watch.
“A kink virgin.” A sly smile appeared. “Well, if you’re serious about finding a play partner, you should take some precautions.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t plan to meet up with any cock-shot guys.”
He smiled. “I figured you were smarter than that. But what I mean is, you could probably use someone to look out for you. Someone who knows people in the lifestyle and can give you personal recommendations.”
“Well, that’s what Janine was doing. Or trying to anyway. I don’t know how that Vince guy slipped through.”
“It’s up to you. I have more contacts than she does. She and Chris have been out of the club scene since they got married two years ago.”
She snorted. “So you’re offering to what? Dom-shop with me?” She was half-joking and expected him to laugh and brush her off.
Instead he looked her in the eye and said, “Yes. I am.”
Was he serious? She eyed him again. Oh yes. He was the kind of person who never said anything he didn’t mean. Definitely the type to star in her fantasies. But Vince had put her on the defense. “Why? What’s in it for you?”
He shrugged. “Brownie points with Chris? The knowledge that I’m doing some good in the world? Boredom?” With a dark chuckle, he added, “I’m a sadist, so maybe protecting you will balance out my karma.”