Brody laughs. "No. But when he plays, he tops. He's not there all the time, but often enough that I've seen him. Never spoken to him, don't know him personally, and I don't think he's into the lifestyle so much as he's into control."
"That doesn't surprise me."
"And that control translates to kink."
"What kind of kink?"
"I don't know. That's my point. I've heard rumors that he's got a playroom set up in that fancy Hamptons house of his."
"Really?" I think about the huge basement that used to house a Ping-Pong table and a variety of freestanding videogame machines. I haven't been down there in ages, and now I'm wondering just how Dallas has redecorated it.
"Just what I hear, although he must not use it all the time--you told me he was with those two girls in his bedroom, right? But I doubt it's gathering dust. So you need to think about that. If you start this thing, are you willing to follow where it leads?"
I know Brody is thinking about our sessions and my less than enthusiastic reactions. But the truth is that the thought of getting kinky with Dallas is already making me wet. I can imagine him blindfolding me. Spanking me. Flogging me.
And, yes, I know that he may like it a lot darker than that, but the question isn't what Dallas likes, but where I'm willing to go.
With Dallas, I'll go to the ends of the earth.
With Dallas, I think I might--might--even be able to do bondage.
I meet Brody's eyes, then rise up out of my chair so that I can kiss his cheek. "Thank you for telling me. It means the world that you did."
Then I sit back down and very firmly--very deliberately--I send my reply to Dallas.
I catch Brody's eye, and he's grinning. "Guess that answers my question," he says.
"Guess it does." I get up to make a cup of coffee. The truth is, I don't expect to hear back from Dallas soon. Maybe not ever.
The phone pings before I've even poured the cream.
Don't play these games, Jane. You won't win, I promise. And it's a losing battle. We can heal apart. Together, we'll just keep fucking each other up.
I'm so euphoric that I prompted such a quick reply that I don't even care that he's trying to shoot me down. My reply is swift and firm:
We never fucked each other up. We healed each other. And I think you know it.
I'm about to send it when Brody snatches the phone from my hand. "Hey!"
"Just wait."
He taps out an additional sentence, and as he does my hand goes to my mouth. "Okay?" he asks.
I nod. Honestly, I love it. And at this point, I have nothing to lose.
(P.S. I'm going to still play this game. You can't stop me, but a spanking might punish me.)
He sends the text and then grins at me. "So where is this party, and do Stacey and I want to go, just to watch the show?"
"Don't even think about it," I say firmly. "I'd be a nervous wreck. As for where, I'm just about to find out."
This time when I pick up the phone it's to dial Gin Kramer.
"Ms. Martin," she says. "What can I do for you?"
"I was hoping you could help me. I'm so scattered. But I know that somewhere on my desk is an invitation to a party that Peter Crowley is throwing, and I can't find it anywhere. Didn't you RSVP for Dallas when I was in his office the other day?"
"I did, yes. What do you need?"