Out of the Ashes (The Game 5)

“Between you and your friend?”

“Yes—which could not be further from the truth. Well, not where I’m concerned anyway.”

Oh, we were doing so well…

Could I ask him to elaborate on that last part?

“I get the feeling he’s been… How should I put this…” He chuckled awkwardly. “Getting over his ex by getting under others…? Is that the saying?”

Yeah, I was done.

“That’s the saying.” I swallowed my bitter jealousy along with half my drink.

Go fuck yourself, Tate.

Franklin leaned closer. “He’s mentioned…fetish parties. Are they common?”

I wiped my mouth with my hand and stared at him. Even as I approached the fantastic state of being drunk off my ass, I could sense Franklin’s burning interest for starting his new life. He had curiosities and presumably hundreds of questions and fantasies that’d built up over the years.

“They’re common if you’re involved in kink,” I said.

He nodded with a dip of his chin and leaned back again. “I think he is. I mean—I know he is, but I haven’t dared ask for specifics.”

Fuck. I pulled off my hoodie to hang it under the bar. This wasn’t the best topic to barge into when I was drunk and heartbroken, not to mention pissed off.

Why was it so easy for Tate to jump into bed with someone else?

Perhaps he hadn’t cheated on me. To be honest, I was scared shitless to even hope he hadn’t. But it didn’t matter. While I’d been sitting at home feeling miserable and mourning the destruction of our relationship, Tate had apparently opted for another route. And he hadn’t felt comfortable with us being open within our kink community? Fuck him and his lies.

I should move on too. I should drink more and move on. Wonderful plan.

“You can ask me for specifics,” I heard myself say. “I’m not completely unfamiliar with the lifestyle.”

Now I was treated to the blush of a forty-seven-year-old man.

Even better, how his gaze flickered from drunkenly all right to nervous and intrigued.

He was fucking gorgeous, this man. He could pull off sexy and innocently adorable at the same time. It wouldn’t surprise me if he owned the whole room he worked in. He wasn’t without assertiveness. But the jury was still out on the side of him he wanted to explore.

I didn’t believe he was a Dom in the making, so to speak.

With my luck, if he was interested in BDSM, he’d turn out to be a goddamn switch.

Not that I was interested in anything.

Franklin cleared his throat and hesitated to speak.

Maybe I was a little interested. The numbness felt so good. The bitterness…maybe I could turn things around with it. Use it to see what was so fucking great about Franklin.

It wasn’t as if I had anybody at home waiting for me.

I looked over my shoulder, then glanced back at Franklin. “Wanna get a booth?”

He looked over there too, before he nodded.

Well, then.

CHAPTER THREE

Kingsley Madden

We brought new drinks and my sort of forgotten beer over to a private booth in the corner, and I tossed my hoodie on the table before I sat down in the middle.

He was almost as tall as me, something I wasn’t too used to.

“All right. I can be your kinkopedia.”

He chuckled under his breath and sat down next to me, though with at least a foot of space between us, and unbuttoned his suit jacket.

“I don’t know where to begin,” he admitted. “I’ve obviously watched, um…you know.”

“Porn,” I stated.

I grinned at how quickly he averted his gaze.

“Yes,” he replied curtly.

This was gonna be like pulling teeth. I wasn’t sure I had the patience for that. Plus, I had a feeling it would give me a lot of pleasure to ruffle his feathers. He was already flustered.

“Hey. Move a little closer.” I dropped a hand to his thigh and gave it a firm squeeze. “You gotta unclench.”

“Goodness.” He coughed and couldn’t look more uncomfortable, but he scooted closer until our legs nearly touched. “I don’t have to guess what kind of role you’ve played in such a lifestyle.”

Guesses and assumptions.

“What role would that be?” I wasn’t a huge fan of the word role, but it didn’t matter. Prioritizing correct terms was bullshit—a sure way to push him away from wanting to explore his fantasies.

“You’re a—are you…a Dominant?”

I inclined my head and got comfortable, draping an arm along the top of the booth behind him.

He shifted in his seat to face me better, and our knees bumped together. “But you’re quite…casual. You don’t look like the Dominants I’ve seen online.”

Ah, the internet. Fifty shades of stereotypes.

“No, I’m sure I don’t.” I planted a foot across my knee and drank from my cocktail. “I own a single suit—reserved for funerals—and my truck is older than I am. I don’t have a dungeon at home. I don’t call myself Alpha-anything in my online community.” I smiled at him. “But enough about me. What do you get off on when you watch porn?”