Page 13 of Red

"Green," she answered breathlessly.

If I got any harder I'd burst through the seams of my pants, but damn if I didn't want more too. I doled out the second, third, fourth and she was no longer grunting. She was moaning, crying out, grinding her wetness against the mattress.

I was breathless now, my palm on fire, need like some raging inferno that would devour us both. I felt so out of control, so ready to dive inside of her, that I knew it wasn't safe for me to go any further.

So I reined myself back in, the safeword ringing in my head.

Red. Red before you completely lose yourself.

I pushed off the bed, rearranging my uncomfortable erection. I went to the bookshelf near the coat rack, lined with oils and lubricants and healing lotions. I plucked my favorite, a cooling lotion that I used after vigorous spankings.

She almost turned around, her pretty face scrunched in confusion. "But...that was only four?"

"Congratulations, you can count." Cruel. There was the Desmond the world loved to hate. The Desmond who didn't lose control. Who refused to. "Lie back down."

She obeyed.

I pretended I didn't care that she moaned with pleasure as I smoothed the satiny lotion over her reddened bottom. When I was done attending to her I tossed the bottle on the bed beside her like I was flinging some used condom. "Feel free to take care of any places I missed."

I strode to the door, wanting to get out of there, needing to get out of there before I made this anymore complicated than it needed to be.

I grabbed my coat and my cuff links, ignoring her movements, not looking at a face that I knew would be filled with questions and disappointment.

"I don't understand-"

"Tell Mary that you passed the test," I said, clearing my voice of all else but business. "Welcome to Hush."

Chapter Seven: Sophia

I should have been celebrating. Slipping a bit of Kahlua in my morning coffee and cheers-ing myself. I got everything I wanted. I charmed my way into Mary's good graces. I remembered enough details from the house that I'd created an untitled Pinterst filled with iron chandeliers, fleur de lis, and floggers. My mind was filled with plays on the club's name and ways to rope in the reader immediately with the title alone: ‘Hush—it's a Secret...Until Now’ (still a work in progress).

I was pretty much on my way, with my first shift kicking off tonight at 8pm. But instead of day drinking and shopping for sexy dresses and lingerie that I could wear at Hush, I was hunched over my keyboard, chin propped on my palm, a longing eating at me that had nothing to do with my covert story.

I wanted to know more about the man in the black mask.

Of course he was gorgeous. Too freaking perfect with his square jaw that reminded me of every leading man I lusted for from the safety of the movie theater. Eyes that were so intense that they could melt any woman's clothes off. Hair that I wanted to run my fingers through as I yanked his stern mouth to mine and tasted forbidden fruits. He'd be mine, until he wasn't. That was my curse; falling for a man that was too good to be true, too guarded to not break my heart.

And his voice...there was something in the way it rose and fell. In the way it demanded to be heard. To be obeyed. Like you had any choice, with him looming over you like some action figure come to life, all muscle-y and suave to the max in his suit and a mask that would have looked plain on the shelf but on him, it was magic.

He was someone important. Instead of being a good reporter and scouring every male celebrity that mattered until I found some clue that connected them to the man that I met, I was sitting here, ready to pull up my breakup playlist, filled with anthems about how I was better off, his loss, and I would not only survive, but find something better.

I dropped my forehead on my palm, shaking my head. We hadn't even dated and I was ready to cry like I'd lost the love of my life.

It was crazy, it was classic Sophia, the Sophia I thought I’d put in a box and buried six feet under. I had this really bad habit of mixing up the L words. Like, lust, loathe...none of those should be put in the love box.

I'd only spent a couple of hours with the brooding man, but I'd gotten a smile or two from him. They weren't all on his mouth, mind you, but I knew how to read people. He liked me, even if it was only a tiny bit. He wanted me. I felt it in the main room, the electricity in the air was so palpable that I could taste it—and then I felt it for myself in the monitoring room.

I winced. I still couldn't believe I'd done that. The ballsy, wanton part of me usually only came out with the aid of liquor and ear screeching music. I was essentially 'on the job' so I didn't have a drop of anything last night. Not that it would have mattered because I was drunk off the potential of my story, tipsy because I was surrounded by people who were so afraid of their desires being known that they wore masks, and buzzing because I'd found the one thing I was sure I'd never find at a sex club: a man I actually wanted to know in the morning. But then there was the other L word, loathe. And that's what made my heart twist in my chest. I knew I was screwing up when I was admiring every inch of the playroom, forgetting that we had come there for a very specific purpose. If he was a jerk, like the man who just helped himself to grabbing my butt without asking permission, he would have either stormed out of there like a child or just taken what he wanted. He clearly wasn't used to a sub like me, a woman like me, and yet he was still patient. But when he left, I saw the regret etched on his face, a regret that even a mask couldn't hide.

"You don't look like you're ready to kick any ass in the meeting today."

I saw the coffee cup before I saw Peter, a smile instantly leaping to my lips. I brought the cup to my nostrils and inhaled so deep that I already felt caffeinated and recharged.

"Peter, you didn't have to-"

"Un uh," he interrupted, propping himself on the desk beside me. "Just let me do something nice for you, okay? We can skip right past how I didn't have to do it, and how awesome you think I am, etcetera etcetera."

I peered up at him. Today his dark, wavy locks were tucked beneath a backwards Warriors cap. He usually wore contacts, but today he opted for his black glasses that made him look like an advertisement for some optometrist, the lines of the frame making his brown eyes pop. He had a dusting of stubble on his jaw and chin and around his mouth. His lean frame was covered in a crisp, white button down shirt and dark jeans that lead the way to the same Chucks that were on my feet. In the five seconds since he stopped by my cubicle, a handful of women that usually barreled right on past without so much as a nod of acknowledgement were all smiles and 'Good morning!'

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