Page 35 of Our Sadie

Even I haven’t tried fisting someone.

Although there is a segment of porn that specializes in showing that. It’s the kind of act that requires a fuck-ton of trust in your partner as well as a commitment to wearing an ever-widening width of butt plug. And while I’d never judge anyone who has that form of ass-play as their kink, visualizing Sadie in that role is a stretch.

No pun intended.

Or maybe it is.

“The fact that you’re a motherfucking snoop wasn’t in your profile, Jerome Oakley. You should remedy that,” she snarls.

But the insult tips me over the edge, and all I can do is laugh.

“I am a motherfucking snoop at times,” I manage through my mirth. “But I gotta say, this is showing me aspects of your desires that I never imagined.”

“Why? Are you saying I’m not allowed to have my own specific tastes?” she challenges.

“Not at all. Yet you do come across as a little...” Got to tread cautiously here. “Businesslike.”

She’s knitted her brows so severely that a deep pair of lines are carving into her lovely forehead.

“You mean stuffy.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But that’s what you meant.” Again, I raise my hands in surrender even if I can’t quite keep my smile off my face. Her right hand has formed into a fist and a rosiness has suffused her complexion. “You don’t know me well enough to make such an assertion. I might have the dirtiest mind of anyone you’ve ever met.”

“You might,” I concede. “But whether you do or not, it’s fun to watch you blush.”

That’s no lie. And by pointing it out, the color of her face heats from that delicate pink and approaches something closer to a canned beet. Sadie might talk a good game, but the uncontrollable response she’s having is yelling foul.

My guess is that she yearns to be less vanilla than she truly is. Or that she’s goading herself into attempting something outside her comfort zone. That would track.

Who else would pit a prostitute, a porn star, and a pole dancer against each other to see who’s most compatible?

But it’s time to turn this bus around.

Stifling any additional chuckles, I level with her. “Honestly, Sadie, I’m just glad to hear that you’re a reader at all.” Particularly when she seemed so reluctant at first. “It’s great to know that we share the same hobby, the one that’s the most important to me.”

Her eyebrows unknit, her features smoothing out as she appraises me. “I remember that from your profile, but I thought you might be buttering any potential client’s bread a little.”

She thought I was lying?

“Not sure how to take that.”

She sets her book down. “I thought it might be filler. Like how people will type in that they love long walks on the beach or candlelit dinners because they think it’s what a possible date would want to hear. They add it. Even when it’s not the case.”

Ah. “Especially when it’s not the case.”

Her look is wry.

“Exactly. I joined other dating sites previous to this, and what was there...” She shudders.

“I bet.”

I haven’t personally enrolled in any dating sites, but I’ve heard stories. Sadie might think it’s rough out there, but she has no idea how promptly a woman will swipe left on those of us with works in the adult film industry on our résumés. And that’s whether it’s in the past tense or the present.

“I used to consider myself a bookworm, you know,” she says, shocking the hell out of me. Good to know my instincts weren’t as far off base as I was afraid of. “Getting back into reading for shits and giggles today has been nice. Thank you.”

She leans in for what I think will be a hug but is a kiss, instead. It starts as this soft meeting of the lips that I figure will be short—it’s not like this date has gone off without a hitch—yet Sadie doesn’t pull back. She nips at my bottom lip with enough pressure to have me stiffening my spine, then gentles the bite with her tongue.

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