Page 49 of Mismatched

I am ready to bolt for the parking lot and call it a night, but Daphne comes around to my side of the counter, placing a gentle hand on my arm. “How about this? Just remind me what you bought last time you came in.”

“Okay,” I say, collecting myself. All I have to do is recite a list. “It was... a rabbit, some lube, and a blindfold.”

“Excellent newlywed starter kit.” She looks pleased with herself. I don’t tell her we’ve been married almost eight years. “And since then you’ve had a chance to use all of those things?”

I hesitate. “Well, no. We haven’t tried the blindfold.”

She taps a finger to her lips, stares at the ceiling a moment, then looks back at me with a smile. “I have some ideas. Give me a moment.”

After several minutes flitting around the store, she returns to the counter and presents me with a selection of different products.

“Okay, you can take or leave any of these based on your comfort level, of course. But you can definitely have some fun here without getting too intense.” She picks up a set of long black satin ribbons first. “These can be used to play around tying each other up. They’re a little gentler than like, rope or handcuffs. And you can try them with that blindfold you have.”

I stop breathing when she hands the package to me, brain flooding with images of stern-looking men wearing leather and holding whips, standing over cowering, tied-up women.

“Bondage isn’t necessarily about pain,” Daphne says quickly, reading the look on my face. “It’s just the ‘B’ in ‘BDSM.’ You don’t have to do the whole master and slave thing. But even a little restraint, like your partner immobilizing your hands while they touch you, can heighten pleasurable sensations.”

I give her a skeptical glance, but when I turn the package over, there’s a picture of a woman with her hands wrapped in ribbons above her head while a man leans in worshipfully with his lips on her stomach. Their surroundings look perfectly tame, not unlike my own bedroom. And she doesn’t look scared at all, she looks... like she’s luxuriating in it. I keep the package in my hand and look at Daphne. “What else have you got?”

Her mouth quirks. “If you choose to go with the ribbons, they might pair nicely with these,” she says, dropping a pair of red multi-sided dice into my palm. The sides say things like, blow, nipple, lick, and thighs. “Some people call them foreplay dice. They present lots of creative options, but obviously you and your partner can opt out of anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

I look between the ribbons in one hand and the dice in the other, connecting the two almost embarrassingly fast in my mind.

“What else?” I say, shifting my weight to unclench my thighs.

“Nipple suckers,” she says with a playful twinkle, handing me a package containing two small, pink, rubbery lightbulb-shaped objects. “They’re not for everyone, but they can be a fun way to spice things up.”

I examine the package. “Do they um . . .”

“You squeeze them, and they suction onto your nipple,” she explains, matter-of-fact. “It feels like a little pinch, but definitely tamer than some of the more hardcore clamps.”

I glance at one of the nearby mannequins with metal accessories dangling from its chest, feeling the heat drain from my face. I slide the pink things back to her across the counter.

“Let’s save those for next time,” I say.

Daphne nods, understanding. “I do love a repeat customer.”

As she rings up my purchases, the cat tattoo on her shoulder seems to swish its tail in my direction, and I stare at my brand-new bondage ribbons and sex dice, wondering if it might be a little overkill. I mean, I could just say: Anton, let’s go to bed.

That just seems . . . hard.

“Thanks so much for your help. Again,” I say, as Daphne hands over one of the store’s black plastic bags.

“I like to keep my customers happy.” She grins.

“I’ll um . . . let you know what happens.”

I turn for the door, but she stops me. “If you and your hub try these and still think you want more, come back and see me.” She winks. “Actually, next time, you might try coming in together.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Carl Wallace sits back after the waiter leaves, gently swirling the wine in his glass, listening to Derek Norman recount his drive up from Colorado Springs. I have to admit, I had pinned my hopes on having dinner tonight with my wife and not my colleagues, but once I realized what this was about, the invite was clearly more expectation than request.

“Thank you both for joining us,” Carl says, because I’m not the only one here.

“It’s my pleasure, sir.” Milo preens. “Thanks for the opportunity.”

Carl chuckles, which makes me think he sees right through Milo’s sycophantic fawning. I would find him more annoying if I wasn’t so relieved to have him here. I have been in the Vesper office every day for the past several weeks, managing my accounts, meeting with clients, honestly trying my best. But there have been times I just haven’t been fully present, my thoughts wandering in and out of the past, the present—some possible futures. I know my performance isn’t going to fly long-term.

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