Page 17 of Audiophile

I’ve made a mistake, because his eyes sparkle with challenge. “One: I don’t compare, and two: three hundred women? Really?”

“More? Less?” I ask.

He laughs, and the sound of it has my stomach fluttering. “I’m impressed you went that high. What constitutes a while? Don’t you miss it?”

I roll my eyes, abandoning my sushi for more wine. “I get myself off just fine.”

“With my help.” His grin is so smug that I want to wipe it off his face. Preferably with my mouth. But I can’t, and worse, I’m agitated that he’s caught me staring.

“They’re my hands!” I protest.

He pushes his plate aside, focused on me—playing with me. This is the part of dating I missed. “No vibrators? How interesting. Sex is a mental game, Petra. Each one of those orgasms was mine.”

Mine.

My mouth drops open in indignation, though my breasts grow heavy and my thighs squeeze together. “You—no!They weremine. I don’t know how tobewith a man anymore. You’re just a recording, not a real person.”

Something in his eyes shutters and dulls. He picks up his hardly touched plate and carries it to the counter. “Ouch.”

“Shit. I didn’t mean—”

“You did,” he sighs. “You’re right. I’m not myself on those recordings. I’m an actor. It’s the nature of the business that I’m used as an object. At least you don’t assume you know me because you’ve listened to my scenes.”

“Do people do that?” I reach for my glass, but it’s empty.

He laughs without any humor as he leans against the counter. “You have no idea. At least I have some sense of anonymity. Holly, my best—my old friend—is famous in adult films. She’s recognized often, mostly in a good way. Sometimes not.”

As awkward as it is that Reed knows I’ve listened to him, I can’t imagine a world where I’m routinely recognized for my sex face. Am I any better? Focusing only on his job and not on who he is as a person? Writing about him in the middle of the night?

Guilt squirms in my stomach. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t think there was anything wrong with what I was doing. I didn’t consider—”

“Please don’t apologize.” He sighs again, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re not doing anything wrong. It’s a service I offer. You pay me for it. You’re not snooping through my phone—you’re getting a curated experience sent to your email.”

“Oh.” It hits me, and my whole world shifts sideways. “Oh.I’m paying you for sex.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that news? At least you’re paying for it, not pirating it.”

I wince. “I equated it to…buying an audiobook or something.”

He snorts, bringing the wine with him to pour us both another large glass, draining the bottle. “An explicitly sexy, updated weekly, the-reader-is-the-star audiobook.”

I’m horrified at how I dehumanized him. In my scene, he had whatever personality I wanted him to. “I objectified you.”

“Not the way some people do. Plus, I stole your journal. We’re more than square.” He frowns, tapping his finger against the glass. “You caught me at a time when this is a sore subject. I wouldn’t have cared a year ago—wouldn’t have given it a second thought. And I would’ve tried to sleep with you the minute you recognized me.”

I want to ask what’s different, but he avoids my eyes. “I’m sorry, for whatever happened to change that.”

When his eyes flit to mine, there’s something unreadable in them. “You’re not the person I want an apology from, but thank you anyway. Are you done with dinner?”

Truthfully, I’ve lost my appetite. I help him clear the table and uncork the second bottle of wine. “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

“Not really.” He leads me over to the sofa and we take opposite ends. My toes wiggle in protest to be let free, but it would be overly familiar and impolite to take my shoes off. “Opening up to someone who knew about DKP screwed me over last time.”

“Then I’m doubly sorry. Was she—they—” I trip over my words. “Oh,I didn’t consider it would be more than women—”

“Oh, yes, all genders.” His smirk is at my expense, but it’s better than his melancholy. He leans forward, until each inch of him strains to crowd my space. “You had a question?”

“It was too personal.”

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