Page 29 of Sexpresso Night

Chapter Seven

Not quite the reaction he’d been expecting.

“This is my play room.” He maintained a reassuring, confident tone. “This is what I wanted to give you tonight.”

She stared at him, green eyes flashing sparks, hands clenched into little fists at her sides. “Are you crazy? Why would you think I’d be interested in something like this?”

He took one mental step back, his mind working. “Danya. This is just one more step, one more limit to push. I know you want to.”

“I absolutely, most definitely do not! I don’t want anything to do with…shit like this.” She waved a jerky hand. “This is just…sick.” Her face crumpled. “I can’t believe you’re into this stuff. I just can’t believe it. I thought you were different.”

What the hell did that mean? “Sick?” Her reaction confused him. He’d thought she’d be excited…curious…turned-on. Inside, his desire to control and dominate warred with the need to tread carefully here.

He could convince her. If convince was the right word. He was pretty sure this was a soft limit, and if he pushed it, she would like it.

Had he read her that wrong? Usually he was good at knowing exactly what his sub needed and wanted, what were hard limits and what were I’m-curious-make-me-do-it limits.

Apparently he had, because she whirled around and stalked out of the room, muttering under her breath. He followed her to the door. “Danya. Where are you going?”

“I’m going home,” she called back over her shoulder as she strode down the hall, grabbing her purse from near the door. “Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t ever bother me again.”

He stood there and watched her cute little ass twitching beneath her snug jeans, shoulders rigid. The door crashed shut behind her. Man, she was pissed.

Apparently he had lost his touch, because he’d been sure the time was right to introduce her to his toys.

Dammit.

* * *

Her chest aching, stomach so tight she thought she might vomit, Danya let herself into her apartment and slammed the door shut.

How could she have been so stupid? So blind? She’d thought Carter was different from Evan—in fact, like an idiot, she’d just insisted that to her friends a few days ago—and here it turned out he was exactly the same. A sadistic Dom into perverted stuff like canes and floggers and…

Her eyes burned as she threw herself down on her bed and buried her face in the pillow. The pressure behind her cheekbones made her feel as if her face was going to split open as she tried to hold back tears.

Carter had seemed so perfect. Not wishy-washy like Chris, not a sadistic bully like Evan—just…perfect.

She rolled onto her back. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and trickled down into her hair. She stared up at the ceiling in the dark, thinking about the things they’d done, the way he’d given her exactly what she wanted. She must have been giving off some powerful submission vibes for him to think she’d want to play in a dungeon.

And then her mind went to all the things she’d seen there, and she shivered. She pictured the crop and her pussy clenched hard. And—she covered her mouth with her hand and swallowed—would he actually handcuff her, or tie her up and spank her?

She ached between her legs at the thought. He’d made her hold onto the headboard while he spanked her. He hadn’t restrained her. Somehow she’d known he was going to take her to her edge…but she also knew he wouldn’t push her somewhere she didn’t want to go. And the thought of that just melted her insides.

And then…she remembered the ropes in her purse. He’d wanted her to tie herself up. And do things to herself.

A moan leaked from her lips and she closed her eyes against the overwhelming hunger and need that swept over her.

No! She was not going to play his kinky games. It was all fine when she’d thought he was just a strong, dominant man, but now she knew he was a depraved pervert, she wanted to no part of it. She been there, done that, had the souvenir scars inside her to show for it. No scars on the outside, but that was just lucky.

She rolled over again and pressed her hot, wet face against the duvet. She ached, low down inside, and her breasts swelled into the mattress, her nipples as hard as little stones. She tried to breathe through the arousal rising inside her, but after a moment, she slid her hand down beneath her, under her stomach, lower between her legs. She pressed her fingers there where she throbbed, and felt how wet she was even through her jeans.

She rolled off the bed, her mind scrambling with disjointed, half-formed thoughts, her heart tripping. She walked slowly across the bedroom and opened the top drawer of her dresser. She removed the dildo inside, looking down at it in her hands for a moment, heart racing so fast she felt lightheaded.

She found her purse where she’d tossed it onto the floor and pulled out the lengths of rope. She’d never been a rope slut, but she had to admire this rope—soft, silky, resilient. She slid her hand down the length of one.

How did Carter know that she knew what to do with it? The self-bondage she’d learned years ago wasn’t exactly something they’d discussed.

She stood trembling, undecided, fierce need warring with stubborn resistance inside her. Her breasts grew heavy and her pussy ached. She set the objects in her hand on the floor and her fingers went to the buttons of her blouse. One button. Two buttons. She pressed her lips together. Then let the blouse slide off and float to the floor in a silky whisper. She shimmied out of her jeans and pushed them to the carpet too. She reached behind her to unfasten her bra and as she did so, turned to face the mirror on the back of her door.

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