Page 41 of Full Mountie

He’s undeterred. “Don’t you think this is good information for me to have?”

Maybe. “Fine. I’ll answer three questions. So choose them wisely,” I say as I give him my best no-nonsense look.

He, in turn, gives me a look I can only assume is meant to resemble puppy-dog eyes. It fails, and I have a hard time maintaining my stony face and not laughing. Although he’s amusing me, so maybe they do work in their own way.

“Only three questions. I can work with that. Here we go, first question. What’s the kinkiest thing you did at the party?”

Of course, that would be his first question. I’m sure he’s walked the length and breadth of the wild-side, so the kinkiest thing I did at the party—which also happens to be my kinkiest thing ever—is going to be sadly disappointing for him.

“Getting flogged on the Saint Andrew’s Cross.”

I watch his face for any kind of reaction, but he gives me nothing. No clue that I even got the vocabulary right. I’m pretty sure I did.

“Next question. What did you like watching the most?”

No follow-up. I had thought he would at least want to know if I liked it. Or if I was naked. But I limited him to three questions, and apparently he’s going to use them to cover a lot of ground.

I waffle back and forth over my answer. Do I tell him what I really liked watching the most, or do I tell him what I liked the most that would be considered a little more conventional, and possibly more…socially acceptable?

I know he wouldn’t be shocked by the content of my real answer…but I worry that it could affect the way he sees me.

Unvarnished honesty wins out. “So, there was this couple. Two guys, actually. And, well…the way things were between them was really different from the other couples. It was more intense, raw…seriously hot.” I force myself to hold my chin up and push past my embarrassment.

Hugh nods slowly, saying nothing.

His continued silence makes me uncomfortable. Is he judging me? I regret agreeing to respond to his curiosity at all and I just want this over and done with.

“Last question?” I try to push him along.

“I’m thinking. I want it to be a good one.”

I take a sip of my coffee and wait.

“Okay, last question.” He pauses a moment, then his gaze locks on mine. “What was Lachlan like at the party?”

Oh. Probably fitting that he lands here. A broad swath of questions, ending with our mutual obsession over the stoic giant with the quietly kinky side. My heart beats faster as I think back to that night. “He was totally in control. He was the dungeon something…minder… master…monitor. That’s it. Dungeon monitor. He was in charge, making sure everyone played safely. He took his job very seriously, too. Lachlan monitored Brandon—he’s a hockey player who offered to give me taste of what a flogger feels like—the entire time he had me on the Saint Andrew’s Cross.”

Hugh’s eyes light up, and I decide to give him more. Suddenly I want to tell him a lot about that night, and I understand why he asked.

“Then after Brandon did that taking care of me thing, Lachlan took him aside…to give him some pointers, maybe? I don’t know.”

The corners of Hugh’s mouth tug up a little, and I wonder what it is he finds amusing, because for me, it was hot as hell. Lachlan’s intensity was anyway. The Brandon part, I could happily leave.

“After that, Lachlan stuck fairly close by, and radiated a pretty strong keep-away vibe.” He totally spent the rest of the evening cock-blocking me—and in hind sight, that was extra jerky, because he was holding out on me. We could have been having the most explosive sex of my life all this time.

Hugh nods…like he knows something. “Sounds like a good time was had by most.”

I shrug, then look at my watch. There’s a lot I want to tell him—about how I was fascinated, but not turned on that night, not as much as I am now thinking back to Lachlan’s role in it. And how I want Hugh to open up, too.

How annoyed I am at his close-to-his-chest approach to this conversation.

But we’ve been gone over thirty minutes and while the seniority of my position affords me some flexibility, especially when Gavin’s away, I’m always careful not to abuse the privilege. Also, it’s a good escape from the discomfort of this conversation. “I need to get back to the office.”

“Yeah, me too.”

The walk back is brisk. Hugh escorts me to my desk, and loiters for a few minutes after the intern leaves.

I give him a look, and he smiles right back. At some point soon, we’ll have to have a more comprehensive conversation about secrets. I hate them.

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