Page 77 of Tempt

I’m blushing. I know I am. We’d decided not to go the club, not yet. We are having fun figuring out our own kinky play. But now I’m surrounded by it all, and someone I’ve followed online—a genuine star in this world—is right there.

And I no longer need to pretend I don’t know who he is.

“I might embarrass myself,” I mutter.

Sam squeezes my still-tender bottom. “Maybe he likes that sort of thing.”

But I don’t embarrass myself, and Zeke is a completely cool, non-creepy professional the whole conversation.

I’m buzzing hard as we find Grace and make our goodbyes, when I see Sam’s brother step through the front door.

He looks awkward and out of place, but more than anything, he looks tired. He joins us, or at least joins Grace, giving her a quick kiss in greeting.

The way she looks at him slays me, like she wants so much more than that, and would give him anything if he’d see it. They have so many troubles and I barely know any of it.

Sam has tensed way up, too. New goal: get him out of here without him and Luke exchanging words.

But I’m not that smooth about it, because as soon as we’re outside, Sam calls me on it. “You don’t need to run interference with him.”

“Maybe I was hustling you out of there for my own reasons?” I wrinkle my nose. “But I wasn’t. I just didn’t like how you tensed up. That’s all.”

“He loves Grace,” Sam says. “In his own way. Just when I think he doesn’t, he shows up like this and I think, maybe this time it’ll be different.”

I hold out my hand.

I don’t have anything smart to say there. But I can hold Sam’s hand as he hails a cab so we can go home.

Together.

26

Sam

When we get home,I unwind the silk scarf from Hazel, then help her get undressed. But instead of leading her into the shower, or to the bed—our bed, now—I take her back to the living room.

All the lights are out in the apartment. We move through the dark space, lit only by the glow of the city outside, to where I think we’ll put the birdcage.

“Right here,” I whisper to her. “This is where I’ll decorate your birdcage in tapestries and ropes.”

“I want a velvet cushion.” She sways against me.

“We’ll get you a pile of them.” I press her against the brick wall. Gently. Roughly. Both at the same time, exactly as she likes it. “Imagine yourself tied open for my leisure exploration.”

“Oh, I’m picturing it.”

I nuzzle my face into her neck. “Would you write about it?”

“Absolutely.”

“Ice giant?”

“Dragon,” she says immediately. “With big, rough fingers.”

I tighten my grip on her side. “And who is his love?”

“Someone who feels safer when she’s bound.”

“His wife, maybe?”

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