Page 47 of Mine

What the hell am I doing?I wasn’t sure.

My heart pounded as I opened up a new browser and logged into Instagram. It didn’t take long to find Salt’s account.

“Damn,” I muttered.

He had a lot of followers. I clicked on his most recent post and just stared. Dark, tousled hair and an arrogant, shit-eating grin that peeked through the leather mask he wore. I swallowed hard as I scrolled to the next post, this one a video of him playing. Shirtless. Red lighting highlighted his muscles and tattoos, and I got another good look at what I’d explored on Friday night. The countless flowers that inked his skin, the roses and thorns around his neck.

He was beautiful.

But I was an idiot. Friday night was probably just another experience for him. All of the comments on his posts of people throwing themselves at him…

He could choose anyone he wanted.

I knew how artists like this were. They had charisma. They walked into a room, and everyone wanted to get on their knees for them. Sexuality oozed off of them in irresistible waves.

Salt was exactly like that.

There was a reason I was a CEO and not a musician.

Despite my best efforts, my attention slowly slid to my phone.

Texting him was out of the question. Even though I’d already saved his number to my phone...

The scent of caramel and coffee wrapped around me as I stared at it, weighing the pros and cons. Maybe he could recommend someone else?

Would that be crazy to ask him?

He wasn’t a Rosethorn artist.Yet.

I groaned and reached for my phone. I opened the messaging app, and hesitated.

It was a bad idea.

A terrible one.

I made good decisions. Always. Careful, calculated ones—never the kind that could lead to self-sabotage like this had the potential to.

Deep breath.

Hey Salt, it’s Pepper… I have a question. Do you know of any BDSM clubs you can recommend?

TWELVE

SALT

“Are you fucking kidding me?”I whispered.

I clutched my guitar against my body and stared at my phone like it was radioactive.

Pepper’s text gleamed on the screen.Do you know of any BDSM clubs you can recommend?

The very thought of her going to one without me sent a wave of jealousy through me that made me nauseous. I stood up from the stool I was perched on, the strap tethering my guitar to me.

I was using my acoustic this morning, a sleek, black dreadnought that always tore up my fingertips after a few hours of practice. I liked the pain, though. It made the music sweeter.

My fingers moved over the strings out of habit. I tipped my head back, staring at the ceiling as I thought about Pepper on her knees for another Dom. Begging them the way she’d begged me.

I’d fucking lose it.

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