Page 47 of Hard Limits

“It made you uncomfortable.”

“Yes.”

“Which part made you uncomfortable?”

“Do we have to talk about this?”

“Yes, we do.”

“Now you’re making me even more uncomfortable.”

“That’s not my wish. But I do want to understand you. Because…” Brax tried without success to swallow the lump in his throat. “Because I don’t want to lose you.”

“I…I don’t want to quit.” That wasn’t entirely what he’d meant, but okay. “I guess… I guess I was embarrassed for the people on the stage. I walked in on a private moment, and they were in such a vulnerable position. And also I was afraid that you’d be angry with me for interrupting you in a place where you’d told me not to go.”

At least she was talking now, even if her concerns were ungrounded.

“I wasn’t angry. The reason I told you to avoid The Dark was that I wanted to protect you.”

“Protect me?”

“You’re a candle in the wind, Meera, and The Dark is a hurricane.” At least she hadn’t run from the building screaming. “You did the right thing when you came downstairs to fetch me.”

“I should apologise to those people.”

“There’s no need. Roxanne is a dominatrix. Part of her role involves performing for a crowd. If she’d been upset by your presence, she wouldn’t have been suitable for the role she was applying for, and I wouldn’t have hired her. As for Michael, he gets off on being humiliated in front of an audience.”

“He does? That’s…” Meera crinkled her dainty nose. “That’s weird.”

“People have different sexual preferences. To Michael, quiet sex in bed with the TV on to cover up the noise while two kids sleep in the next room is like watching paint dry, and yet half of Americans find that a perfectly pleasurable experience. And for maybe half of that fifty percent, vanilla sex is their number-one choice. But the other half? They enjoy the vanilla because they’ve never tried strawberry or chocolate or banana peanut butter chip. In The Dark, they can try anything they desire, and they can keep tasting new flavours until they decide on a favourite.” He studied her for a moment, the quickened breathing, the slightly parted, pink-painted lips, and willed his dick to behave. “I’m guessing you haven’t tried many flavours?”

Slowly, she shook her head. “Not even vanilla.”

Holy fuck. “Not even a taste?”

It came out as a whisper. “No.”

She’d spent five years in college. Had she locked herself in a dorm room the whole time? Brax had spent his college years sampling every concoction imaginable. Mint choc chip, butter pecan, and passion fruit sorbet all in one bowl? You bet. And when he’d finished with the ice cream, he’d moved on to the drinks menu. Sex on the Beach, Porn Star Martini, Slippery Nipple, Screaming Orgasm. But he’d never tried a virgin cocktail before.

A situation he very much wanted to rectify.

He might even have told her that if she hadn’t spoken first.

“What’s your favourite flavour?” she asked.

Choices, choices, so many choices. Smooth caramel, perhaps? He loved to watch a woman writhe languidly underneath him, filthy words dripping from her lips. Or wild berries? Outdoor sex had always been enjoyable. The moon, the stars, the added risk that they could be caught. Of course, that had all ended on his honeymoon with Carissa. While on safari in Kenya, he’d persuaded her to climb up onto the roof of the minibus for a little nighttime entertainment, and it turned out that their audience was a lion. They’d been stuck up there for hours. Brax lay back to enjoy the view, but Carissa had spent the night complaining. That she was cold, that she was bored, that his cum was running down her leg. After that, she’d become a bedroom-only woman.

Would Meera be the adventurous type?

Would she take risks?

Right now, it was a risk for Brax just to have a private conversation with a woman.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have asked that. What was I thinking?”

She covered her face with a hand, but Brax gently lifted it away. And no, he didn’t let go as quickly as he should have.

“What’s my favourite? I’m a gentleman. My partner gets to choose.”

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