“I had planned,” he said, “to have a conversation with you before we went any further, but—”
“I disrupted your plans.”
He nodded, his expression serious. “We still need to have it, but before we do, you didn’t actually answer me. Are you hurting? Do you want ice or a pain reliever?”
I wasn’t hurting, mostly just uncomfortable, and I was too curious about what he wanted to talk about to care much about the dull heat banding across my skin. “I’m all right.”
His discerning look said he didn’t believe me. His hands slid away, did up his jeans, and collected my stack of clothes off the desk. “Come with me.”
I wasn’t given a choice, but I didn’t need one. I was just like the cat slinking around his house—too curious for my own good.
He led me into his bedroom, not bothering to turn on the lights. The evening sun was setting on the far side of the house, making the room dark and moody and sexy. He deposited my clothes on the top of his dresser and motioned to the unmade bed. “Lie down on your stomach.”
He wanted me to get into his bed? I didn’t need to be told twice. I put a knee on the mattress, crawled along the sheets in a way I hoped he found seductive, and lay down with my head on what I suspected was his pillow. The sheets smelled faintly sunny and woodsy, like the scent of his detergent battled for control over his cologne and body wash.
I’d expected him to join me in the bed, but instead he disappeared into his bathroom, flipping on the light and moving deeper inside, out of my view. There was the sound of a door opening, perhaps the linen closet, and then the faucet ran for a moment. I propped myself up on my elbows and peered through the doorway to watch him wring out a towel.
It was only a few moments later when he brought it into the bedroom and draped the cold, damp towel over the marks on my skin. I flinched, but the coolness of it soothed me instantly.
“Thank you,” I said.
Clay sat on the side of the bed, turned toward me with one leg tucked on the mattress and a contemplative look streaked his face.
“What did you want to talk about?”
He drew in a heavy breath. “Remember how I said I’m complicated?”
I nodded. I’d thought he meant the BDSM furniture, but the way he was now made me unsure. He looked more nervous than he was the first time he’d used the ruler on me.
“I can do relationships,” he said. “I completely understand the need for commitment and trust. And even monogamy if that’s what my partner wants.” He frowned, like the next part was difficult for him to say. “But I don’t do romance, Lilith.” His gaze trapped mine. “Which means I don’t date.”
FIVE
I blinked, trying to digest what Clay had just said. “Why?”
“I’m no good at it, and more importantly, I’m not interested. I’ve never been.”
The look he’d given me before—the one I couldn’t place—made sense now. It had been guilt.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “If that’s what you’re looking for from me, I can’t give it to you.” He pushed up his glasses and straightened his shoulders. “As a rule, I don’t scene with someone unless they know already. I’m sorry about how I handled that.”
I swallowed a breath. “So, what you’re saying is . . . you don’t want to be my boyfriend?”
He went utterly still, but when I laughed and he realized I was joking, he returned to life.
“Don’t sweat it, Clay.” I grinned. “I’m not looking for any of that right now.” My last several relationships hadn’t gone so well. Maybe I was like him. “I’m not any good at dating either.”
My response was so unexpected to him and, God, the way he looked at me. As if I were a structure he wasn’t able to figure out, a puzzle he couldn’t solve.
I mashed his pillow beneath my chest. “Do you do this a lot?” What was the word he’d used? “Scene?”
He hesitated, but it didn’t seem to be reluctance. More like he was trying to word his answer carefully. “I haven’t in a while.” He reached out, tracing his fingertips over the curve of my shoulder. “You liked what we did?”
“Yes.”
His tender touch was disarming. “I’m meeting a client tonight at Club Eros.” He pushed a lock of my hair back and his tone was cautious. “Are you interested in coming with me?”
“Club Eros,” I repeated. I’d never been to a BDSM club, and suddenly now I was dying to. What would it be like? I said it teasingly, even though I was serious. “Are you going to show me your world?”
His gaze snapped to mine, and his intensity made me shiver with excitement. “Yes.”
I wore a black corset top, paired with a teal skirt, and the same black heels from earlier. The strapless satin corset was the sexiest thing I owned, and I’d never been brave enough to wear it before tonight.
I sat beside Clay in the back seat of our Uber as it drove us toward the club. He’d given our driver the address, and I wondered most of the drive there if the guy knew what kind of club he was going to deliver us to. Clay was dressed in a black suit without a tie, and the collar of his white shirt was unbuttoned. He looked nice and professional, and not at all like he’d be the type of guy to spank me with a metal ruler hard enough that sitting was still uncomfortable hours later.
But I liked the sensation. I spent every quiet moment thinking about who had caused my discomfort, and heat flushed through me.
When I climbed out of the car and stared up at the club, I was surprised at how unassuming it looked. The rest of the block was warehouses, but this building was a house. Two-stories tall and brick, it was set back a little from the road, and had no signage other than a backlit chrome E glowing beside the door. I wouldn’t have even known it was a club if it wasn’t for the black-suited man standing on the porch out front. He was clearly security. Otherwise, the place was dark and quiet.
I strolled alongside Clay, moving across the sidewalk and up the porch steps to the entrance.
The security man seemed to recognize Clay, because the guy smiled and opened the door for us. He gave me a casual once-over. Not leering at all, more simply curious. Clay said he didn’t date, but he’d probably brought other women here before me. Maybe the bouncer was interested in who this new girl was at this regular customer’s side.
The guard gestured politely for me to go first, and I stepped across the threshold into the club.
The walls and ceiling of this small entry room were painted black, and subdued lighting lit the woman sitting behind the counter. She was older, but had a bright, youthful smile.
“Welcome back,” she said warmly to Clay before her gaze turned to me. “Can I see your IDs?”
“She’s new,” he explained as we both pulled out our drivers’ licenses. “Not a member yet.”
I set my ID on the counter, and the woman’s smile widened. “That’s great. I’ll get you all squared away, honey.”