someone who would understand her, until she started returning my gaze with soft, wistful eyes, and not backing away when I moved closer.
God, the way we used to stare at each other in my office! … On more than one occasion I felt almost dazed when she left.
Dazed … and horny as hell.
Not that I expected anything could come of it, but it was great to fantasise about her. I felt a bit bad about it, but after all it’s not like I was actually doing anything.
And then I saw her in that club …
I’m definitely not accustomed to having my worlds collide with each other.
That’s true whether it’s my fantasy life and my real life, or for that matter my kinky preferences and “real life”.
I used to frequent BDSM clubs way back when I was in graduate school, and was actually quite popular as a dom. I then gave that all up when I started dating a classmate whom I was in love with, but who’d made it very clear from the start that she wasn’t kinky in the least.
Which I thought was fair enough.
The irony is, at the time, I think I might have been happy enough with her, even then. On the contrary, she was the one who dumped me for a guy who was more conventional. She felt safer with him, she told me - said that that way she need never worry about him feeling that she was inadequate, because she felt that in the long run I would have ended up resenting her.
I don’t know if that is necessarily true, but it was probably all for the best. I don’t think I’d now get involved with anyone unless they were on the same page as I was. The annoying thing is, I’ve stopped going to BDSM clubs, since the combination of well-known writer and college professor would make me perfect blackmail fodder. And poor old dad would never live that down, ha!
It certainly doesn’t help that these days I haven’t been able to think about anyone but the infinitely winsome Ms. Lytton …
Fuck.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It’s not till I get home that the entire impact of what happened hits me.
I’d been numb while I drove home, thinking that I just had to keep going, that I couldn’t feel, didn’t have time to feel, couldn’t afford to feel.
Then I tore up the stairs, staggered into the apartment, dropped all my stuff on the tatty old second-hand couch, and got myself a cup of coffee.
And that did it.
Would you like a cup of coffee before you go? he asked me - I can still remember how he sounded when he said it, in that smooth, cultured baritone of his. So polite and correct as always. Irreproachable. And yet it was obvious he wanted me to leave.
I feel like I’ve failed, somehow, and that’s not something I’m particularly accustomed to.
There’s a part of me which keeps thinking: why did we have to run into each other at the club? And why did I have to say yes to this whole stupid idea?
If we’d just stayed status quo everything would still have been fine. Yes, I wouldn’t have gotten all up close and personal with him, but then I’d never have gotten my hopes up either. He’d still have been good for a bit of fantasising, and that would have been it.
I don’t even know if he’ll ever go back to being all flirty around me.
Fuck, for the last month and a half that’s been the highlight of my week, getting stared at by Sebastian Morland, causing him to grin roguishly and get all flushed and excited.
But things always get screwed up when they get too real , don’t they? …
I wonder if the deal is now off. Not that there’s anything I could do about that, and maybe it would be all for the best. I’ll go back to the club next week, that is all. Ugh, it’s a good thing I didn’t get too excited about Dr. Morland’s offer and quit the club altogether.
I’d better get those clothes out from my bag and stick them in the laundry hamper …
As I make my way over to the couch and pick up my bag I find not just the outfit I wore over to Dr. Morland’s
God, the way we used to stare at each other in my office! … On more than one occasion I felt almost dazed when she left.
Dazed … and horny as hell.
Not that I expected anything could come of it, but it was great to fantasise about her. I felt a bit bad about it, but after all it’s not like I was actually doing anything.
And then I saw her in that club …
I’m definitely not accustomed to having my worlds collide with each other.
That’s true whether it’s my fantasy life and my real life, or for that matter my kinky preferences and “real life”.
I used to frequent BDSM clubs way back when I was in graduate school, and was actually quite popular as a dom. I then gave that all up when I started dating a classmate whom I was in love with, but who’d made it very clear from the start that she wasn’t kinky in the least.
Which I thought was fair enough.
The irony is, at the time, I think I might have been happy enough with her, even then. On the contrary, she was the one who dumped me for a guy who was more conventional. She felt safer with him, she told me - said that that way she need never worry about him feeling that she was inadequate, because she felt that in the long run I would have ended up resenting her.
I don’t know if that is necessarily true, but it was probably all for the best. I don’t think I’d now get involved with anyone unless they were on the same page as I was. The annoying thing is, I’ve stopped going to BDSM clubs, since the combination of well-known writer and college professor would make me perfect blackmail fodder. And poor old dad would never live that down, ha!
It certainly doesn’t help that these days I haven’t been able to think about anyone but the infinitely winsome Ms. Lytton …
Fuck.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It’s not till I get home that the entire impact of what happened hits me.
I’d been numb while I drove home, thinking that I just had to keep going, that I couldn’t feel, didn’t have time to feel, couldn’t afford to feel.
Then I tore up the stairs, staggered into the apartment, dropped all my stuff on the tatty old second-hand couch, and got myself a cup of coffee.
And that did it.
Would you like a cup of coffee before you go? he asked me - I can still remember how he sounded when he said it, in that smooth, cultured baritone of his. So polite and correct as always. Irreproachable. And yet it was obvious he wanted me to leave.
I feel like I’ve failed, somehow, and that’s not something I’m particularly accustomed to.
There’s a part of me which keeps thinking: why did we have to run into each other at the club? And why did I have to say yes to this whole stupid idea?
If we’d just stayed status quo everything would still have been fine. Yes, I wouldn’t have gotten all up close and personal with him, but then I’d never have gotten my hopes up either. He’d still have been good for a bit of fantasising, and that would have been it.
I don’t even know if he’ll ever go back to being all flirty around me.
Fuck, for the last month and a half that’s been the highlight of my week, getting stared at by Sebastian Morland, causing him to grin roguishly and get all flushed and excited.
But things always get screwed up when they get too real , don’t they? …
I wonder if the deal is now off. Not that there’s anything I could do about that, and maybe it would be all for the best. I’ll go back to the club next week, that is all. Ugh, it’s a good thing I didn’t get too excited about Dr. Morland’s offer and quit the club altogether.
I’d better get those clothes out from my bag and stick them in the laundry hamper …
As I make my way over to the couch and pick up my bag I find not just the outfit I wore over to Dr. Morland’s
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