I flipped him the bird. “Smart asses get bruised asses.”
A surprised laugh left him.Oh. I like that sound.
“Believe it or not, I’m being entirely serious.” He motioned to his bedroom, then said, “After you.”
I stepped into his bedroom. It was masculine—dark and wooden tones, bare brick on the back wall, the curtains drawn. A bachelor vampire cave. He moved past me—the solid form of his body briefly brushing mine—and moved to a large, wooden chest at the foot of his bed.
I leaned against the doorframe and crossed my arms.
“Antique chest. Dark room. I feel like I’m about to play with submissive Nosferatu.”
Half bent, Dorian looked up at me and lifted his eyebrows. “Respect the chest,” he chastised.
Then he lifted the lid.
A spring-loaded compartment drew up, revealing an array of toys meticulously arranged and sorted on a bed of purple velvet. Things made of steel and glass, twisted into different shapes. My eyes fell to a couple things I recognized—arm restraints, a stainless steel dildo—and lingered on a few things I did not recognize—a particularly wicked looking device with different prongs and attachments sprouting from it like a painful bouquet.
I stepped over to the chest and walked my fingers thoughtfully over the edge of the drawer. I felt Dorian’s gaze on me, measuring my reaction. “Quite the collection you’ve got here.”
“It’s not mine,” Dorian said. “It’s yours. See anything you like?”
My fingertips brushed a leather collar, and suddenly my chest went tight.
In a flash, I remembered?—
The night of our fight. Being pinned down in my own bed. Shawn’s large hands around my throat, layered over the black and pink collar. Choking, squeezing, popping the life out of me.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Say it.”
No. No, I didn’t like this. I loved pain—I loved his domination—but this…not like this.
Not with the anger in his voice.
Too afraid to tell him, I choked out, “Yes, master. Please. More.”
I quickly retracted my fingers from the collar.
Dorian was still watching me, waiting patiently for me to make a decision.
I resettled myself.You want this, I reminded myself.You’re in control here. You control the scene.
I hunted until I found what I wanted. A small, steel tool. It was a thin rod and, at the end of it, there was a small wheel with tiny, prickly metal spikes bursting from it. I picked it out from its small velvet container.
Dorian straightened his spine, moving in closer to me. “The Wartenberg Wheel,” he said. “Good choice. Have you used one before?”
I was tempted to lie and tell him I had, but we were past the point of pretend so I said honestly, “I’ve seen them used but haven’t actually played with one.”
He held his palm to me. “Permission to demonstrate?”
I handed it over. “Granted.”
He took my wrist in his hand and flipped it over so the soft underside of my arm was upward. Gently, he dragged the wheel across my skin. The pinpricks made me suck in a breath. They were sharp, but not enough to draw blood. Instead, they left a pleasant, stinging sensation up my arm.
“It’s sharp,” he said. “But you have to press in really hard to do damage.”
He flipped it over in his hand and held out the handle of the wheel in offering.
“Do you want to try it?” he asked.
