Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 140874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
“Can I confess something? Something pretty embarrassing?” I waited for the subtle shift of the creases around his eyes that indicated I should, by all means, continue. “I may not have been viewing Emir as a threat. Because he’s a guy. I’m sure that’s probably insulting—”
“Not…insulting.” He set his cup down and leaned on the counter. “Sophie, may I explain something to you?”
“Please do.”
“First, you have no romantic rival.” He walked slowly around the island, to the seat opposite mine. “Second, my attraction toward men isn’t limited to sexual attraction. That isn’t how it works for me. I’ve been in love with men. I’ve had relationships with them. It isn’t a kink for me, it’s just how I’m wired. But you have nothing to fear, regardless. I’m in love with you, and I don’t foresee that changing.”
“I’m sorry.” I resisted the temptation to blame my ignorance on my hangover. “Being a straight girl, I’m prone to total ignorance here.”
“Not total ignorance. You just learned something,” he reminded me. “And I’m pleased that you talked to me about this, rather than making wild assumptions.”
“I take it the wild assumptions…” I let my question die away.
“Not all of my partners have been comfortable with my bisexuality.” He shrugged. “I’ve been with women who declared me straight by virtue of our relationship, and I’ve been with men who insisted I was truly gay. It’s quite… Frustrating, I suppose, would be the word for it.”
“I’m sorry that I did the same thing.” I reached over and took his hand.
He looked down, grimaced in distaste, and said, as calmly as he could, “Sophie. You have dried vomit on your wrist.”
Well, so much for our tender moment.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Once I’d convinced Neil that I was dying of my hangover—it required shockingly little acting on my part—I had time to sneak off and make the proper preparations. I wanted to be showered, powdered, shaved and made-up by the time we were ready to leave. And I wanted to be in the right mindset, so I got out my collar. It was really more like a neck-sized platinum and diamond anniversary ring than an actual BDSM collar, and about as useful for collar play as it was for holding a serving of potato salad. Functional or not, just seeing it put me into submissive mode. I propped it up beside the bathtub while I washed my hair and shaved my legs, and yeah, maybe did a little pre-date warm up. I couldn’t help it. The anticipation was killing me. I knew Neil was going to love tonight.
I felt a little guilty about how much I was going to love it, too, since it was supposed to be his present.
I had selected my dress carefully. While I hadn’t found anything that matched the dress I’d taken from the Porteras closet on that night over a year ago, I had found one that was just as short as the original dress: the dress he’d bought for me in Paris, the layers upon layers of delicate black chiffon, held down by the weight of exquisite beading along the skirt’s petal hem. Two barely-there straps held up the deeply cut bodice. I’d hesitated ever wearing it again, because the first time I had, it had nearly been ruined when Neil had fucked me against a wall. It seemed like there could be a high probability of the same situation developing tonight.
I went light on my eye-makeup. A marker of a really good play session, at least to me, was that I cried at least once. Though I appreciated the aesthetics of runny mascara as much as the next submissive, it wasn’t fun to get a bunch in your eyes. I used a pale cream shadow sparingly over my lids and under the brow bone as a highlight, with a sleek wing of black eyeliner. I used one coat of waterproof mascara on my curled eyelashes, blinked a few times to make sure it wasn’t going anywhere, and dabbed on some neutral gloss.
“You know, you still haven’t told me where we’re going,” Neil said as he emerged from the shower. Usually when I got dressed up, he complimented me effusively. Tonight, his anxiety over yet another surprise made him blind to my hotness.
“I’ll give you a hint,” I said, swinging my hair to one side as I fastened my earring. “I’m a terrible girlfriend and I don’t support your dietary choices. We’re going for sushi.”
I hadn’t had sushi in ages, and Emma had confided that the restaurant I was taking him to had been one of his favorites before I’d met him. When Neil had been sick, avoiding sushi and sashimi hadn’t just been about not eating animal products. We hadn’t even consumed raw vegetables; they’d been so great a threat to his immune system.