His to Have
“Exquisitely made,” he says. I spin around and receive my second jolt of the evening. I’m face to face with a tall, broad-shouldered man…He has golden-brown hair, cut short at the sides, with a long-top pushed back in a messy quiff, dark, straight brows, and dark scruff covering a firm jaw. His lips are full, and his eyes are soulful, golden-brown, and almost puppyish. In short, he looks like he just walked out of a fashion shoot in Brooklyn, or some equally edgy neighborhood. I’m holding the crop in both hands, but he’s not looking at it—he’s running his eyes all over my body without a hint of shame.
“Is it?” I say, as neutrally as I can.
He nods. “Very. But the real beauty is in its execution. I’d be happy to show you how it works.” There’s a flicker of heat between my thighs.
“I—I’m not into this stuff.” One of those straight, thick eyebrows lifts a smidgen in tandem with a corner of his mouth.
“Sex? You’re not into sex?”
“I mean…” I gesture at the row of whips hanging on hooks along the stall front. “This. Bondage.”
The quirk in his lips becomes a full-on smirk. “Bondage is something a little different. But it could certainly be a precursor to me using a whip on you.”
“Whatever. It’s not my thing. None of it.”
He leans in, using his height advantage. “I think it is.” His voice has become a gravelly purr, like the sound a predatory animal makes when it has its prey in its sights. And he’s so close that I can smell him—a rich, spicy scent tempered with expensive cologne. “I can see it in your eyes.”