Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
She shakes her head with a slight roll of her eyes. “When’s the last time you had a girlfriend?”
“I don’t need a girlfriend, Hart. I’ve got you.” I hop off the counter and wrap my arm around her, kissing the top of her head.
“Pax, I love you, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Hearing her say she loves me always sends a jolt to my system, but I humbly remind myself she only means as a friend. She moves out of my hold and walks into the living room, plopping down on the light-blue sofa and holding a yellow pillow against herself. I sit down next to her and she rests her head on my shoulder.
She does this often. So often that I think nothing of it. I know that when she does it, it’s because she’s either tired or deep in thought.
Right now, I know what it is.
“Hart, stop overthinking. We’ve been friends forever. You’re the only constant in my life. Don’t think of me helping as crossing a line. Think of it as your best friend helping you write the best article possible.” I wrap my arm around her and hug her closer to my side. “Because that’s all it is. Nothing more.”
She keeps staring at the TV even though it’s not turned on. She’s processing. She does this a lot. I’m more the type to talk about everything and she’s the type to have a silent conversation with herself. I used to push her to say it all out loud, but after dozens of fights, I’ve learned to just let her do it her way.
She turns her head and peers up at me. “I need a little time to think about it, okay?”
“I completely understand,” I say, but my heart does this weird flippity-flop thing in my chest at the thought of exploring BDSM with her.
“Fine, I’ll let you know. Now, please talk about something else.”
“Have you seen Harrison’s got a new pistachio latte at Pour Some Sugar On Me?”
Hartford hums slowly. “And February didn’t even tell me.”
I shrug. “You’ll have to stop by and try it. So delicious.”
We fall back into our easy banter, and for a moment the BDSM topic is forgotten, but I can’t help but secretly wonder if I’m making a good decision by offering my help. What if I can’t control my feelings for her?
What if I ruin our friendship?
Chapter Three
Hartford
“How’s the article going?” Delia asks, the next day at work. If she weren’t so gossipy, I’d tell her all about Paxton offering to help, but I don’t trust Delia to keep it to herself.
“It’s going swimmingly,” I sing-song. I never use the word swimmingly. I heard it in a movie once and liked the ring of it.
Delia raises a brow. “You should go to Club Greed in Saint Pierce. I know they do a lot of kinky shit there.”
I give her a pointed stare. “You know because you’ve been?”
She rolls her eyes. “I wish. I just suspect a ton of kinkiness goes on there.”
“You have to be a billionaire to even step foot on the property.” I shrug. It’s a great idea, but not one I could ever afford.
“Doesn’t Paxton sell beer to them?”
She’s right. Paxton is a beer representative for Club Greed.
I think about what Paxton offered the other night. Could I really have him help me with BDSM?
I rush to my desk and open my computer. I start out with a simple search and read about safe words, which is an important aspect of BDSM play. Honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about being in a position where I have to use a pre-agreed upon word or signal to communicate discomfort or the need to stop during a scene. But I’ll have to trust the process.
There are a billionty articles about negotiation and consent which emphasize mutual respect and boundaries. It occurs to me as I take notes on different fetishes and kinks that not only will I never be into dungeon play or foot worship, but I can’t do this alone.
It’s not like I can tie myself up and spank myself. Nor will I be able to explore any of this with a stranger. Trust is of the utmost importance and there is no one I would trust to paddle me or respect my boundaries other than Paxton.
I pull my phone out of my bag, and bring up Pax’s info and press to call.
He answers on the first ring. “Atta Boy Hunks-R-Us, this is Paxton. How can I help you with your hunky needs?”
I crack up, loving the way Pax always answers the phone when I call. “I’d like to place an order for a tall, dark, and handsome hunk.”
“I can help you with that. We have a few in stock. What would you like to do with your hunk today?”