Exposed Exposed (Dom Nation #1) - E. Davies Page 0,2

forties, with a tight mouth and salt-and-pepper beard. He wore shiny black boots and a leather cap, but nothing caught my attention like the long black whip hung from a loop on his belt.

I gulped, a shudder of inexplicable desire running through my body. He wasn’t my type, and after so long, I wasn’t even sure who my type was anymore. But still, my soul responded to him like a puzzle piece that I could force into the gap, if only I turned a blind eye to my own heart.

Did I care? Would it be awful to pretend I was into him? These years had ground down my pride into dust. I could scarcely afford to turn down compliments, whoever they came from.

His gaze was calm and keen, fixed on my face. One hand crept down to his belt, his thumb hooking into the same loop his whip hung from. “What are you here for?”

I couldn’t meet his eyes and pretend—I just wasn’t that kind of guy. Maybe I should have been. It would do wonders for my sex life. I looked down past the whip and boots until I stared at the concrete floor, my cheeks hot. “I don’t know.”

He leaned in and stepped closer. “What was that? Look at me.” His voice was gentle, but I was more surprised he hadn’t grabbed my chin and made me look at him. Was I disappointed? I couldn’t tell.

I cleared my throat with a sheepish nod of apology. “I don’t know,” I said, loud enough to be heard over the music this time. It took longer to drag my gaze back to meet his, but I eventually managed it.

He smiled slightly, a reward for my efforts. “Not me, then. Or you’d know.” His tone was graceful and matter-of-fact. Straightforward in a way Isaac had never been. I didn’t sense that he was playing a game to beat me down.

Wait—the Dom was talking to me like an equal now, his stance relaxing. This was strange, but the relief was impossible to hide.

I let a breath out, my face creasing in apology. “I’m sorry…?” I trailed off, waiting for a name.

The man paused as if deciding whether I was entitled to the information, and I was almost ashamed to admit it made me prickle with pleasure. Maybe I didn’t deserve to know anyone here.

“Seb,” the man finally told me, his voice piercing through the beat as it whined, whirred, and turned into another heavy techno beat. “You are?”

I cleared my throat and held out my hand to shake. “Slate.”

With an ironic twist to his lips, Seb raised it and brushed his lips to the back of my hand, warm and friendly. I laughed awkwardly and took my hand back, folding it tightly under my other arm as I clutched my drink for dear life.

“As disappointed as I am for my own prospects, I’m glad you joined us tonight,” Seb told me like I wasn’t crawling up the wall with anxiety. “Don’t apologize for who you want or don’t want, Slate. Got your eye on anyone?”

I shook my head. “I only just got here.”

“Watch out.” Seb winked. “Fresh meat brings the sharks. The DMs here are friendly. Holler if you need anything.”

I blinked twice at him, surprised that he was offering help. Thank God I knew who DMs were—dungeon monitors—thanks to my Google searches.

My knowledge of the ecstasy of submission started and ended in the bedroom. I was a fortysomething sub who didn’t know how to turn down a Dom like Seb, who’d never been on the scene before, but had been whipped to tears and broken into tiny, fucked-up pieces night after night.

What did that make me? A fraud? It sure felt like it.

“Th-Thanks?”

Seb chuckled. This time he did touch my cheek lightly. The warmth startled me, and I caught my breath. “Look up, boy,” he advised me. “There you are. Let them see those pretty blues.”

I blushed, quivering and transfixed where I stood.

“And take a walk around,” Seb advised me with another wolfish grin. “You might figure out what you want.” Then he turned and melted into the growing crowd of grinding, gyrating, writhing men.

Writhing? My eye drawn to the crowd, I made out the outline of a slender young thing wrapped in an older man’s arms, his back pressed against the larger man’s chest. His eyes were closed and his lips parted, the light clearly silhouetting the spiked collar he wore, and the leash attached to that collar, and the tight