Exposed Exposed (Dom Nation #1) - E. Davies Page 0,4
or scream at him. Maybe all of the above. Or… Or…
No! No. I cursed myself out and forced a sneer to my lips. I would never be that desperate again.
“Take it as a compliment,” Isaac murmured. “You should be glad for the attention.”
And in two sentences, he undid me. I was right back to the man I’d once been, desperate enough to beg at his feet for a scrap of attention like a bone. But older now, even less attractive.
Past my prime. That was what Isaac had told me the day we broke up.
Tears flooded my eyes, and shame closed my throat before I could curse him out. I stepped backward and shook my head, clenching my jaw so tightly my teeth hurt.
“That’s right,” Isaac said, a cruel smile playing over his lips. “Go home, little boy. You’re out of your league here.”
I had to leave.
Not because he told me to. Not because of his command—deep and so familiar to obey. But because I was just going to make a fool of myself one way or another, and we both knew it.
I could at least give myself the dignity of a smooth exit. Shame burning through every cell in my body, I turned silently and walked toward the door of the playroom.
I wished to God I could forget the sound of his cruel laugh. I knew it by heart, of course. The rasp to it, the very cadence that played through my fucked-up fantasies, it all came back to me as easy as that.
And that, more than anything else could, made me hate myself.
The man who had broken me and tossed me aside like trash could still issue one order and see me carry it out, and his satisfaction would bring me a dark and terrible, self-destructive pleasure.
I barely remembered yanking open my locker, shoving my way past the doorman, turning away from the entrance to the club…
And then fluorescent light made me freeze in my tracks, spilling from a bright pink storefront. It seemed oddly like a portal to another world, surreal and stark in the middle of the empty late-night street.
The banner over the shop read Daddy Cakes. Across the windows were painted cupcakes… and handcuffs, and other BDSM gear like I’d seen in play just minutes ago.
I wanted to laugh, or cry, or maybe both, but my steps took me closer.
The slogan was written on the door, bold and black.
Pig out or chill out—all welcome.
Drawn toward the light like a lost moth, I pushed open the door and walked in. My gaze roved across the space with its cream walls, plushy red chairs, and gold chandeliers. It would have looked at home in the pages of any magazine, except for the whips, chains, and terrifying small metal torture devices artfully arranged on the walls.
A glass display case showed off six varieties of cupcakes, and little tables and chairs were crammed in. Behind the register on the wall was a huge blackboard with the menu. A staircase led around the corner and upstairs with a bathroom sign and an arrow pointing up there.
But my eye was drawn to the corner right under the stairs, which was sectioned off with fairy light–draped railings. A little sign hung on the landing above. Care Corner, it read.
My throat was suddenly tight.
Aftercare. That great myth I’d read about online, daydreamed about, but never earned from Isaac in our two years of off-and-on dating.
Well, not dating. Let’s be honest. Fucking. That was all I was to him: an object, a play toy, and not in a way that made me feel sexy.
“Can I help you?” The masculine voice shivered down my spine like a dripping of warm honey and leather, silky smooth.
And this time when I turned to look, the spark plugs flashed in my body all at once.
Yes.
The blond man behind the counter, wearing a leather apron and crisp white shirt, looked about twenty-four but oozed a kind of self-assurance in this space that told me he was the owner, not some random employee.
And he was gorgeous. Razor-sharp cheekbones, stubble I ached to feel against my inner thighs, green eyes that rooted my feet to the ground, and a straight, soft nose. His cheeks glowed with confidence I wished desperately I could buy like one of his perfect little cupcakes.
Oh, no. I’m a mess, and I’m going to make the worst first impression in front of the hottest guy of the night.