Initiation (Master Class, #1) - Sierra Cartwright Page 0,2
the infamous Carpe Diem Divas.
To avoid the question, Jennifer reached for the bottle of Chianti. She refilled the wineglasses of the other women gathered around her kitchen table. They’d started meeting two years ago when they’d all been going through relationship challenges. They’d decided to seize life, no matter what it tossed at them. Over a pitcher of margaritas, the Carpe Diem Divas had been formed. Even though Noelle was now happily married to Joe, she still attended. Jennifer couldn’t blame her. Everyone brought something delicious to eat, and the drinks were always plentiful.
Tonight, they were meeting in her somewhat renovated Highlands bungalow for the first time. To save money, she was doing most of the remodeling herself, which meant some things were almost finished and others were nowhere close, including the dining room walls that were still a shocking shade of canary yellow.
“We’re talking about Logan Powell,” Noelle explained to Eden. “He’s a hunky Dom.” She folded her arms triumphantly. “And he’s interested in Jennifer.”
“What?” Eden demanded, turning to face Jennifer. “Details. Now. All of them.”
Hyperaware that she was the focus of everyone’s attention, she took a sip of wine and stalled. “There’s nothing to tell. Really.”
“Okay,” Eden said, apparently undaunted. “Where did you meet him?”
“At a play party at my house,” Noelle replied.
Jennifer scowled. “Do you mind? What if I wanted it to be a secret?”
“No secrets among friends,” Morgan insisted.
Noelle grinned.
“You went to a party?” Eden prompted. “About time.”
About a year ago, she and a few members of the Carpe Diem Divas had gone to see a movie about BDSM. Of course Jennifer had heard about BDSM, but seeing it played out, larger than life, with one of her favorite actors in the leading role as a Dom, she’d been intrigued. She’d watched, unblinkingly, as the man had removed his shirt and flogged his helpless submissive. She’d imagined herself in the heroine’s role, helpless beneath a man’s sensuous lash.
At a bar afterward, she’d pestered Noelle with dozens of questions. But it had taken Jennifer a number of months to gather the courage to accept an invitation to experience it for herself.
“So,” Eden persisted, “did you play with this Logan guy?”
Jennifer shook her head. “No. With someone else.”
“And what did he do to you?”
“He, um”—she ran her finger over the base of the wineglass—“gave me a few swats.”
“A few swats? Is that all?” Eden demanded.
“What did he use?” Ava asked.
“A paddle,” Jennifer replied.
Noelle sat back, sipping her wine, following the conversation as if it were a tennis match.
“Wait a minute.” Morgan scowled. “You have a thing for floggers.”
Definitely, there were no secrets with this group of friends.
She and Morgan had recently gone shopping for a bachelorette party that Morgan was hosting. They’d ended up at an adult bookstore. And, encouraging each other, they’d slipped through the curtain that hid the shop’s dungeon area. Maybe because of the movie, she hadn’t been able to get the idea of floggers out of her mind. Fortified by the mojito she’d had at dinner, she’d allowed the sales guy to show her the expensive leather pieces. Morgan had encouraged her to buy one. Before the end of the night, she was the owner of a flogger—still unused—that had cost her half a paycheck.
“Back to the story.” Eden leaned forward. “What kind of paddle was it? A wooden one like in the movie?”
“It was leather.”
“How did it feel?” Ava asked.
Jennifer wrinkled her nose.
“You didn’t like it?” Eden demanded.
“It was a bit disappointing. I was dressed, so…” She shrugged. “I didn’t really feel much.”
“That’s why you should call Logan,” Noelle said triumphantly, joining the conversation. “He’d give you a paddling you’ll never forget. Better yet, a flogging.”
Jennifer squirmed and a flush crept up her cheeks.
“You have been thinking about him.” Noelle narrowed her eyes.
All week. Jennifer had remembered the way Logan had held her coat and the way he’d skimmed his strong hands across her shoulders. He’d ignited her nerve endings along with her imagination. But there had been something about him, his implacable tone and the way he’d looked at her. He’d regarded her intently, and his jade-colored eyes had unnerved her. It was as though he’d seen beyond the surface and wanted more. “He’s not my type.” She hoped to convince herself along with her friend.
“Why not?” Noelle demanded.
“He looks…” She paused then settled for, “Too dangerous.” Too masculine. Too broad. Too big. Too handsome. Too focused.
“His scar’s sexy,” Noelle said.
It was.
“Scar?” Eden looked between the two of them. “What kind of