N is for... (Checklist Book 14) by L DuBois (latest novels to read TXT) 📗

were plumped like an offering because she’d crossed her arms below them.

They both took a minute to stare at her moonlit cleavage.

“At least my nipples are covered,” she pointed out.

“Yes, good thing, because looking at your cold, tight nipples would be…” There wasn’t very much acting involved in letting his voice trail off into a groan.

She grinned at him, and something inside him relaxed. She wasn’t upset anymore. They could talk to one another. That meant he would understand her, and what had gone wrong.

She turned and sat on his shirt, leaning her back against the wall. He dropped down beside her, shivering at the touch of the cold plaster against his back. Stretching his legs out, his glossy shoes an odd contrast to her dusty toes, he settled in to wait.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t awkward, at least for him. He was happy to wait. He wasn’t sure he would have been this patient with another partner. Something about her was different. Maybe it was because of the game, because the decision to play together had been made for them.

It had been natural and effortless, slipping from conversation to scene. She’d effectively run from him, but it didn’t feel like manipulation.

She hadn’t used her safe word.

For some that would be evidence that she wasn’t really upset, but instead being deliberately bratty or trying to manipulate the scene.

He knew, with a certainty that had no basis in fact or evidence, that there was another explanation.

They sat there long enough that the goosebumps on his arms were starting to feel permanent when she finally sighed, drawing her knees up, hands curled around her shins.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have no reason to be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong,” he assured her. And he meant it. He was in control of the scene, and that meant anything that happened was his responsibility.

“You’re only saying that because I haven’t confessed.”

“Confession is good for the soul.” He couldn’t stop the disdain that tainted his words, but hoped she could tell it was for the phrase, not her.

“And spankings are good for people’s emotional health.” She turned to look at him. “That wasn’t sarcasm, by the way. Getting spanked until I cry always makes me feel better.”

A cold, dark realization gripped him, and Daniel bent one knee under so he could twist and face her. “Autumn, if having a belt used brought up past trauma—”

“No, no. It wasn’t that.”

The sick feeling in his stomach subsided. He sometimes forgot that for normal people, having a parent use a belt for punishment was severe. That hadn’t been his experience. A belt would have been a relief.

He let his head drop. “Thank the universe. I looked over your list and thought belts were okay, but if I overlooked something…”

“No, in this scenario I’m not the victim. I’m the asshole.”

Daniel had no idea what to say to that, so he stayed silent.

She tipped her head back, looking up at the stars. “I probably seem nuts, don’t I?”

“No. You seem, you are, lovely and quick-witted.”

“Our witty banter is part of the problem,” she murmured.

He prided himself on being able to understand people, particularly submissives. A solid understanding of who a sub was and what they needed—sometimes that understanding even eclipsing what they were willing to acknowledge of their own needs—allowed him to truly and fully take control in the power exchange. Right now…he was lost.

“Autumn, I hate to say this…but I have no fucking clue what you’re thinking or feeling. What you need.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll tell you what I do know, instead.” He tapped his hand against his knee, gathering his thoughts. “You didn’t run in order to manipulate me or the scene. You aren’t a brat.” He stopped to consider. “I don’t think you tried to initiate a primal play chase either.”

She nodded.

“Those are the things that aren’t happening. But what is happening... I’d love for you to tell me, when you’re ready.”

“Can I ask an odd question, first?”

“Of course.”

She looked pale in the moonlight, almost ethereal, though the aesthetic was spoiled by the too-large suit jacket. “I want to ask you what you think would have happened if we’d met at a bar.”

The question caught him completely off guard. He stared into the middle distance, thinking. What would have happened? He would have noticed her, he was sure of that. Would he have asked if he could buy her a drink? He didn’t know. Not that he wouldn’t have wanted to, but his past made it difficult for him to imagine himself in romantic relationships. He’d had them—it had actually been a girlfriend in his grad school years who’d introduced him to D/s, laying the groundwork for what would become his control outlet.

“Would it have been a meet-cute moment?” she went on. “I buy you a drink, you come over to say thank you, maybe make a cute comment about how usually you’re the one to buy the drinks.”

She pressed her lips together, and though he wanted to comment, he stayed quiet, sensing that she needed to get through this without being interrupted.

“But I’m not going to ask that, because that wouldn’t really be fair, would it? Maybe you’re married or seeing someone and coming here is part of your open relationship. If that’s the case, you don’t talk to strange women in bars.”

“I’m not married, or in a romantic relationship,” he said quietly.

“Oh.” She glanced at him, then away. “I guess my point is that in this imaginary situation where we were both out at the bar because we were single and ready to mingle…”

She turned her face, laying her cheek on her knee so she was huddled into a tight ball. Her face was half in shadow, her nose, chin, and lower lip gilded by silvery light.

“…I would have bought you a drink, or let you buy me one. We would have spent the night talking. You have to admit our banter was immediately on-point.”

“No argument here. We have chemistry.”

She winced and though he didn’t know