27. Waverly
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
WAVERLY
I don’t know if I should be weirded out by the fact Emmett has never scened with anyone before.
Why pay the ridiculous membership for the Scarlet Lounge and then never actually use it?
But as strange as it is to me, it also brings a certain amount of comfort. Perhaps if he hasn’t experienced any of this either, he won’t know I’m not good.
The idea of being choked by the man sitting across from me practically turns me into a puddle, my core aching with desire as he watches my every move.
His eyes darken as he watches my reaction to his question, and it takes everything I have not to launch myself across the table at him.
It’s never been like this before.
It’s been desperate and disappointing, and nothing like I’ve read about. But I have a feeling that ends tonight. I have a feeling this man is going to ruin me for everyone that comes after him.
“You know I like to watch?” he asks.
I nod. “Yes.”
“How do you feel about being watched?”
I consider the question. The other night when I came all over my fingers in the middle of the club at his instruction was one of the hottest moments of my life. Actually, scratch that. It was, without a doubt, absolutely the most earth-shattering experience. But could I replicate it in front of more than just him? Could I allow him to play with my body, hand over all my power, and accept that there are others watching the private moment? I’m not so sure.
Sensing my indecision, he nods. “We can come back to that. It doesn’t have to be tonight.”
“You’d want to do this more than once?” The words slip from between my lips without permission, earning me a cocky smirk.
“Waverly, if I thought you’d agree to it, I’d ask for every night for the rest of time. But I don’t think you’re there yet.”
If anyone else said that to me, I’d think they were joking. Because what an insane thing to say to someone you’ve just met. Except there’s not a hint of insincerity on Emmett’s face.
He doesn’t wait for me to find a response to his confession before he continues asking me questions. How do I feel about anal? Am I okay with him taking control? If my mouth is busy, how do I want to convey my need to stop?
Every question he asks leaves my cheeks a shade pinker than they were a moment ago, but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care because he doesn’t pause for even a second.
I take a long drink of the cocktail Abigail delivers for me, and I groan as the alcohol slips down my throat. A little liquid courage never hurt anyone, and right now, that’s exactly what I need. Courage.
The only thing I’ve ever been brave enough to do is run from my father’s home. Everything else has been survival. The choice between living and dying. Between being free and being someone’s prisoner for the rest of my life.
“Are you okay with handing me the control for tonight? You’ll always have your safe word, but will you allow me to dominate you?”
I’m nodding before he can finish the question, desperate to hand the decisions to someone else, even if it’s just for one night.
I’m tired of always being in control. I’m tired of having to make every choice. I’m just tired, and I crave what he’s offering more than I’ve ever allowed myself to admit.
He chuckles. “Good girl.”
Without missing a beat, he downs what’s left in his glass and slips out from the booth he’s occupied since he kissed me earlier. “Shall we?”
My breath stutters in my chest, but I finish what’s left of my martini and follow his head, taking his hand without hesitation.
I try to think of the last time I allowed someone else to lead me anywhere, but I come up empty. I’ve always done things like this under my own set of rules. But tonight, I’m throwing it all out the window.
Even if it’s just for the night, I want to know what it’s like to hand over control.
I just hope I don’t come to crave it.