"I'm not just bored," Julia said, popping a peanut into her mouth, "but out of my skull, mind-numbingly, someone-please-save-me bored." She dropped the empty shell onto the pub floor, then rubbed her hands together to clean off the salt.
"I think you should spank me."
Trevor Kendall's hand froze, the pint of beer mid-way to his lips. Without taking a drink, he lowered the glass back onto the table. "I beg your pardon?"
"I've heard rumours."
The incredibly hot, sexy man sitting across from her raised a brow, but when he said nothing, she propped her elbows on the table, and linked her hands together. Very deliberately, and fortified by more than a few sips from her margarita, she leaned forward, placed her chin on top of her hands and went on, "I've heard rumours that you like a little...variety in your sex life."
"Let me get this straight..."
His blue eyes darkened, as if there were a storm brewing somewhere inside. She shivered in excitement.
"You've heard that I like variety, and you're bored, so I should spank you?"
Despite the noise in the London hotel's pub, she heard him perfectly. His voice was rich and deep, commanding. She gave a little shiver. She so wanted to hear him command her, telling her to strip, telling her to stand, how to spread her legs... God, it was getting hot in here. "Yes," she said. "You should spank me. And then fuck me."
"You must be bored," he agreed.
Frustratingly, she couldn't get a sense of whether or not he was going to take her up to his room.
"We've been at this trade show for a week," she said, "smiling at potential customers, being on our best behaviour, trying to pretend our feet don't hurt like mad. Behaving. Well, I've had enough. I want to be bad." She cracked another shell and poured the nut towards her mouth, catching it with her tongue.
"Do you have any idea what you're asking for?" He picked up his pint again. This time he took a long draught from it.
She'd bet big money, big money, that he would be divine at eating her pussy. "I've been fantasising about you for two years, Trevor," she confessed. "Two years. Do you know how long that is in dog years?"
"It could be another six months, maybe a year before I see you again." And that was the truth. They worked for different companies, on different continents. New York was a universe away. But they had the trade shows in common. "Rumour has it you're staying on for a few days of relaxation."
"And I put in for some holiday time. Hoping."
"Hoping?" he prompted.
Good God, was she really this bold? "Hoping we could hook up." It was an American statement, but she trusted the meaning would translate just fine.
They'd known each other, though not intimately, for more than five years. That happened at trade shows. Inevitably, there were quiet times, and vendors wandered between one another's booths. Sometimes you stopped to make polite conversation and sometimes just to pinch a piece of chocolate from a glass bowl. Then, often, you had cocktails with other vendors each night after the show ended.
Tonight was the first night she and Trevor had actually had been alone for drinks. Usually there was a crowd, but, if there'd been more than just the two of them, she'd never have asked him to fuck her.
"What do you know about BDSM?"
"That it should be safe, sane, and consensual," she quipped.
He took another drink. "How much experience do you have?"
"I've been spanked. I've been tied up. And I'm hoping to find someone who will take me farther, teach me more."
"Give me your hand."
She froze on her way to reach for the metal bucket that was filled with peanuts. A bit puzzled, she followed his order. How could she not, when she wanted to hear his voice roughened with sex and command? END EXCERPT