Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 93751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
He took a breath, determined to get past his ingrained habit of saying the bare minimum when it came to his feelings. This mattered too much. Hannah mattered too much.
“Here’s what I figured out, and what I need to tell you. What you do with it will be up to you. But I owe it to you—to myself—to be completely honest, no matter the outcome.”
His heart was now pounding so hard he thought it might thump right out of his chest. “I don’t want a 24/7 slave girl. I want you. I want you in my life. I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.” He swallowed hard and plunged on, “I’m falling in love with you, Hannah. Not some idealized version of you as a perfect slave girl. You—just as you are.”
There. He’d done it. He’d laid his soul out there for her. He had nothing left to offer.
“Oh, Mason,” Hannah breathed, her hands fluttering to her chest. “I don’t know what to say. This is all so new for me, too. But I think…” she trailed off.
Mason forced himself to be still, when all he wanted to do was rush to her and take her in his arms. Instead, he prompted softly, “You think…?”
“I think I might be falling in love, too. With you,” she whispered.
Now he did rise, moving around the table to her. He held out his hand and she took it, allowing him to pull her upright. Heart singing, he pulled her close, gathering her tightly against his chest.
She melted against him with a sigh. If he could just stand there forever with her enfolded in his arms, it would be enough.
Then she lifted her face, eyes closing as her lips parted in a clear invitation for a kiss.
Maybe life did imitate art sometimes, after all.
Chapter 31
They kissed for a long time, just standing there in her kitchen, arms wrapped around each other. When they finally pulled apart, Hannah was breathless. A kind of startled joy bubbled through her like fizzy water.
At the same time, her mind was reeling with the implications of what they’d just admitted to one another—to themselves. Was she ready to love again? Did he really mean what he said? Could she ever be enough for him? Was he right for her? Could they still explore their D/s relationship without running into the same brick walls they had before? Were they moving too fast, too soon?
It was all too much to think about.
“Let me put away the éclairs,” she said, reaching for something concrete to do while she gathered her thoughts. However confused she might be, the sexual electricity still crackling in the air from that amazing kiss had left her both aroused and as nervous as a teenager on her first date. “Unless you want another one?”
“No, thanks,” he said, patting his gut. His usual grumpy expression—what she thought of as his chef face—was nowhere in evidence. He was smiling broadly, grinning ear to ear. “Two’s my limit. Especially if we want to grab a bite later. I was thinking I could take you over to Uptown Café for a meal.”
Mason owned Uptown Café and, until he’d retired to The Enclave two years before, he’d also been the head chef. The place was super trendy and wildly popular, reservations required weeks in advance.
“Oh,” Hannah exclaimed. “I’ve never been.” She grinned. “Think we can get a reservation? I hear it’s basically impossible.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Mason deadpanned. “I know a guy.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s five thirty. How about we make it for eight? We should have digested those éclairs by then.”
“Sounds good,” Hannah agreed, excited to try the food at Uptown Café, and also glad they had a concrete plan that precluded falling into bed together, something she was most definitely not yet ready to do. “I’ve got a nice Sauvignon Blanc chilling in the fridge. Care for a predinner glass?
“Sure,” Mason agreed with a smile. The palpable tension that had pulled him as taut as a rubber band since he’d arrived on her doorstep had vanished, making her realize he’d been as nervous as she had, maybe even more so.
They sat side-by-side on the sofa. Mason poured the wine and handed her a glass. “To new adventures,” he said, clinking her glass with his. She curled into a corner of the sofa and turned to face him. How strange it felt to have another man in her home, a man who had just professed his love for her.
“Tell me about your childhood,” she said, feeling the need to lower the erotic temperature in the room, which had soared during that kiss. “How many siblings? Did you always know you wanted to be a chef? Are your parents still alive? Does your family know about your BDSM lifestyle?”