Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
“Pleased to meet you,” I say. “Keeping that guy in line?”
“Nope,” she says with a grin. “Runs wild most of the time until I feed him.”
He gives her a playful ass smack. She laughs, then turns to him, and on her tiptoes kisses his cheek. I look away. I didn’t realize how much I miss Philippa. I hope the dom she’s with now treats her right, knows how to take care of her and nurture her. She needs a daddy.
Then I shake my head. That’s in the past, and I don’t need to focus on that now. Her needs are no longer my concern.
“Later,” I say, curter than I mean to, as I turn and enter Verge. The main lobby area is right across from club owner Tobias’s office, where members agree to terms before entering. Only club members are allowed beyond these doors unless they’re with a guest. I steel myself. Beyond those doors are my friends. People who understand me. And women who want to be dominated.
I need that.
I push past the entrance and enter the club area. To the left lies the bar and to the right, an area that almost looks like a normal club: pool tables, circular tables, comfortable chairs. It would look like a normal club, if the life-stylers here were dressed in civilian clothing. Some are, but the abundance of leather and studs makes for a unique setting.
“Hey, Geoff.” Travis, the bartender, jerks up his chin in greeting while pulling a round of beers. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Get you the regular?” He’s the youngest dom here, in his early twenties, his signature southern drawl setting him apart from the rest of the New Yorkers. He’s a Texas native and moved here for college. Now that he’s graduated, he’s here more often, and the reminder of how young he is reignites the guilt I have for getting hard over my student.
“Travis.” I nod, taking the cold, frothy beer from his outstretched hand. It’s hard to be back here, but the recognition from my friends and familiarity are setting me at ease. “Good to be back, man. All good?”
“Hell, yeah,” he says. “All good. Broke up with my girlfriend but she was moving west for grad school anyway.” He shrugs. “I definitely like to do more than pull drinks here.” He gives me a wink. So his last girl wasn’t into the club scene.
We shoot the breeze for a while, and I take a cursory look around the place. I don’t like to linger too long. There are many here just for a hook-up, many looking to play, but I’m not sure what I want tonight. Now that I’m here, just sitting with a beer and talking to my friends seems to fill a need I didn’t even know I had.
My phone buzzes, an email notification lighting up my screen. I frown. I forgot I even had the damn thing set up to show me email. I only did that temporarily over the summer when I was waiting for my course selections. I’ve been an associate professor for three years and was hoping to land the creative writing class for a while. Now that I’ve got it, I need to shut off this feature on my phone.
Out of curiosity, I pull down the screen notification. My pulse spikes when I see the name.
Giada Romano
My skin’s all prickly like a fucking teenager’s. Christ, I need to get this under control.
She’s a student, douchebag, I chide myself. I swallow hard, pretending to be all cool and chill, and tap the notification that opens up her email.
As requested:
Assignment: Write a one-page, personal entry on the influence of literature on your imagination.
Literature has fueled my imagination from a very young age. My earliest memory is of sitting on my daddy’s knee when I was a little girl, while he read me a bedtime story. He passed on his love of great literature, and I have fond memories of the imaginative worlds we shared: from Narnia and Middle Earth to the prairie of early America and later, battles that forged our nation. He never shielded me from the heartache in the pages of those books but used them as a tool to teach me about life, history, hopes, and dreams.
It wasn’t until my teen years that I discovered my love of romance. What began by dipping my toes into the historical greats affectionately termed ‘bodice rippers’ took on a different tone when I was a senior in high school. I discovered the world of erotic romance. I’d always been taught that literature was a gateway for the imagination so I never dreamed that some people would frown on the romance genre as lower quality literature. After all, with a history of such utter trash like Wuthering Heights and The Old Man and the Sea being named classics, what’s wrong with Fifty Shades of Grey?