Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 141810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 709(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 709(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Sean took the card. All black. He turned it over. Smack in the middle, in small metallic letters, the html address to a website. He looked back at Max. “And if I’m still cool with everything?”
Max shrugged indifferently. “Shoot me an email. I’ll get back to you when I can.”
His emerald gaze cooled right before Sean’s eyes, taking its happy gleam with it. He raked Sean’s body with one last look, then turned around, and that was it. Without another word, he was headed for the door, as if no longer interested in Sean’s presence. Or lingering with him for even another second.
Sean frowned as he followed him out of the room. Damn. Just like that, Max was back to stoic. Back to serious and reserved. And yet, mere minutes ago, he’d been completely different. Playful. Willing. Open. Seductive. But most importantly, he’d been smiling.
Sean hated to see that go. Loved that side of Max also. But he didn’t know how to get it back. He stopped by the studio on the way out for his stuff. Max just kept going to the foyer.
Sean met him at the door. Gave the guy a smile. “Thanks for the tour.”
Max nodded. “Yup.”
“I’ll email you soon about that photo shoot.”
Max frowned, not looking psyched about that at all.
Sean laughed. Couldn’t help it. Max’s face was too funny. “Lighten up, Sunshine. I promise to be gentle.”
Max’s stubborn lips twitched. “Goodnight, Sean.”
“Goodnight.”
And for the most part, it had been. Max had finished the sculpture. Sean had asked for that tour. Then managed to get a demonstration, too. In fact, not only was he still vibrating from that “taste,” but jonesing already for another.
God, his dick was still so fucking hard.
Climbing into his convertible, he pulled out a smoke, fired the thing up, and took a drag. Crazy shit, back there. Down in Max’s dungeon. Crazier still that he actually liked it. Or at least, he thought he did. Was ninety percent sure. But who knew what he’d find on that website.
He pulled out Max’s business card, studied it as he smoked. Not that there was much to really look at. Just one little line of numbers and letters. A trace of shiny silver surrounded by black. A pretty fitting representation of its owner, actually.
Sean sighed up to the starry sky. “Max.”
FOURTEEN
Max stalked into Dom District needing a drink bad. Or maybe it was a hard fuck he needed. His skin felt tight. His dick was still raging. And he couldn’t get that damn kid off his brain.
Fucking Sean.
Max marched past a slew of huge, leather-strewn bouncers. They let him by without a second glance. Because not only was he a regular patron of the place, but he also worked occasional Dom gigs there on the side. This was his crowd. His people. Where he fit in. His extended family outside of home. And where he’d been going for a good ten years. He’d met Chaz there, and the others. And they’d brought him into the fold, showing him it was a place he’d always belong.
He scaled the handful of wide, concrete steps leading to the bar’s main floor. Although, it wasn’t exactly a bar per se. Just happened to have a bar inside it. Or six. Situated in the belly of Georgetown’s seedier hot spots, the place was a massive, renovated warehouse. Faced entirely in dark brick, with tons of rod iron embellishments, it literally was like its own private district. Two expansive levels catering to everything BDSM. Bars, classes, shops and rentals, even a pretty swank dance club. And of course, District Dungeon, which always was and always would be one of the mammoth infrastructure’s biggest draws.
Taking up the entire back third of the building, one needed to be a member to get in. Hell, despite it being packed from open to close, a huge part of The District’s patrons didn’t even know it existed. One had to be a regular for at least six months, with a shiny District record, and a legitimate reason for entrance. In other words, they needed to be either a Dom or sub, a Master or slave, or one in training. Then and only then would they receive a private invite.
Max cut a left and headed for The Den. It was his favorite of the bars. It had a great selection. And not just of liquor and beer. It also had edibles, and not the caloric kind. Protein, however, well that was a different story. Although, he was never the receiver of that nutrient. Only the happy provider.
He slid into his usual booth, tucked back in a low-lit corner, and glared at the empty seat across from him. But he wasn’t really looking at a black leather bench. He was grudgingly envisioning Sean’s face. Which was why he’d gone there to begin with. To get his mind on other things while taking off the edge. Because edgy he was. Bigger than shit. And hornier than fucking hell.