Exposed to You (19 page)

I couldn’t help but smile, my frustration leaving me.
“You don’t look too bad yourself.”

The moment was ruined, however, when he said, “That dude
wanted to put his hand between your legs.”

“He did not!” I glared at him, flushing.

Dallon smirked. “I don’t blame him. You don’t want to
know what’s going through my mind right now.”

He was right; I didn’t. I ignored him and looked up at
the TV. There was some sort of survivor type show on and a lady was sitting in
a container full of worms. I shuddered and looked away.

 I rode the bike for 30 minutes and then told Dallon I
was done. He tried to coax me onto the treadmill and when I refused, seemed
disappointed but relented.

“It’s your day. I’ll meet you in the lobby after your
shower,” he said before flipping his towel over his shoulder and leaning down
to give me a quick kiss.

Back in the dressing room, I put my robe on over my
workout gear and made my way to the showers. As I grabbed a towel off the
shelf, a tall woman with long, brown hair passed me with a friendly smile. My
heart leapt into my throat. For some reason, she reminded me of the woman I’d
seen in the first photograph, the one with her arms bound behind her back. I
spun around, but she continued walking away, her long hair swaying across her
back.

I entered the nearest shower cubicle and closed the
frosted glass door before collapsing onto the bench, my head in my hands. Of
course she hadn’t been the same woman, I knew that—but the memories of the
pictures came tumbling back. I couldn’t ignore them any longer. What was I
thinking, spending the day with a man that enjoyed tying women up and taking
pictures of them?

Shaking, I stood and turned on the shower before pulling
off my sweaty clothes. I hadn’t allowed myself to truly process what I’d
learned the night before; my feelings for Dallon had gotten in the way the
moment he’d kissed me.

There were two things I knew for certain. The first was
that Dallon was completely messed up. The second was that I was falling for
him.

In the shower, I pressed my forehead against the cool
tiles as the warm water hit my back. It was too hot, but I didn’t move; I let
it continue to pelt me, as if enduring the heat could somehow atone for what I’d
done last night.

I’d slept with him. I’d discovered the skeletons in his
closet, and instead of running for the hills like any normal young woman would
do, I’d let him seduce me. I’d also had the only orgasm I’d ever had during
sex.

Again, what did that say about me?

That you’re messed up, too
, came the reply.

Dallon had told me—shown me—what he wanted from me last
night, and I knew that like usual, he was going to get what he wanted. Not only
was I at risk for becoming homeless and heartbroken, my self-esteem could be
left in tatters from pleasing him by letting him tie me up or whatever else it
was he wanted to do with me.

Unable to stand the heat any longer, I turned the dial
to warm and pumped shampoo into my hand, lathering it into my hair roughly.
Dallon was a good lover, and he knew it. He used sex as a weapon. Even if he
hadn’t carried out his plan, he’d still managed to sleep with me and make me
forget everything I’d learned about him.

By the time I got out of the shower and had toweled off
and pulled on my robe, I was in a dark mood. I stood at the makeup counter
closest to my locker and blow dried my hair, scowling at my reflection. I
looked tiny in the large robe, young. And I
was
young; too young to be
dealing with someone like Dallon King. My eyes looked too large in my face as
if spending the last few days with him had lost me a dress size.

Dallon was waiting for me in the lobby when I came out.
He stood up when he saw me, a large smile on his face. My stomach did
somersaults.

He frowned slightly as I walked toward him. “Everything
okay?”

“Yep.” I continued past him toward the door and he
leaned forward, pushed it open for me.

“Thanks,” I muttered, frustrated that he was still
playing the chivalrous gentleman.

In the car, he watched as I buckled my seatbelt, a frown
on his lips. He didn’t ask what was wrong; instead, he put the car into gear
and asked, “Where would you like to go for lunch?”

“I don’t care,” I said sulkily. I knew I was acting
childish, but his refusal to acknowledge I was annoyed was making me more
annoyed.

“I know a great seafood place,” he said cheerily,
pulling swiftly out of the parking spot as “The Funeral” by Band of Horses
began to play. It felt very apt, like I was waiting for the death of us before
we even began.

“I’ve been thinking about what happened last night.”

“I thought as much. It was only a matter of time.”

It was interesting to be on the other side of things:
the interviewer rather than the interviewee. Across the table, Dallon looked
wary, his lips resting against steepled fingers. It was almost as if he was
praying I would say what he wanted to hear.

“I don’t have as much experience as you,” I began, “but
I do know a few things from what I’ve heard.” I took a deep breath before
continuing. “Are you a sadist?”

He sat back, looking wounded. “Do you know the
definition of a sadist?”

“Someone that likes to hurt other people.”

“No, Amy, I am not a sadist. A sadist is someone whose
sexual gratification depends on causing pain to others. I do not see myself as
cruel.”

I bit my lip. “So you’re not into whipping people or any
of that S&M stuff?”

“You’re thinking of people wearing leather and whipping
each other.” He waited for me to nod before continuing. “No, I am not into
that. I am not into mainstream sex for the most part, but I am not into pain.”

“But you spanked me.”

He sighed. “I would say I’m into exploring the line
between pleasure and pain, but not at the level you think.”

I frowned. That sounded a lot like a complicated way of
saying he was into pain.

“Can I take your order?” The server asked, a young man
that looked barely out of puberty. He seemed so normal, standing there holding
his notepad and smiling at me expectantly, that I wanted to hug him.

I hadn’t had a chance to look at the menu, but Dallon
stepped in, ordering for both of us. “We’ll start with the clam chowder and
then the lobster tails.”

“They have amazing chowder here,” he then said to me.

I pursed my lips as the server walked away. We had more
important issues.

Dallon made a gesture to smooth his non-existent tie, a
habit from days of wearing suits, and cleared his throat. “Though you have some
sexual experience, Amy, I can say with certainty that you are still very
innocent.”

Okay, so he was annoyed I’d accused him of being a
sadist. I sat back and crossed my arms. “Then enlighten me.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Right now. In a restaurant
full of people.”

I nodded, arms still crossed.

“Oh, Amy—a lesson like this can only truly be learned in
the privacy of one’s own home. It requires a
demonstration
.”

I glared at him. “You don’t need to demonstrate
anything. I saw the pictures.”

Dallon’s eyes flicked to my full glass of wine. “You’re
getting braver.”

I ignored him. “You claim you don’t enjoy inflicting
pain, yet you enjoyed spanking me.”

He smirked. “In that case, I enjoyed proving to you that
I was right. The opposite could be said about you: that you’re a masochist
because you enjoyed a spanking. I don’t believe that.”

“I guess that’s true,” I relented.

“For the most part, I enjoy delivering a spanking when
it feels like it is deserved. It serves a purpose in that it gives me a feeling
of power. It is not intended to be cruel.”

“Okay, so you’re not into whipping people,” I said to
clarify.

“No. As I said, I’m not into pain. Spanking is as far as
I’ll go.”

I took a sip of my wine while I considered this. “And
what about tying up those women?”

Dallon sighed again. “I dislike labels, but if you must
label me as something, I suppose you could call me a Dominant. As you know, I
enjoy being in control. Bondage is a means of helping me achieve it.”

“Because the girl can’t do anything to stop you,” I
said, trying to make him uncomfortable.

He studied me for a moment. “I think you’re trying to
convince yourself that I’m a bad guy, Miss Clair. And here I thought we’d come
so far.”

“Two chowders,” the server announced, interrupting our
stare down. He placed the steaming bowls in front of us before asking if we
wanted any ground pepper. Dallon allowed me to decline before accepting. When
the server had left us alone again, I tried a spoonful of soup. It was
delicious.

“See?” Dallon smiled. “You should trust me.
Relationships are built on trust.”

I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I’d stated
eating. I supposed I’d worked up an appetite at the gym. I continued to eat my
soup, aware of Dallon’s eyes on me. I glanced up and our eyes met, and I saw
him focus on my lips as I slowly pulled the spoon from my mouth.

“I could watch you eat and feel fully satiated,” he said
softly, his own soup untouched.

I flushed, embarrassed by both his words and his
meaning. Memories of the night before flashed through my mind.

“While we’re on this subject, though, have you ever
considered that the women I photographed actually enjoyed themselves?”

I almost snorted. “I doubt that.”

He picked up his glass of wine, rotating it slowly while
he studied me. “Do you still deny that you enjoyed being spanked?”

I paused with my spoon halfway to my mouth.

“Well?”

“No,” I said, placing my full spoon back into my soup.
“But I think that some of them might have self-esteem issues.”

Dallon groaned. “See this is what I hate: people being
afraid to admit what they like because it means there must be something wrong
with them.”

“I meant some of them could have pretended for your
benefit.”

Dallon cocked his head to the side. “I don’t think I’m
worth that.”

“You might be,” I said to my soup.

He leaned forward and touched my arm. “And you’re worth
more than that. Amy, tell me what you’re thinking. Enough dancing around it;
you know what you want to know.”

I took a deep breath, held it. What I really wanted to
know was why he was the way he was. I could only imagine what my feministic
mother would say about him. Misogynist would be on the list.

“I want you to explain what exactly it is that you want.
You said you know what you want with me and you’re afraid I’ll run. Why? You
said you want me to submit to you. How? You said I’m different than the other
women, yet you want the same things from me.”

Dallon made a low whistle. “Okay, there are a few things
to touch on there, but I’ll start with the last one. I want something very
different from you. I was involved with those women for short periods of time.
We didn’t have time to develop any kind of relationship. As I told you, it was
unfulfilling. As for submitting to me, I do not receive sexual gratification
from a woman’s pain, but when she surrenders control to me. In turn, I aim to
satisfy all her desires.”

We sat in silence for a few moments, eating our soup.
When he was finished, he carefully placed his spoon on the plate under his bowl
and placed his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers again.

“The benefit of an arrangement like this for someone
like me is that it fulfills my greatest need: the control I so desperately
crave. The benefit for you would be the relief you’ll feel when you give
yourself to me. Do you remember how it felt to be a child and know that you are
protected and safe?”

I nodded.

“In the same way, you would trust me to make decisions
and would no longer have to worry. That’s why people enjoy the flip role—it’s a
huge weight off their shoulders.”

That did sound tempting, especially since it felt like
all I’d been doing since graduation was worry.

He pushed my glass of wine toward me with long fingers.

“Trying to get me drunk again?” I was only half-teasing.
I took a sip.

He sighed. “You tend to over- analyze everything, Amy.
Life isn’t something you can categorize and easily fit into a box. Like I said,
I dislike labels immensely, and your sexual desires can’t be explained. They
are what they are.”

“And you think that you know mine.”

“I
know
that I know yours. I’ve known since the
day we met.”

I took another sip of my wine and closed my eyes. I was
suddenly tired—tired of trying to deny my feelings for him and the way he made
me feel. He was right. We’d both known it since the photo session. It was what
drew us to each other.