Page 55 of Dirty Little Secrets
God, he’s almost as cocky as Damon.
“Your blood is far too warm to be a snake, darling,” he says. “But perhaps you’re just as venomous when you want to be.” He pauses. “Does Cavanaugh know that you’re calling me?”
“Maybe,” I say. “Maybe not. Damon’s not my keeper. I don’t need his permission to call you.”
“No?” he hums. “Was that not his ring I saw on your finger the other night?”
I frown, glancing down at my bare hand. I only wore the ring while I was inside the club. How did he see it?
“I find it incredibly unnerving that you were so close to me that you could see my hand and yet I couldn’t see you.”
“It pays to have friends in high places, little Emery,” Quin taunts. “I bet you won’t be able to look at ice the same ever again.”
I sit up. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me, darling,” he coos.
Ice? How would he?—
“Are there cameras in The Playrooms?”
Quin releases a soft laugh. “Darling girl, there are cameras everywhere. Do you think Madame Vee wouldallow New York's most influential men and women to fool around without safety measures?” My jaw drops. “Don’t worry, Emery, those video files are only for the powers that be.” He pauses. “And me, when I request them.”
“If Damon finds out?—”
“He’ll what?” Quin scoffs. “Throw a tantrum? Call me a bastard? Please. My brother’s children are less dramatic than your new little friend.” A pause. “Are you upset, darling? Are you embarrassed that I saw you begging for his cock?”
My cheeks flush, but the sensation burning my skin isn’t embarrassment. It’s arousal.
“Did you like what you saw?” I ask quietly.
“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” he says, tone gritty and deep. He sucks in a labored breath. “Do you know how sexy you look when you’re coming, darling? Those pink little lips of yours turn red. The most gorgeous shade of scarlet.”
My chest rises. “What else did you like?”
Quin clicks his tongue. “You’re a bad girl, little Emery. How do you think Cavanaugh would react hearing you ask me all these naughty questions?”
I swallow, searching for an iota of guilt in my soul, but I can’t find it. “Probably in the same way he would if he found out you were watching us fuck.”
“Interesting,” he hums. “What exactly is your relationship with Damon, darling? I would hate to step on those whiny little toes of his.”
I snort. “I very much doubt that, Quinton. I think,given the opportunity, you’d run his toes over with a tractor.”
He lets out a hearty laugh. “Perhaps, but you didn’t answer my question.”
It’s an absurd question. He wants me to define my relationship. What Damon and I have transcends conventional norms of what a relationship entails. I know the answer Damon would want me to give. He’d want me to say that I am his, and he is mine. He’d want me to say that my body and heart belong to him.
Damon has many needs. Needs I’ve told him I’m not capable of fulfilling properly. He’s aware of my limitations. Of my hesitations. My body is his, that I can admit, but my heart refuses to be captured and caged and consumed by another.
“I wear his ring at the club,” I finally say. “Only at the club.”
“And he agreed to that?” Quin asks. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Yeah?” I ask, perking a brow. “And why’s that?”
“Because,” he says, “Cavanaugh has never been the type of man to turn his back on his beliefs. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s craved control over anything else. I might be a collector of bodies, little Emery, but Damon has always collected hearts. He tends to struggle with compartmentalizing the two.”
“He’s a romantic,” I muse out loud. “I’ve noticed that.”
