CHAPTER 4

(Edward)

I left Isabella at Muddy Waters, zipping up my coat against the late-autumn chill and walking the few blocks to the nearest subway. I didn't always take public transit, but for outings like this it saved me a few dollars in gas and was definitely cheaper than parking anywhere downtown.

Nine stops later I climbed the rows of concrete stairs out of the underground and headed up the street toward home. I didn't live far from this terminal, in a somewhat quiet neighborhood tucked behind a once-popular, but now flagging, outer-city drag. Cars new and old lined the streets as I passed, houses in every state of renovation, disrepair, and in-between.

Emmett met me not far from our place, his mussed hair and the lazy, satisfied smirk on his face a clear indicator of where he'd just been, and what he'd been doing. "S'up, brother?" he said casually, falling into step beside me. "You eaten yet?"

"No," I told him. "I just came from my meeting with Isabella. Thought I'd make a sandwich and microwave some soup at home."

Emmett's face twisted in disgust, clearly not interested in that option. "Nah, let's go to Petey's. C'mon, my treat."

I considered it briefly—very briefly. A hot plate of fish and chips and beer on tap sure sounded a hell of a lot better than what I'd had planned. "Yeah, all right. You don't have to treat, though, man. Tips were good last weekend, and I saved a buck by riding the line tonight."

"Cool." Emmett grinned and clapped an arm around my back as we walked. He still smelled like sex, and I couldn't help the other hunger that arose in me, especially after meeting Isabella earlier and how she had stirred my imagination into overdrive.

I pushed Emmett away, back to his side of the sidewalk. "Jeez, man, you need a shower. How many times did you and Rosalie go at it tonight? Wait . . . don't answer that. I'd rather not know."

Emmett boomed with laughter and shoved his hands in his pockets, not looking even slightly abashed. "Jealous?"

I rolled my eyes and gave him a scathing glare. "Hardly."

Emmett smirked and shrugged. "What can I say? The girl likes my rod . . . in every which way, several times a day." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively while I ignored his ridiculous Dr. Seussian rhyme. "How long's it been since you stuck your dick in something, anyway? You and Leah called it off ages ago."

I stifled a sigh. "It's been two months. Not exactly 'ages.' Long enough, though." I didn't tell him how my palm itched to hold a flogger, to drag the leather tails up soft, smooth flesh, watching it go from pink to red to purple with each additional strike. Isabella's milky-white skin rose in my memory; I bet her ass darkened beautifully, and with hardly any effort.

"Two months?!" Emmett said, clearly horrified by the thought. "Jeez, man. You couldn't have found a one-nighter in all that time? At least someone who'd let you release the beast?"

"Ehh, I could've, but that's not what I want."

"Holding out for true love?" he teased.

I snorted. He should know better. "No, not that, either. I might not want a relationship, but I do still want a connection. Leah and I weren't romantic in the least, but we still had a spark. We knew each other, what we wanted from the bit of ourselves that we shared, and we worked together to meet that goal. I guess it in the end it wasn't enough for her, though, so she found more"—and less, considering Sam was vanilla, a detail that still rankled me more than it should—"in someone else.

"Besides, you're the last person who should be busting my balls about love. When are you finally gonna put a ring on it so Rosalie will agree to move in with you, huh?"

Emmett grimaced. "Hey, Rosie and I are the real deal. I just don't think love should have to come with a ten-thousand dollar price tag, and that's not even counting a wedding. This three-month salary bullshit . . . not a fucking chance. She has her hard lines, and I have mine."

I nodded. "Can't say I disagree." Plus, selfishly, him holding out on an engagement meant I didn't have to search for a new roommate. One who knew of and tolerated my sexual proclivities probably wasn't going to be easy to find. Besides, Emm was my oldest and closest friend. I'd miss having him around if the day ever came for him to move out.

We arrived at Petey's, a casual seafood restaurant with authentic British fish and chips that were honestly to die for. Emmett and I chose a comfortable booth in the back corner by a window, both ordering a pint of Guinness and settling in to wait for our meals.

"So do you think all that whipping and chaining and whatever other freaky shit you do actually adds something to your, uh, experience?" Emmett asked, continuing our conversation from the walk over.

I set my beer back on the table after taking a deep swig, licking the frothy head off my top lip. "I dunno. I mean, for myself, yeah, and others, obviously. It's just another level, man. Hasn't Rosalie ever tried anything with you? Considering who her brother is . . ."

Emmett chuckled, stretching a hugely-muscled arm across the back of the padded vinyl seat and resting it there. "Nah, that's not her kink. She's practically a nympho, which I sure ain't complaining about, and she's loud—like, loud. The looks I get from her roommates when I leave the house . . ." He chuckled again, grinning proudly. "But she's not into any of that stuff you and your ladies are. She likes it straight, hard, and fast, over and over and over again."

"Huh, go figure," I said, taking another swig of my drink.

"Ehh, it's all right. I couldn't even tell you what side of the fence I'd be on anyways. Most of us guys like to think of ourselves as the dominant ones, but I dunno . . . imagining Rosie all done up in shiny black leather and spanking my fine ass sounds pretty fucking good, too."

I snorted into my beer, the foam going up my nose this time rather than into my mouth. "Gods, there's a vision I never actually wanted," I said, spluttering and reaching for a napkin to wipe my face. "I mean, not that you're wrong. Dominatrixes are fucking hot—fierce goddesses in their power and control. I had one just after my training was complete, to experience it from someone other than my mentor, and she was incredible, but I never really got into the sub-space myself. I prefer being the one doing the roping, not being roped."

Emmett eyed me speculatively. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Your trainer, uh, mentor. It was a guy right? Did you ever have to, you know . . . do it with him?"

I smirked and shook my head. "That is a common assumption, and it can be like that for some, but no, it that wasn't the case for me. Not all BDSM is about sex or getting off, anyway, but this was strictly business. He put me through the paces with bondage, whipping, sensory deprivation, et cetera, but he never touched the goods, or had me touch his. It was really just a learning experience. It helped me a lot, in the beginning, so I didn't make any stupid mistakes or hurt anyone by accident." Not that it stopped him from doing exactly that, I thought with familiar annoyance, but I pushed the unwelcome memory away just as fast.

"Huh," Emmett replied. "I just always wondered, is all, in case Rosie ever got the urge and I ended up going down that dark path myself. What about the lady Dom? Did you let her free willy?"

A shrug and a wink was all he was going to get there. "You'll just have to use your imagination for that one, buddy."

Emmett laughed, letting it drop, and then our food arrived. We both dug in hungrily, talking around mouthfuls as we could.

"So this Isabella, then. You said you met her tonight. Did you get any kind of a connection with her?"

"I dunno yet," I replied after swallowing a divine bite of creamy coleslaw. "I liked her, that's for sure, but I won't really know if we truly have something until we get into the playroom. I'm curious as hell what she'll be like, though. She definitely seems promising."

"Yeah? Promising is good. Anything you can share?"

"Well, she's beautiful for one. Small, but she doesn't look delicate. She was well-spoken, polite, but not at all meek. She actually questioned me about my apparent lack of experience in her eyes! I was galled, and yet impressed at the same time. I think she'll be a bit of a spitfire, to be honest."

"And you like that?" Emmett asked, dipping a handful of fries in ketchup and somehow managing to get his mouth to close around them all.

"Oh, I like that a lot," I replied, once again imaging how perfectly purple her ass would get under my hand. And my flogger. And maybe even my cane.

"Cool, man. I sincerely hope it works out for you and her." Emmett pushed away his empty plate and reached for the last of his beer, barely managing to stifle a belch after he drained the last of it.

I finished my meal as well and we headed home, both of us going straight to our bedrooms as we each had an early morning and a busy day tomorrow.

Lying comfortably in my bed, I pulled out my phone and looked at Isabella's name and number programmed into my contacts. I had an insane urge to text her already, to try to ferret out even one more little detail that might give me an idea of how things would go this coming Sunday, but I refrained. She seemed like the type to plan and be organized, and it would probably drive her crazy to be kept waiting and wondering exactly when and where things would go down. I grinned to myself and put my phone down on the bedside table, enjoying the idea of her aggravation way too much.

— SQ —

One thing I had to be grateful for with my busy life and multiple jobs was that they made time fly faster than even I could believe. Before I knew it, it was Saturday evening, and I was sitting in bed, staring at Isabella's name in my contact list again, needing to send her the details for our session. I'd be having her here tomorrow for our first, trial scene together, and I was burning so hotly with anticipation that my thoughts were a tornado of wants, needs, and filth.

After several minutes of thoughtful planning and consideration, I tapped on the text box underneath her name and started a new thread.

Isabella,

13 Old Winston Drive, 7:00 p.m.

Wear white lace with garters and nude thigh-highs.

Do not be late.

Respond as soon as you get this message.

I stared at the screen impatiently, wondering if she was the type to keep her phone near her at all times, as I had assumed. Thankfully mine vibrated only minutes later with her reply.

Message received.

That was it? I bristled at her curt response, but calmed down some when I remembered that we had nothing formally established yet. We were in a trial phase. She didn't owe me any groveling or assurances at this point, via text, no less. Still, I couldn't help but put her in her place and remind her of what she'd be walking into tomorrow, even just a little.

Very well.

Be a good girl and go to sleep now.

You will need your rest for tomorrow.

Think of me and what's to come, but do not touch yourself.

I'm claiming your pleasure for the next twenty-four hours, Isabella.

Goodnight. Do not respond.

I smirked, hoping I had elicited in her even a fraction of the frustration and impatience I was feeling right now, and then turned out the lights to get some sleep myself. Tomorrow was a big day for us both, after all. I needed to rest up and be at my best, too.

AUTHORS' NOTE:

You've all be so patient as we've introduced our two main characters, but if the reviews we're getting are any indication, you're all dying for them to get into the playroom ASAP! Well, get ready for it friends, 'cause we're taking you there next week! See you then!

As always, many thanks to the Status Quo Crew for their helpful insight and feedback! XO