Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Then I had a big group of amazing subby friends, and I felt naturally dominant with them. Hence my switchy label.
That was part of the reason I was so close with Tate in our community. He was a switch too, for casual play. He was still primarily a sub, and he could never go up against his Master. It all came down to natural chemistry.
So no, I was a switch. I lifted my gaze again, relieved my mind wasn’t too fogged up by the vodka. “I guess I don’t see it as a playtime thing in the end, but a feeling when I’m around friends. I sense how they identify themselves, and their behavior triggers my own response, be it submission or dominance.”
Dean smiled, visibly surprised, if only slightly. “Good answer. I buy that.”
I smiled too. And I sort of hoped we could talk kink more. After Walker and I had broken up, Dean and I had lost our little bond—and then he’d moved to San Francisco for a while. Now that he was back, it would be nice to build a new connection with him.
“Hell.” Dean’s smile turned rueful, and he sighed and turned around to take out the pizza. “Your mind is a bit too irresistible, Macklin. I’d love to pick your brain, but that’s probably not wise.”
Fuck wise.
I swallowed and felt a slow wave of heat course through me.
Unlike love, attraction was easy. When I’d been with Walker, we’d had the same thoughts about sharing, in theory. We’d started working toward opening our relationship for occasional play with others—because we believed attraction and swapping experiences could be the hottest spice. But we never got that far. For as crazy as we’d been about each other, we’d struggled to find security and stability, something we’d denied at the time, but now it made perfect sense. That was why we hadn’t taken that leap.
I wasn’t shackled to those insecurities anymore.
Maybe I’d always love Walker. Maybe I’d always miss him and feel that he was the one for me. But my kink life was healthy. I loved ethical openness and allowing myself the pleasure of letting attraction lead the way.
So what if I was attracted to Dean? A genuine question. Was that wrong? Was it wrong of me to want him?
He was so fucking sexy, and his mind and charisma reeled me in.
I wasn’t ready to sober up. The night felt too good to ruin with rhyme and reason. So after two slices of pizza, I poured myself a big vodka tonic and decided to peruse Dean’s bookshelves. Among the hundreds of books on history and military stuff, I should be able to find kink too.
In the meantime, Dean put on some music before returning to the couch. He’d switched to a low-sugar alcohol, so that was good. He made me worry sometimes.
“Do you ever listen to music from this century?” I asked.
I felt his gaze on me, and I grinned to myself, envisioning him rolling his eyes at what I said. Walker had been influenced by Dean’s love of B.B. King.
“I won’t dignify that with a response.”
He said in response.
At least he’d picked the one album I enjoyed too. Deuces Wild was a…sensual album. King’s wailing guitar screamed of sex and seduction.
I traced a finger along the spine of a book about the Navy’s history. “How long were you in the service for?”
He hummed. “About ten years.”
That was long, wasn’t it? If I remembered correctly, Greer had done over ten years in the Marines, and Colt had put in over twenty in the Air Force. I knew Dean had seen war zones. He’d been to Kuwait, Lebanon, and Bosnia.
Walker had spoken about Dean’s accomplishments in the Navy with pride and a tad bit of envy. Because he’d wanted to enlist too. He’d wanted to become a Navy SEAL, and he’d trained hard for it. Then Marigold had…well, to be blunt, she’d guilted him out of it because she’d already “lost one son to the military.”
Walker had become a Suit instead, with a sole focus of making as much money as possible to ensure his mama would never see poverty again.
These days, Dean taught about war instead. He specialized in Desert Storm and the Navy’s role during the Cold War. And Naval history in general, I guessed. Since that was the primary class he taught at GW.
“Walker loved to brag about you,” I mused, reflecting on just how much I knew about Dean. “I’m sure he still does—up in Boston with his new crowd.”
“He muttered bitterly with jealousy in his tone.”
I chuckled and glanced at him over my shoulder. “I’m too drunk to be bitter, Sir.”
He drew a breath and sipped from his gin, and his gaze traveled the length of me.
Fuck me, professor.
I took a swig of my own drink, and it was official. I wanted him to fuck me—tonight.