that the woman’s bag did
not
come cheap.) His stare got stuck on her legs. She must be pretty tall to have legs that long. Five foot eight or nine? At six three, he liked a tall woman . . . liked the feeling of long, strong legs wrapped around him, pulling him deep. He liked seeing them spread-eagled and tied to his bed, too. He’d love to see this woman in that position. The boots? Hell
yeah
, he’d keep those on, right along with those stockings.
She settled into the wooden chair, shifting her hips ever so slightly. Ever so
distractingly
. The stockings she wore weren’t lacy lingerie; they were opaque. In combination with the boots, short skirt and legs that seemed to extend all the way up to her armpits, they struck him as ridiculously sexy. His gaze locked on the juncture of smooth, toned thighs. His mind zeroed in on what was snuggled in that dark, tight crevice. She shifted her hips again slightly, as if she was getting friction on her pussy, stimulating herself ever so subtly.
Not that she
was
getting off on exhibiting herself so enticingly, of course. That was just his filthy man-brain pulsing with hormones and going into overdrive.
Wasn’t it?
She set her book on the top of her thigh and opened it, the cover facing him. He immediately recognized what was quickly becoming an iconic cover.
Born to Submit.
You have
got
to be fucking kidding me.
He started to sweat. He hadn’t read it, any more than he’d read
Pride and Prejudice
. Both the book he held in his hands and the one she held in hers were considered women’s reading, even if they were drastically different in content. Of course, he, along with every other salivating schmo in this coffee shop knew that
Born to Submit
was about sex. Raw, hardcore, BDSM. Trey didn’t consider himself to be some kind of card-carrying BDSM master, but he enjoyed being the dominant in the bedroom.
He was aware of the cultural buzz over the book, the massive sales figures, the talk shows, the
Saturday Night Live
and YouTube spoofs, the snarky newspaper and magazine articles. But he’d never thought about it much until tonight, seeing it in this woman’s hands. Surely
she
knew what the book entailed, too. Yet she’d brought it to a high-minded reading event at a museum.
Well, she
was
wearing that sexy, sophisticated outfit, wasn’t she? This was no naïve little girl.
Then she began to read, and Trey found himself doubting. He had the bizarre thought that the somber, endearing expression she wore while she focused on the page was a completely natural one for her. This was how she looked often: sweet and sexy and utterly absorbed in her task, her succulent, full mouth pursed ever so slightly, her brow wrinkled with the innocent hunger of curiosity.
Suddenly, she looked up and met his stare dead-on. He started slightly at being caught red-handed at gawping. Huge greenish-gold eyes—cat’s eyes—held him in their hypnotic trap, making it impossible to look away. Then she smiled, slow and sexy, the widening of her pink lips corresponding with the swelling of his erection.
And he wondered how the hell he could have ever thought she seemed innocent.
Beth Kery is the
New York Times
bestselling author of over thirty novels, including
Glimmer
,
The Affair
,
Since I Saw You
,
Because We Belong
, and
When I’m With You
. She lives in Chicago with her family.
not
come cheap.) His stare got stuck on her legs. She must be pretty tall to have legs that long. Five foot eight or nine? At six three, he liked a tall woman . . . liked the feeling of long, strong legs wrapped around him, pulling him deep. He liked seeing them spread-eagled and tied to his bed, too. He’d love to see this woman in that position. The boots? Hell
yeah
, he’d keep those on, right along with those stockings.
She settled into the wooden chair, shifting her hips ever so slightly. Ever so
distractingly
. The stockings she wore weren’t lacy lingerie; they were opaque. In combination with the boots, short skirt and legs that seemed to extend all the way up to her armpits, they struck him as ridiculously sexy. His gaze locked on the juncture of smooth, toned thighs. His mind zeroed in on what was snuggled in that dark, tight crevice. She shifted her hips again slightly, as if she was getting friction on her pussy, stimulating herself ever so subtly.
Not that she
was
getting off on exhibiting herself so enticingly, of course. That was just his filthy man-brain pulsing with hormones and going into overdrive.
Wasn’t it?
She set her book on the top of her thigh and opened it, the cover facing him. He immediately recognized what was quickly becoming an iconic cover.
Born to Submit.
You have
got
to be fucking kidding me.
He started to sweat. He hadn’t read it, any more than he’d read
Pride and Prejudice
. Both the book he held in his hands and the one she held in hers were considered women’s reading, even if they were drastically different in content. Of course, he, along with every other salivating schmo in this coffee shop knew that
Born to Submit
was about sex. Raw, hardcore, BDSM. Trey didn’t consider himself to be some kind of card-carrying BDSM master, but he enjoyed being the dominant in the bedroom.
He was aware of the cultural buzz over the book, the massive sales figures, the talk shows, the
Saturday Night Live
and YouTube spoofs, the snarky newspaper and magazine articles. But he’d never thought about it much until tonight, seeing it in this woman’s hands. Surely
she
knew what the book entailed, too. Yet she’d brought it to a high-minded reading event at a museum.
Well, she
was
wearing that sexy, sophisticated outfit, wasn’t she? This was no naïve little girl.
Then she began to read, and Trey found himself doubting. He had the bizarre thought that the somber, endearing expression she wore while she focused on the page was a completely natural one for her. This was how she looked often: sweet and sexy and utterly absorbed in her task, her succulent, full mouth pursed ever so slightly, her brow wrinkled with the innocent hunger of curiosity.
Suddenly, she looked up and met his stare dead-on. He started slightly at being caught red-handed at gawping. Huge greenish-gold eyes—cat’s eyes—held him in their hypnotic trap, making it impossible to look away. Then she smiled, slow and sexy, the widening of her pink lips corresponding with the swelling of his erection.
And he wondered how the hell he could have ever thought she seemed innocent.
Beth Kery is the
New York Times
bestselling author of over thirty novels, including
Glimmer
,
The Affair
,
Since I Saw You
,
Because We Belong
, and
When I’m With You
. She lives in Chicago with her family.
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