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And with that, he bends and kisses me on my forehead, then bounces from the bed.
Chapter Eighteen
LOUISE
What if he breaks my heart?
‘Isn’t it called the British disease?’ We sit outside a café on a quintessential English spring day. The pale sun hangs low in the sky, providing just enough light to give the appearance of warmth.
‘Since when has spanking been considered a disease?’ One fine brow rises as Dan taps the article I’ve spread out on the table. ‘Le vice Anglais. I think I prefer that.’
The article is in a Sunday supplement left behind by the previous table occupants. An article discussing the rise of kink and, more specifically, spanking clubs. It’s strange Sunday morning reading, for sure.
What if he breaks my heart? What if he can’t make room for me?
My heart beats louder, so much so that I can hear it pounding in my ears.
‘Vice, disease. Same diff,’ I say, flicking my hand with inconsequence.Inconsequence I don’t feel. The closeness of a couple seated at the next table makes me uncomfortable as thoughts run through my head like a pack of wild, rabid dogs.
‘I prefer vice to disease,’ he replies evenly. ‘Disease implies there’s something to cure.’ Dan places down his cup, folding his arms across his solid chest and stretching his legs under the table in satisfaction. ‘It’sa lifestyle choice, not an affliction.’ His voice, a touch loud, carries in the air.
What if he hurts me in a way I can’t stand?
‘I’m not sure about that,’ I murmur, turning the page. My eyes flick to the suddenly quiet couple, gliding past them in an effort to seem unconcerned. It’s as if I can see their ears straining, not appreciating being part of their morning entertainment. Like a freak in a side show.
What if he breaks my heart? Shatters my soul?
‘No one forces you, Louise.’ His eyes rise slowly, full of knowledge and filth, causing my belly to fizz. ‘More than you want me to. True?’
‘True. No hypothetical person or persons force me against my will. Much... much more than I can stand.’So far.
He turns his head to the couple, perhaps sensing their ears, too. He flashes the pair a dazzling smile before stating, ‘Safe, sane, and consensual; all the cool kids are doing it now.’
The woman of the pair turns quite pink—by his attentions or words, it’s hard to tell. They’re effusive in the return to their own conversation, anyway.
Dan’s chest moves in some semblance of a laugh as he turns to me again. His voice quieter now, he asks, ‘What’s bothering you?’
Under the weight of his gaze, I sit very still, fighting the instinct to spit an unfriendly response. When I don’t answer, he slides a foot between mine as I decide it was a good idea to pack an overnight bag; skinny jeans, a long-sleeved tee, and her leather biker-esque jacket.
Another nudge to my foot brings me back to his gaze. ‘Well?’
‘It comes easier to you guys . . . the British thing. You just have to watch a little TV to see how different your outlook is.’ Deflecting. I could at least try, though it might’ve helped if I’d thought things through rather than just babbling words.
‘You mean beyond the stiff upper lip, we’re all rampantly free? You’re elevating a bit of nudity and swearing on the idiot box to something that isn’t.’
‘You mean you’re as repressed as the next nation?’ My disbelieving brow lifts. He’s obviously never watched anything recently on HBO.
‘If you’re a representative of a particular nation, then perhaps not,’ he says, chuckling. ‘But I do believe we’re getting there. Getting you there. Fuck, I’m getting hard.’ His eyes slide from mine as he discreetly adjusts himself under the tabletop.
‘The journey isn’t the issue. It’s the destination that frightens the hell out of me.’ My words are mumbled as I screw my paper napkin into a tourniquet around my finger.
‘The destination is wherever youget off.’
If I had a dick, I’d be joining him in some discreet beneath-the-table rumbling. His cut-glass accent and honeyed purr. The double meanings. The suggestion of reprimand.
What if he hurts me?
‘Torture’s in your blood,’ I whisper. ‘It’s easier for you to accept; it’s in your history.’ Fire, brimstone, and the wrath of hell is in mine. ‘The English vice, the Victorian vice. Everyone knows you Brits are a kinky lot.’
