Page 58 of Forbidden Fruit
His eyes search mine, unreadable but intense. I take the iPad, heart pounding, and with a deep breath, I sign my name. No hesitation. No second-guessing.
I do want this.
Him.
All of it.
“What now?” I ask, setting my half-eaten sandwich on the desk.
“Now, I go shower,” he says, standing up. “Then I’ll take you somewhere.”
A pang of disappointment hits me. I thought we’d get straight to it, that he’d grab me, bend me over the bed, spank me, and tie me up right away. The tension between us felt so charged, and yet… nothing.
“Oh,” I mutter, trying to mask the disappointment, but it’s impossible to hide. My voice gives it all away.
Calvin notices. His lips twitch into a small smile like he knows exactly what’s running through my mind, but he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he leaves the room quietly.
“You ready?” he asks, one hand resting on the door handle.
I can’t help but tease, needing to cut through the tension coiling in my stomach. “I’m at the edge of my seat here, Calvin. Open it.”
After his shower, he came back shirtless, his hair still damp and curling at the edges as it dried. The sight of him, clean, bare, and impossibly composed, sends a jolt of heat through me. Without a word, he takes my hand and leads me to the only locked door in the penthouse. I remember Abigail mentioning during the tour that this was the one place I didn’t have access to. Until now.
Calvin enters a long code. A soft click echoes, and then he pushes the door open, stepping aside for me to go first.
The lights flicker on automatically.
Half the room is glass, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the glittering sprawl of the city below, a world I feel like I’m leaving behind the moment I cross thethreshold. The opposite wall is painted a deep, seductive red, the color wrapping the room in a slow, pulsing warmth. Built-in shelves line one side, each one perfectly organized: whips, floggers, paddles, restraints… and a few things I can’t even name.
A large bed sits in the far corner, lush and inviting in stark contrast to everything else. At the center of the room stands a St. Andrew’s Cross. I remember it from the club. Beside it, a bench and several other pieces of intimidating-looking furniture I don’t recognize.
I step forward slowly, my pulse a steady drumbeat in my ears. Every inch of me feels awake, exposed.
This is where the rules will live.
Where I’ll bend and maybe break.
And where I might finally learn what it means to surrender.
“Do you still want this, Blair? You can change your mind…”
“I still want it,” I say, meeting his eyes with more confidence than I feel.
He hums, clearly pleased. “Safe word?”
“Velvet,” I breathe. My voice is soft, but the thrill behind it is anything but.
“Good girl,” he says, and just like that, I’m melting. Again. His praise should be illegal.
“Now strip. Any time you walk into this room, the first thing you’ll do is take everything off and fold it neatly. Then place it in that drawer.” He gestures to the one on my left.
I arch a brow but obey, slowly peeling off my clothes, dramatically, just because I can, and folding them with way more precision than I care for. I place them in the drawer, then turn to find him watching me like I’m art. Real art. The unframed, wild kind that demands attention.
“You are beautiful,” he says, and I hate how easily that makes me blush.
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” I say breezily, tossing my hair over one shoulder as I pretend not to melt.
“This is insane, Calvin,” I add, letting my gaze roam across the room like it’s some kind of dark museum.
