“Dom-like, she says,” Tiffany muttered as she lifted her sandwich to her mouth, pinning me with a glare.
It was my turn to laugh, but I did so discreetly. “Fine. He was nice. We toured the dungeon first.”
Her eyes widened again. “Does it look like a real dungeon?”
“It does.”
“Were there naked people?”
“There were.”
“Was some woman getting spanked?”
Before I answered, I cast a quick look at the tables closest to us, ensuring there weren’t any little kids close enough to overhear.
“She was,” I confirmed, grinning as I looked back at my friend.
“I knew it.” She dropped her sandwich, grabbed the shake.
Tiffany Lortimer was one of my two closest friends in the world. For the most part, we were inseparable. Between her and Jonah, I had absolutely no secrets.
Her voice was strangely soft when she asked, “Are you still a virgin?”
I couldn’t help it. I blushed.
I completely understood the disbelief my two best friends expressed when they talked about the fact I still proudly carried my V-card. This day and age, it was unusual for a twenty-four-year-old woman to not have been in some sort of physical relationship with a man or two. It was true, nonetheless. Not only had I not had intercourse with a man, I also hadn’t done anything else. No beneath-the-clothes groping in the dark, no oral sex. Most people probably wouldn’t buy that I’d never even been kissed, but it was true, too. The one time Billy Boyd snuck up on me and smacked his lips on my cheek during my senior year of high school did not count.
As far as I was concerned, there were two reasons I was still a virgin: First of all, my brother was none other than the ruthless Sadist who could melt lesser men with a simple look. While my brother’s intimidation factor helped, I wasn’t giving him all the credit. I was, after all, a smart woman and I could make decisions for myself. Who I slept with was certainly a decision I wouldn’t be taking lightly. Secondly, I hadn’t found the guy I wanted to give it up to yet.
Evidently basing my answer on my reaction, Tiffany shook her head. “Well, that’s too bad.”
I took a huge bite of my sandwich to avoid blurting out that I honestly hoped Edge and Cav would be the ones to take it in the very near future.
There were some things a girl needed to keep to herself.
Although our classes didn’t align well, our schedules always seemed to. Like me, Tiffany was pursuing her doctorate in psychology, a major she’d chosen after she’d taken a psychology class her freshman year. We actually met on campus, in a study group. We’d become fast friends, along with Jonah Watson, another student in that study group. It hadn’t taken long to realize how much the three of us had in common, and since then, we’d spent countless hours in each other’s company.
“What’s his name?”
“Gregory Edge,” I said, not bothering to pretend not to know who she was talking about.
“Master Edge,” she said dreamily. “Has a nice ring to it.”
That it did.
Tiffany leaned closer. “Did he spank you?”
I laughed through my embarrassment. “No, he did not.”
“Too bad.”
“We talked,” I explained. “He showed me around. His friend showed up and the three of us wandered the club together.”
She pointed a French fry at me. “He has a friend?”
“I’m sure he has a lot of friends.” I grabbed the Coke we were sharing.
“Is he single?”
“Yes.” I didn’t bother to tell her that I was also interested in him. I couldn’t. Not yet.
“Did you guys talk about sexy things?”
“We did.” I went on to explain how I’d mentioned that I was working on my dissertation, and that I needed their help. I didn’t go into detail about the theme room or the way Edge had gone all alpha on me. I was still trying to wrap my head around that myself.
“So they agreed to help you with your paper?”
I nodded. “They agreed to let me get a glimpse into BDSM.”
“You’re so lucky. Why didn’t I do something on human sexuality?” she asked absently. “You get to have all the fun.”
This coming from the girl who’d had at least one date a week for the past couple of years.
Okay, maybe not that many, but Tiffany certainly had a more active social life than I did. Despite the fact she was frequently going out with men, she wasn’t interested in settling down. According to her, she was playing the field. And though one date a week would equate to roughly fifty-two men per year, Tiffany was extremely discriminating when it came to who she slept with.
“How’s Mark?” I asked, referring to the only man she allowed herself to be intimate with. According to Tiffany, they were friends with benefits and mutually exclusive when it came to sex. She insisted that it was safer that way.
