Chapter 2

Easton

"Who was that woman you were talking to earlier?" Drake asks me several hours later.

We're in our office on the third floor, monitoring all three levels of our club. "What woman?" I know who he's talking about, but I don't want to give him the impression I care. I don't care. Faye can do whatever she wants. I approached her for the same reason I approach anyone after an intro class. She looked intrigued. She should come try out the club. I offer that same thing to lots of people.

Drake smirks. "Don't try that shit with me, Easton. You know who I'm talking about. Sexy strawberry blond, who looked like she'd never heard of a fetish club, let alone seen the inside of one," he teases.

It was that strawberry-blond hair that caught my attention and reminded me of the girl I'd known in high school. I noticed her even before I began the class. It was a struggle to ignore her while I spoke. When I approached her afterward, I grew confident it was indeed Faye.

Other than her hair, the woman has very little resemblance to her high school self. Granted, I only knew her when she was a freshman. It's possible she filled out and matured before she was even eighteen, but I was in college then.

"Ah," I say, pretending to just now remember, "that was Faye Lunsford. We went to high school with her."

"Faye Lunsford… I don't remember her."

"You probably wouldn't. She was a freshman when we were seniors. She was in the debate club. You weren't."

"Ah." Drake smirks. "Did she look like that back then?"

"Nope. I only recognized the hair." I glance down at my own body. "We didn't look like this either. Not even at eighteen, if you recall."

Drake chuckles. "Like I could forget. Could we have been any dorkier?"

"Nope, but we outgrew it. The joke is on anyone who bullied us back then. I laugh every time I'm at the bank."

Drake nods. "Ain't that the truth? Did you offer her a sponsorship?"

"I tried. I doubt she'll take me up on it, though. She was way out of her element."

"Did you get her number?"

"Fuck no," I retort.

"Why the hell not? She's hot. You were obviously engrossed in her."

I narrow my gaze at Drake. "The sheets aren't even cooled down on my bed from the inferno that broke up with me last week, dude. I'm not interested in a repeat."

Drake rolls his eyes. "Bethany was a bitch."

I glare at him. "Bethany was my girlfriend for six months. Did you think she was a bitch the entire time?"

"No, but I realized she wasn't right for you before you did."

"Just because she wanted more out of our relationship than I was willing to give her doesn't make her a bitch. It just makes us incompatible." Why am I defending the woman?

"Do not start doubting your abilities as a Dominant, Easton. You're one of the best Doms I know."

"But not quite good enough for Bethany," I respond with snark.

Drake shakes his head. "Don't go there. Besides the fact that Bethany turned out to be pretentious, she wanted you to hurt her. Injure her. Neither of us enjoys that sort of thing, and we only permit it in Edge after careful consideration. Injuring a sub is not our thing. You know that."

"There are submissives who enjoy a deeper pain." Again, why am I defending Bethany? Because she made me feel inadequate, and that pisses me off.

Drake narrows his gaze at me. "Easton, stop it. Nothing you did was good enough for her. She wanted more pain, and you gave it to her. She wanted bruising, and I know you hated striking her that hard. I couldn't have done it. Then, she wanted blood. She was thirsty for it. If you had struck her until her skin split, she would've been satisfied with that level of dominance for about a month before she demanded what? A broken bone? She needs help, Easton. Not a Dominant."

I blow out a breath. "You're right."

"So…Faye. You know her name. Hunt her down. I bet you could find her easily."

"Assuming Lunsford is still her last name. She could be married or divorced." She didn't correct me when I supplied her name, though, so I'm betting she's not married.

Drake spins around in his chair and jiggles his mouse. Before I can stop him, Faye's face is on the computer screen. "Wow… I'm impressed. Look at that. Didn't even have to go to social media. Faye Lunsford is an accomplished woman who only needs a Google search."

Against my better judgment, I drop into the chair next to Drake and look over his shoulder. Damn.

"Did she tell you she's an accomplished biologist with a PhD?"

I rub my face. "No. I didn't ask. She only told me she recently moved back to Seattle."

"Yep. She sure did. Because she got this dream job with one of the best pharmaceutical companies in the world. She's published. Look at all the articles she's written…"

I'm impressed. I shouldn't be. I knew she was a bright student even in high school. She might have hated public speaking, but when she spoke, brilliance came out of her mouth. I'm not shocked she has a PhD in biology.

Drake grabs a sticky note and scribbles on it before handing it to me. Her phone number, email address, and physical address. "Tuck that in your pocket. Give it a few days. Call her."

I snatch it from his hand and stuff it in my pocket, but I'm not calling Faye Lunsford. She's a temptation I don't need. I'm not jumping into something with another woman. Like I told Drake, my bed is still overheated from Bethany. It's going to take a long time for the sheets to cool down. It's going to take a longer time for me to be willing to put my heart out there and trust again. I don't need a woman in my life. I'm perfectly happy without the stress.

But damn, Faye tugged at me. She's nothing like any woman I've ever dated. She may be inherently submissive, but she has no training. When and if I put myself out there again, I sure don't want to guide anyone through the steps of learning what their preferred kink is. It's tedious. It takes a lot of energy and time.

I rise and leave the room, mumbling something about checking on how things are going on the first floor. We have people monitoring every floor. They don't need me. I just need an excuse to get away from my brother. He knows me too well. I can't think around him.

As soon as I descend from our third-floor office to our first-floor office, I step into the room, shut the door, and plop down on my chair. I run my hands through my hair and stare at the ceiling.

I can't get Faye out of my head. She's a bombshell. Gone is the skinny girl who started high school with a flat chest and stick legs. Faye has curves now. Amazing fucking hot curves. Surely, she has a boyfriend. He's probably vanilla.

Or maybe she doesn't. After all, she's only been in Seattle a few months. She probably wouldn't have visited a BDSM club if she were attached to someone.

Again, why do I care? If she calls, which isn't likely, I'll set her up with a temporary membership and introduce her to a few Doms I trust with newbies. She can try some things out. Or she can just watch. I won't interfere.

Who am I kidding? If Faye decides to come to Edge, I will sit right here in my office and watch her sexy body on the monitor every moment she's in the building. I'll be jealous doing it, too.

Even though I don't train subs because it's too tedious, I find myself itching to train Faye. I want to show her every damn thing and watch her reactions. I'm salivating over the idea of seeing her cheeks pinken, watching her fidget, and staring at her thighs when she squeezes them together.

Chances are in the end, someone like Faye will end up finding BDSM to be way too much for her. She might be able to come in a few weekends and watch, but she also might be horrified and not return after an hour. She's so green and so vanilla.

Doesn't matter. She won't call.