Chapter 7

Faye

I'm a ridiculous ball of nerves as I arrive at The Grind. I'm ten minutes early because I'm always early for everything. I'm going to feel awkward waiting for Easton to arrive, but I would feel more awkward if I were late.

When I step inside, I'm surprised to find he beat me there. He smiles and stands at a table in the far corner of the room.

My heart is racing as I approach him. This is not the sort of thing I do. I don't meet men for coffee. I don't meet men for anything. I don't even understand why I agreed to this.

When I asked him if this was a date or not, I had no idea what I wanted the answer to be. His non-answer had been interesting, and I've tried not to ponder it too much.

Easton reaches out to cup my elbow and air kiss my cheek as soon as I reach him. He did that last night, too. It's sweet, but it leaves me unnerved. It seems everything leaves me unnerved.

"I'm glad you came, Faye," he says as he pulls out a chair for me. He helps me sit and pushes me closer to the table before resuming his seat. He slides a menu in front of me. "The waitress brought us waters, but I'll give you time to look over the menu."

I bite my lip and lower my gaze, staring at nothing. I know exactly what I'm going to order. I perused the menu before I went to bed last night.

"Did you sleep okay?" he asks.

I lift my head. "Yes. Thank you."

He leans forward, narrows his gaze, and scrutinizes me. After a moment, he gives me a strange, sexy smile. "I'm pretty good at reading people, Faye. I'm also pretty good at restricting my Dominant inclinations to the club, my home, and other private places. However, I'm going to have to put my Dom hat on for a moment and call bullshit." One brow lifts.

I swallow hard as I stare at him. I'm trembling now. Nerves are eating me alive. I consider fleeing. I could just get up and walk out the door. I could tell him I've changed my mind if I want to be more polite.

Instead, I'm trapped by his stare. I can't look away. It feels like he's commanding me to look at him.

"Let's start over," he says softly. He's not mad. He might even be amused. It's so weird. "Don't tell me what you think I want to hear or what you think is socially appropriate. Answer me truthfully. Did you sleep well?"

I slowly shake my head. I tossed and turned all night. I was worried about meeting him, and I couldn't get the hundreds of things I saw last night out of my mind. "No," I whisper.

He gives me a broader smile. "Good girl. I would have been surprised to find you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. You had an intense evening. I'm sure you have a million questions. That's why I asked you to meet me."

"Do you ask all new members to meet you for coffee the next morning?" I feel proud of myself for voicing this thought.

He chuckles. "No. I've never met a new member for coffee before."

"Then why are you here with me?" I push.

"I don't completely know, Faye. That's the honest truth. I'm here because I want to be. That's all I know. I promise to be as honest as possible with you."

"Okay."

"What about you? Do you want to be here?"

I nod. "Yes."

He grins. "Perfect. Then we are two people meeting for beverages because it felt like a good idea."

I draw in a breath and let it out slowly.

"Do you know what you want? You hardly looked at the menu." He points toward the laminated page in front of me.

"I already know. I mean, I looked at the menu last night," I admit.

He smiles again. "A woman who likes to be prepared. What did you decide last night?"

"I planned three options," I tell him.

"I'm intrigued. What were they?"

He's oddly easy to talk to. It's unexpected, and I don't know why I'm sharing my quirk with him. I lick my lips. "Well, I figured I would order just green tea if my stomach was too tied in knots to swallow more than that."

He nods, listening intently, unfazed by my admission that I might be sitting here wound up in a tight ball of nerves. "Makes sense. What was option two?"

"Herbal tea and a cherry-filled pastry if I thought I could maybe eat but was still on the fence."

"And lastly?" he encourages.

"Black tea and a ham, egg, and cheese croissant if I could overcome my nerves enough to eat an actual meal."

He reaches across the table and sets his hand on top of mine. "I hope I can make you feel settled enough to eat more than a nibble, and I'm in no hurry. Let's go with option three…? I'll order coffee and a sandwich. We can get a sweet pastry to share."

I realize I'm biting my lip and release it as I nod. "Okay."

A waitress shows up. "Welcome to The Grind. My name is Brynn. Are you ready to order?"

I'm surprised and relieved when Easton orders for both of us. He orders the same sandwich as me, coffee for himself, black tea for me, and the cherry pastry.

Throughout this entire process, his hand is on top of mine, holding me just enough to make me feel grounded. I'm grateful because it seems like I might float off the chair and up toward the ceiling if he lets go.

"Thank you," I murmur when the waitress walks away.

"It's my pleasure." He gives my hand a squeeze before turning it over and threading our fingers together.

I stare at our connection. It feels nice. In the back of my head, I'm worried I'm not being fully honest with him. If this is a date, he is seriously lacking in information about me.

"Look at me, Faye."

I lift my gaze.

"Take a breath."

I inhale and release it slowly.

"Good girl. No pressure. We're just having brunch." He strokes the back of my hand with his thumb.

It feels so nice. I'm warm. I'm so far out of my element.

"Tell me your primary concerns right this moment." He has a way of commanding me subtly.

I shiver.

"Don't overthink it. Just tell me what's on your mind."

"The list is long."

He smiles. "That's okay. Do you have to be anywhere this afternoon?"

"Uh…" I think about my regular Saturday routine and how it's gone out the window. It's all unnecessary, anyway. I don't have to clean my bathroom, read my science magazine for thirty minutes while I eat lunch, or iron my shirts for the week. That last one causes me some stress, and I find my mind wandering to when I'll get that task done.

"Faye…"

"I don't need to be anywhere."

"Good. Now, I can sense you're uncomfortable, but I don't think I'm specifically the cause. Am I right?"

I nod. Is he psychic? I feel like he's capable of guessing everything I'm thinking, and it's unnerving.

"When was the last time you went on a date?"

Shit. I don't usually cuss, and it was only in my head, but I'm cornered now. I stare at him. I can't lie, and I can't possibly tell him the truth either. He'd run from the bakery.

We're sitting at a quaint round table. The bottom is white iron, and the top is glass. Easton reaches with his free hand and pulls my chair closer to his. "Allow me to withdraw that question. It was too personal. I shouldn't have asked it. Can you share some of your thoughts with me if I promise not to try to control and direct the narrative?" He grins again.

I inhale deeply. I might as well be upfront with him. If he's interested in me, he needs to know I'm an odd bird. I can do this. "I don't date. I'm too awkward. I mostly only focus on my work because I'm introverted and find it difficult to discuss most topics outside of biology. Also, I'm a type A. I used to think I had OCD, but I've realized I'm just more orderly and organized than other people."

He listens intently, never looking away or in any way indicating he thinks I'm a freak. "Thank you for sharing. I know that was hard."

"Maybe you should tell me what you're thinking, too," I suggest. "It's only fair."

He chuckles. "You're right. What you should know about me is that three weeks ago, right before I met you, I broke up with a woman I'd been dating for six months. I had no intention of entertaining the thought of dating another woman so soon, but I'm intrigued by you, and I can't seem to stop thinking about you."

I bite my lip. He can't stop thinking about me? At least it's not just me.

"In full disclosure," he continues, "I also do not date women who are not well-versed in the BDSM community. I have very strong Dominant tendencies. It's been many years since I've dated anyone who wasn't certain they were submissive and knew exactly what they wanted out of a D/s relationship. Dominant and submissive, that is."

My shoulders involuntarily drop.

Easton grips my fingers tighter and leans in closer. "I can't explain why I feel compelled to throw caution to the wind and break all my rules with you, but I do."

"Why?" I sit taller. "I don't even know if I'm submissive at all, and I can't possibly tell you what I might like or not like."

He holds my gaze for a while, releasing my hand when the waitress arrives with our plates. As soon as she sets everything on the table, Easton glances at her. "Thank you, Brynn."

"You're most welcome. Enjoy."

When she's gone, Easton grabs my hand again and lifts my chin with his other fingers. "Here's the thing. You're intrigued, which means you're going to come back to my club. You're going to want to do more than watch. You're going to want to experiment. That means I'll be faced with two choices. Either I arrange for you to scene with another Dom, or I introduce you to the pleasures of the kink world myself. The thought of anyone else helping you find yourself makes me want to punch a hole in the drywall. I can't do it. The next time you come to Edge, you will be there as my guest. My submissive. If you want to experiment, you'll do so under my guidance."

I squeeze my thighs together, grateful I chose to wear jeans but wincing because he can see my every move through the glass table top.

He sucks in a breath and winces. "Shit. I told myself I would not pressure you or dominate you this morning, but I just blew that out of the water. I'm sorry."

His discomfort is oddly reassuring to me. This time, I squeeze his hand. "It's okay. To be honest, if I decide to come back to the club, I wouldn't want anyone besides you to teach me about the kink world."

He gives my hand another squeeze and releases it. "Please accept my apologies for railroading you. I don't know how to be anything but Dominant. Casual vanilla acquaintances are not in my comfort zone."

"Apology accepted." I feel oddly lighter. I'm not the only one at this table with insecurities. His might look entirely different from mine, but he's still a fish out of water with me, and that makes me feel like I'm on more even ground with him.

He nods toward the sandwiches. "Let's eat. Tell me about your pharmaceutical work while we eat."

I smile. "You googled me."

"Yep."

"I googled you, too, Mr. Technology." I take a bite of my sandwich, surprised by my ability to chew and swallow. I know Easton and his brother, Drake, are computer geniuses who have made millions.

I tell him a bit about my work, and he shares a bit about what he and Drake are working on now. They own the club, and it makes a lot of money, but it's only open four nights a week from eight to two. The rest of the week, those two men bump heads and come up with new concepts.

I'm surprised when I look down and realize I've finished my sandwich and watch as Easton cuts a bite from the cherry pastry sitting between us. There's something intimate about sharing food off a plate. I've never experienced it before.

My breath hitches, and I lift my gaze to his when he offers me the first bite, holding out his fork.

As I lean forward and open my mouth, I squeeze my legs together again. Why does it seem so erotic to take a bite off his fork?

He smiles as I savor the bite, still holding his gaze. "Mmm."

"Is it good?" he asks.

"Delicious."

He feeds me another bite and reaches across to wipe the corner of my lips with his thumb. "Powdered sugar," he whispers.

My cheeks heat as I swallow and take a sip of my tea. "Aren't you going to eat some?"

"It's more fun watching you eat. Besides, I feel like I know exactly how good it is from watching your expressions."

My heart rate picks up. How does he manage to make it sound like we just had sex instead of sharing a pastry?

He takes the next bite and moans around it. "You're right. It's delicious."

I find myself disappointed when it's all gone. We have no reason to continue sitting here. We'll part ways now, and the rest of my day will seem boring. The rest of my life will seem boring. He's ruining me.

When the waitress brings the bill, Easton drops more than enough cash under it on the table and faces me. "It's nice out today. We should take advantage of the warmer weather and slight sunshine. What do you think about heading over to the Olympic Sculpture Park? We can wander, take in the views, and enjoy the artwork."

"I love the Olympic Sculpture Park. I haven't been there in a while." I sit taller. He doesn't want to end this date. I'm a combination of relieved and nervous. He's easy to be with, even though I'm awkward. He doesn't notice or mind or care, I guess.

"Good. It's decided then." He stands, holds out a hand, and helps me to my feet. "Will you be warm enough?"

I'm wearing jeans, a navy sweater, and tennis shoes. I had no idea what to wear this morning, but I finally decided to go with comfort. Now I'm glad. "I think so. It's warmer than usual today."

Easton keeps one hand on the small of my back as he guides me out of the bakery and over to a sleek black sports car parked on the street. He opens the passenger door for me, helps me in, and makes sure I'm settled before shutting the door and jogging to his side.

I've done a lot of research on BDSM, but I don't know a thing about how Dominants behave outside of the club environment. Easton is a total gentleman.

After he climbs in his side, he reaches all the way across me. I'm confused for a moment before I realize he has pulled my seatbelt over my body. He buckles it, saying nothing, and then taps my nose. "Ready?"

I'm so out of my element. I've never been on a date before. I've never been in a car with a man. This is definitely a date—and Easton is definitely a man. I nod.

I'm at a loss for words as he drives through the city, eventually pulling into the parking garage for the park. He pays the parking fee and finds a spot.

After quickly rounding the car again, he helps me out. This time, I at least think to remove the seatbelt, though maybe I should have left it and let him do it. He would have had to bend really close to me again to unbuckle me.

He locks the car and takes my hand, but instead of leading me away from the car, he turns me, leans me against the passenger door, and sets his palms on my shoulders.

His body is fully aligned with mine. He's so close, he's almost pressing against me. His hands slide to my neck, and he tips my head back with his thumbs.

Everything this man does exudes dominance. Does he know it? Probably.