Chapter 4 Chapter 4
Charlotte POV
The Zetas did a fair amount of charity work, and they’d saved a magnificent historical home from demolition. Still, she chafed at the extreme waste of money that could be funneled into better purposes.
“So, you know.”
It wasn’t a guess. It was a statement.
“Yes.”
“You sound disapproving.”
His membership explained a lot—how he’d gotten some big-name clients and achieved superstar success at such an early age. Titans helped other Titans.
Then she took a drink to escape the obvious. He would never have been admitted to the society without merit. Only descendants of founding members received a legacy admission. He’d earned a seat at the table.
“I’m studying for my master’s in social work, Mav.”
She chose her words with care, as he did, avoiding the mention of the Zetas.
“I’d like to see people allot their resources differently.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “There’s only one way to do good in the world? Your way?”
She brought her chin up.
“I don’t berate people.”
“Is that how you see it? You don’t think some people need a metaphoric kick in the pants?”
Charlotte gave him a great big, fake smile.
“Present company included?”
He lifted his glass in a toast to her.
“And no. I think if people have a compelling reason—passion—they will move forward of their own volition.”
“Is that true?”
His words held more interest than challenge, making her consider what she’d said.
“Or are individuals different?” he persisted. “Do we each respond to different stimuli?”
Her breath caught as he looked at her barely covered body.
“Pain. Sensation. Pleasure. All of them tied together in an inextricable knot so that you don’t know where one ends and the other begins?”
They were no longer talking about social consciousness.
“Is it possible that you’re right, but that my way works also?”
To his credit, he didn’t flaunt the fact that people thought he held the holy grail to success. Because she cared about helping people through their struggles, she answered him thoughtfully.
“I'm more concerned with life balance than you seem to be. You’re constantly talking about pushing, focusing on work to the exclusion of everything else. People need time to pause, to reflect. Think about positive things. Spend time with family and friends. Socialize. Connect. Laugh. Maybe ride a bike—but indulge in some fun. That’s what makes life worth living.”
“Maybe you should watch more and judge less.”
She blinked. She looked for the best in people and encouraged them to explore it.
“That’s unkind.”
“Perhaps it’s true.”
Beneath his penetrating glare, she fidgeted.
“I presented a commencement address for a high school in a disadvantaged area last year. Look it up.”
She studied him through narrowed eyes, unwilling to acknowledge that maybe she didn’t know everything about him. On the other hand, the fact that he was still here rather than leaving her the hell alone to get her needs met was proof enough of his cocksure attitude.
“Do you play in the dungeon? Or do you prefer Rue Sensuelle?”
He’d switched subjects so fast that it took her a minute to catch up.
“I’m sorry?”
“When you see a scene, where do you like to play?”
The Quarter had two floors, and the first was set up in an interesting horseshoe shape. The dungeon area was a square, and beyond that was another play area for people who preferred a little more solitude. On the far side lay Rue Sensuelle—or Kinky Avenue, as most members called it. There were a number of different settings, separated by partitions. Each was furnished to appeal to a particular fetish. From what she’d heard, there was a schoolroom, a pair of stocks, and a Victorian chamber, complete with a brass bed. There was even supposed to be an examination table. The idea of being strapped to that terrified her.
He remained silent, waiting for her answer.
“I…”
Why was this so difficult with him? Charlotte had negotiated with a dozen different Doms. She didn’t have to answer. Yet she wanted to.
“Typically in the main area. I like the Saint Andrew’s cross or a spanking bench.”
“Which is your preference?”
“The Saint Andrew’s Cross. It’s”—emotionally safer—“less personal, I suppose.”
“I’m guessing you like flogging, then?”
“Actually…”
He leaned toward her, ensnaring her in his massive focus. For that moment, no one existed but her. And that gave her the courage she needed.
“I haven’t had a lot of bare-bottom spankings.”
Her body temperature increased, and she knew scarlet had flooded her cheeks.
“You’d like one?”
“From you? No! I wasn’t asking.”
He grinned, and his features transformed. For a moment, he looked less hostile, more human—inviting and approachable. Feminine instinct whispered that she needed to be extra cautious. A charming Maverick Pierce might prove devastating.
“Over the knee? Or tied to a spanking bench?”
Either. Both. What the hell was wrong with her?
“When you make an arrangement with a Dom, what do you tell him?”
She crossed her legs and took the opportunity to tighten her pelvic muscles. Even though she didn’t want to be, Charlotte was horny for this overbearing man.
“I’m waiting.”
“Of course, I let him know that my safe word is red, like the club’s. And I use yellow for slow. And absolutely no physical penetration.”
“That includes no ass play?”
She shook her head so fast that her hair swung around her face.
“Not ever.”
“Is your hypothetical Dom allowed to touch your clit?”
His question sucked the air from her lungs. Her father’s friend was asking this? And worse, she was going to answer.
“I’ve never said yes to that before.”
“But you’d be open to it?”
Am I?
She glanced at his ridiculously big hand. His finger would be rough against her skin. She tried to speak, but no words emerged.
“Would he be allowed to wedge your panties between your legs and use the fabric to get you off?”
She grabbed her drink and gulped down enough that she coughed.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
A wry laugh wrapped around his words.