Page 13 of The Playboy
We walk to the entrance ofSecond Floor. The hostess greets us and leads us to a table outside toward the back, away from prying eyes. He helps me into my seat, and I smile up at him as a thank you. He’s done a one-eighty since this morning as far as I’m concerned.
Is it possible Tait knows how to be a gentleman and not only some playboy?
I open the menu and bury my face in it, trying to block myself from his line of sight. He chuckles and places his hand on the top of it, pulling it down. “You disappeared on me.”
“Just trying to decide what I want.”
He stares at me, and I fidget in my seat. “How about I order us a bottle of wine and we can talk, get to know one another better?”
I make a small face. “I um… I don’t care for wine. How about beer?”
His face lights up as he nods. “Beer it is.”
* * *
Three hoursand three pints of beer later, I’m feeling great. I’m relaxed around Tait, and once again, his smile is breathtaking. Every time he tells me another story, I smile wider and wider. I’m sure my face is going to crack soon from the pressure, but I don’t mind. He’s right about the food here, too; it’s excellent and helps keep our conversation flowing.
“Me mam, not mom as you silly Americans say, always called me her little chef. I enjoyed cooking, and she let me have free reign of her kitchen sometimes. Then high school hit, and I decided to try my hand at acting. I wasn’t half bad either.” He smirks, remembering his past.
He continues on telling me about his first play in school and how he’s been involved in his fair share of crappy films. It surprises me when he tells me he’s happy to have had those experiences because they made him a better actor.
“So, tell me how you became a sub?” he asks, his Irish lilt coming out stronger with the aid of alcohol.
I don’t even care if the conversation isn’t appropriate anymore. I’m buzzed, happy, and nothing is going to slow me down. “How did you become a Dom?” I counter, smiling over my glass.
“Ah, I asked you first. Tell me.” He holds my attention.
I push the air out of my lungs and frown. “It just kind of happened.”
He raises his brow. “And?”
“I had an ex that was into it, and I fit the persona. I like to give up control in the bedroom. I need it to help me get out of my head. I don’t want to think or make decisions. I want someone to lead me. We worked together to figure out what we liked, and I haven’t been able to break the habit. I still follow some of the rules he set up for me because it helps to keep things organized. He just became too much to handle and I ended it.”
“When was that?”
I snap and point my index finger at him. “Your turn to answer first. How did you become a Dom? I’m very interested to hear about this, since you,” I pause and make quotes with my fingers, “don’t do relationships.”
“I’m not one. I’m not into that kind of lifestyle. I just like rough, kinky sex. It’s fun, and it’s good stress relief. I find girls that want to be spanked, held down, told what a dirty girl they are, and then I can send them on their way. I get the satisfaction of fucking them how I want.”
I shrug. “Fine, let me rephrase my first question. How did you figure out you were into rough, kinky sex?”
He stills, takes a large gulp of his beer, and watches me. I’m waiting for my answer and begin to fidget the longer it takes for him to begin. Then he starts.
“It happened after me mam died. My ex was a sub and taught me how I could do all the kinky things I wanted to her while making sure I knew to keep her safe. It was a release for me, to help deal with the grief. I could focus on her and block everything else out.”
“How about not doing relationships?”
“Your turn. When did your ex become too much to handle? I’ve now answered two of your questions. You owe me one.”
“About a year ago, he started pressuring me into stuff I wasn’t ready for. I got out before it was too late. I ended things about six months ago. He’s usually my friend with benefits hook-up when I get drunk.” I finish my drink and shrug. “What can I say? He knows what I like, and I’m a glutton for punishment. So, you don’t do relationships?”
“I saw how heartbroken me da was after ma passed away. It was a string of women one after another. He wanted someone warm to be with, but he couldn’t commit. After my ex and I broke up, it was just easier to adopt a playboy persona like him. Less stress all around.
“How long have you been practicing this way?”
He shrugs. “Does it matter?”
“It might.” My head is fuzzy, and my body is yearning to be touched.