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I picked up my fork, trying to act nonchalant. “What’s your reputation with the ladies?”
“That I tie them up. Beat them. Bleed them.”
A gasp escaped me. “And is it true?”
He leaned forward in his seat, holding me captive with his dark eyes. “Every. Single. Time.”
I couldn’t move for a whole thirty seconds as he stared at me, willing me to say something in reply. But I was mute. He huffed out a breath and picked up his fork, starting in on his stew.
I began, too, because what the hell else was I going to do? Letting the sound of the bar fill my ears, I focused on eating, feeling Orin’s dark eyes on me every few seconds.
“Where do you find these women?” My voice was a broken whisper.
“They find me. They know I can give them what they need.”
I paused with my fork halfway to my mouth. “And they … enjoy being bound and bled?”
“Yes.”
I knew that Keir had told me as much about him, but to hear it from Orin’s mouth in such detail, sent a tremble through me.
“Do you think you’ll ever not … do those things to your partner?” I asked in a soft voice.
“No.”
“What if she doesn’t like it?”
“I would never pursue a woman who didn’t.” When I didn’t say anything in reply, he added. “But sometimes, a woman doesn’t know she likes being a sub. Sometimes, she needs to be taught the rules, to know the limitations, to allow her Dom to show her all the benefits.”
“What if a woman was interested in trying, but wasn’t quite sure how to approach the subject?”
His brows rose in question.
“Hypothetically, that is,” I added on hastily.
He looked down at his bowl again. “She would have to find someone she trusted who could ease her into it.”
“What is it about the dynamic that appeals to you?”
His eyes cut to mine. “Why are you asking me these questions?”
“Because I want to get to know you, Orin.” I glanced down at my bowl, feeling as if the tables were unbalanced. I’d told him all about my experience in the hopes that he would open up to me too.
“You mean you want to experience the way I fuck?”
There was no use in denying it. I bobbed my head.
“Even when you’ve been scarred by past experiences. I’m not a gentle lover, Fallon. I like it rough. I like to have control. I like to make my partner feel pain because I get off on it.”
The more he spoke, the more my body responded to the growling purr that had worked its way out with his words. Yes, I may have been broken in the past, but I trusted Orin. He had saved my life. I had saved his. We were irrevocably bonded in our own fucked-up pasts, and I wanted to experience this part of his life too.
“I want to try.” I peered into his face to gauge his reaction. “I want to try it your way. With you.”
He looked horrified. All the color drained from his face, and he dropped his spoon onto the table. It clattered loudly, competing with the sound of his chair scraping back against the flagstone floors. Rising to his impressive height, he stared at me for a moment, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, Fallon,” he snarled before whirling around and marching up the stairs.
People stared at him as he left, and then they turned their gazes to me. Clearing my throat, I drew a breath in through my nose, then let it out. I wasn’t going to let his tantrum deter me. Picking up my spoon once more, I started on my stew again.
I glanced up when I sensed someone hovering beside the table. It was our waitress.
