Page 79 of Illicit Education

I slid my hands into his thick hair and pulled gently until he lifted his head and met my gaze. “So tell me what I need to know.”

Two hours later, complete with a throbbing ache at the base of my skull–and a matching ache between my legs–I left the Rabbit Hole, a stack of paperwork tucked into my purse that had nothing to do with employment.

Cabot hadn’t practiced any ropes tuff with me, and frankly, I wasn’t sure if he’d truly ever intended to. Maybe that had been his way of getting me down here. Or, maybe he’d been sincere about wanting to practice shibari and our kiss had thrown him off course.

Whatever.

I was here now, and that’s all that mattered.

He hadn’t touched me again since our kiss in that private room, but he’d remained close to me for the entirety of these past two hours, while we sat tucked away in a quiet corner of a smaller, quieter lounge area with softer music and brighter lighting than that of the main nightclub.

We shared a bottle of white wine as he went over every detail of the Rabbit Hole.

He explained what membership looked like, what it entailed. Discussed the process of how I would become a member, should I choose to do so.

Yes, please.

He also did not allow me to make that decision tonight, though I would have in a heartbeat.

As the night went on, he detailed what sponsorship would look like, and that I could not become a member of the Rabbit Hole without a sponsor or a direct invitation from Mina herself.

He answered questions that, to him, were probably tedious and ridiculous, but to me were necessary. I inquired about words I’d heard, things I’d read about, movies and books–what they’d gotten wrong and what they’d been right about–and he patiently explained everything he could.

When the clock struck midnight, he gathered up the paperwork spread out before us, tipped the wine bottle upside down into the ice bucket, and announced that we’d delved as far into the lifestyle as we were going to tonight.

Then offered to drive me home.

To my house, not his–consider me disappointed.

I could have kept at it all night, and not just because sitting beside him in that intimate booth provided me with an uninhibited view of Cabot Reed, but because I’d never been more ready to become a part of something in my entire life.

I wanted this life.

Craved it.

As he led me to the parking garage behind the building, he raised a keyfob in the air and clicked the button. Up ahead, the lights of a sleek black and orange car flashed. As we grew closer, I gave an appreciative whistle.

“You know about cars?” he asked.

“No. But I can appreciate pretty things.” I followed him to the passenger side of the sports car smiling as that familiar smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. “What is it?” I looked for the little yellow emblem on the front but apparently it wasn’t a Ferrari.

And that was the extent of what I knew about fancy cars.

“Bugatti.”

He opened the door and I pointed to the stripe of orange that ran along the bottom of the body. “Why orange?” I side-eyed Reed. “Big fan of Halloween?”

His mouth dropped open, but he recovered quickly. “You don’t like orange.”

“It’s all right.” I slid into the seat. “I’m just more of a Christmas person.”

His lips twitched, but he shook his head and shut my door.

“Oh goodLord,” I practically moaned as soon as I was alone in the car.

Most cars smelled like new leather or old French fries.

Or the occasional air freshener, something overwhelming likeGrandma’s Gardenia. I shuddered at the thought.