“Fifteen years ago . . . ” He’d been in his early twenties. “You were already into the lifestyle?”
He nodded, his expression turning solemn. “There was a period right after college when my life spiraled out of control. A friend of mine brought me to a private play party and introduced me to a Domme. I was immediately intrigued by the lifestyle, but she wouldn’t play with me until I agreed to stop drinking and submit to her for at least three months. Six months later, I began topping other women, and for the first time, I felt as though I was in the driver’s seat of my own life.” A breath shuddered through him. “If my friend hadn’t introduced me to BDSM, I honestly believe I would have drank myself to death. Creating Benediction and training slaves is a way for me to pay it forward.”
She bit down on her lower lip, wondering what could have possibly sent him spiraling out of control like that. “Do your parents know you turned the house into a sex club?”
“They know the basics. Understandably, they don’t want to know about my sex life. But I didn’t want them to come visit and walk into a sex club unaware.”
“And they’re cool with it?” If her father had lived, she couldn’t imagine he’d accept her living in a sex club or training as a slave.
He chuckled. “They’d prefer I marry and raise a family in the home rather than train people in the art of Domination and submission, but they want me to be happy.”
“What if you decide you want to get married and have kids? Would you move Benediction, or would you live somewhere else?”
He stiffened and a pregnant silence followed. “That’s not a consideration. I’m not the family sort of man. It’s a commitment I’m not willing to make with someone.”
For some reason, she experienced a pang of disappointment. “ ’Til death do us part too much for you?”
He moved closer. “Tell me, Danielle. You’ve indicated you’re here for your potential fiancé. What role do you see yourself playing? Do you imagine waiting for him on your knees, naked and open, as he walks through the front door every night? Or is it something you wish to remain in the bedroom? A little bondage with some scarves? An occasional slap on your luscious bottom as he takes you from behind?”
She’d never imagined any of those things, but his words created vivid images she knew she’d picture later in her bed. “Isn’t that why I’m here? For you to teach me, so I can determine what I want in a power-exchange relationship?”
Suspicion banked in his eyes. “I don’t know. Why are you here?”
Rather than wait for her answer, Cole unlocked the door and pushed it open. She stepped inside and gasped at the sight.
The dark hardwood floors, exposed pipes in the ceiling, and track lighting gave the room a warehouse feel, and framed black and white photographs like the ones she’d seen in the dungeon lined the cream-colored walls. Interspersed were paintings of nudes done in oils and drawings in chalk.
In awe of his talent, she turned to him. “Is this your art gallery? Oh my God. You did all this?”
“Self-indulgent, I know, but yes.” His eyes twinkled, and a light blush stained his cheeks. “All the artwork was created by me throughout the years.”
She toured the space, mesmerized by the subtle details he’d captured in each piece of art. His paintings and drawings were every bit as lifelike as his photographs, down to a small mole on the side of a woman’s lips and the curve of a hip. While the photos all included some form of kink or sex toy and were often limited to a single body part, his drawings and paintings focused solely on the person as a whole.
One wall contained only mirrors, cut into shapes such as stars and lightning bolts. Had he designed these as well? “I noticed the mirrors throughout the house. You use them here too. I’ve never considered a mirror as art before.”
He shrugged and strode to her. “I like mirrors.”
“I don’t.”
“Why not?
“Mirrors tell the truth. Without them, I can pretend to be someone else. I can forget what I look like.”
Creases in his forehead appeared. “Why the hell would you want to do that?”
“I don’t know if you remember, but I used to be a lot heavier than I am now. But even now, I’m not thin.” She scrutinized her reflection in the jagged mirror. “I’m not beautiful.”
He gripped her shoulders and twirled her toward him. “Who says?”
“No one has to say it to my face.” She motioned to the wall of mirrors. “It’s very clear every time I’m forced to see my reflection.”