Sweet Persuasion - Maya Banks Page 0,2
married.”
“Julie is still mortally offended that you aren’t having a huge church wedding so she can make you look like a million dollars for the occasion,” Serena said as she settled onto a stool at the bar in the kitchen.
Faith made a face. “Neither Gray nor I was crazy about a big fuss. Not after everything that happened.” Her smile faltered as pain flitted across her brow. “Pop wanted a big wedding too so he could give me away, but honestly, Gray and I just want to be together. The sooner, the better.”
Serena smiled. “I think that’s great, Faith. You deserve to be happy after all you went through.”
“Enough about me,” Faith said brightly as she began taking containers out of the refrigerator. “We’re here to talk about you and these deviant fantasies of yours.”
Serena groaned. “Who the hell says they’re deviant?”
Faith chuckled. “The best ones always are. So what gives, Serena?” Faith’s expression became more somber as she gazed at her friend. “You haven’t been yourself lately. You seem withdrawn, like you’re unhappy about something.”
Serena plunked her elbows on the counter and cupped her jaw in her palm. “I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking.”
“About?”
“The fact that I put so much time and effort into making other people’s fantasies come to life, but I ignore my own. And then I realized that I wouldn’t have the first clue how to make them come true anyway. Other people’s fantasies are so . . . normal compared to mine. My mother would have heart failure if she knew the girl she’d raised to be a self-sufficient, depend-on-no-man-for-your-security, successful businesswoman secretly fantasized about being a man’s sex slave.”
Faith choked then coughed delicately to mask her reaction. “Sex slave?” she squeaked.
“Yeah, knew you’d get a real kick out of that one,” Serena said glumly.
“Uh, no. I mean it’s just that’s the last thing I expected you to say.”
“Go ahead and say it. I’m crazy as a bat.”
Faith set a plate of lasagna in front of Serena then settled onto the stool across the bar. “You’re not crazy, Serena,” she said calmly. “But sex slave? Are you talking one night of hot sex where you play the slave to the master, or is this something else entirely?”
Serena felt warmth invade her cheeks. Damn it. Unlike Faith, she was not a blusher.
“Well, preferably it would be longer than one night, but not permanent or anything. I mean, I think I’d like it. The idea turns me on, but I might hate it too.”
Faith was silent for a long moment, and Serena fidgeted uncomfortably as she picked at her food.
“You’re wondering where on earth I came up with this, aren’t you?” Serena mumbled.
“Quit being defensive, and don’t apologize for your desires,” Faith scolded. “God, don’t women do that enough? I’m just trying to figure out how serious you are about this. I mean if you just want to play out a fantasy, you could always hire a . . . What do they call a male prostitute anyway?” Faith asked with a giggle.
Serena closed her eyes. “I’m not hiring a damn gigolo. I want someone halfway normal. Preferably someone who hasn’t already made it with half the women in Houston. And I’d like more than one night. I don’t know, maybe a month. I won’t be able to discover anything about the reality if it’s only one night.”
Faith gave her a thoughtful look. “I know someone who might be able to help you.”
Serena’s mouth gaped open. “You?”
Faith stuck her tongue out and scowled. “I’m not as innocent as you and Julie like to think.”
Serena laughed. “Oh, I know, girlfriend. It’s always the sweet, shy ones who are the real dirty birds.”
“Dirty birds?” Faith sputtered. “Need I remind you of who is plotting to become a sex slave?”
Serena grinned. “It has such a forbidden quality, doesn’t it?” She put a forkful of lasagna in her mouth and closed her eyes. “You’re a wonderful cook, you know? I can’t even boil water. I bet Gray thinks he’s in heaven.”
“He’s not marrying me for my cooking,” Faith said dryly.
“Admit it. You’re a total dirty bird,” Serena coaxed.
Faith flashed an unrepentant smile. “I can give you Damon Roche’s phone number.”
“Damon Roche? Is he the guy you think can turn me into a sex slave?”
“Not him personally,” Faith corrected. “But he owns a . . . hell, I’m still not sure what to call it. I suspect Damon wouldn’t appreciate me calling it a sex club.”
“Sex club?” Serena raised one