Page 11 of Blossom
I steal another glance at the young woman who is nervously sipping from a glass of what looks to be water. Curiosity spikes in me. Why is she agitated? More importantly, why is she alone? “Tell me about her.”
“You mean you don’t want to know about me?” she asks coyly.
“You’re gorgeous, and I like talking to you, but I don’t touch what’s not mine.” I nod toward the giant “no trespassing” sign sparkling on her left hand. “Plus, you’re clearly collared.”
She grins. “My fiancé and I have an open relationship.”
“I’d have to hear that from his lips, not yours. No offense. I learned that lesson the hard way.”
“Fair enough,” she says, keeping her grin in place.
Besides, even as pretty as she is, she’s not really my type. I have a thing for redheads.
But it’s not just the hair that drew me to her friend.
It’s her eyes…and something else I can’t put my finger on.
My gut is telling me to pay attention, and I never ignore my gut.
“Are you a Dom?” Lotus asks.
“Guilty.”
“Blossom is a submissive.”
I nod. I already knew that. A good Dom can tell a submissive from one look.
It’s not the fact that she’s focusing on her hands, and it’s not the fact that she’s acting oddly timid. Submissives aren’t shy or hesitant. They’re obedient. They can be bold as fuck when given a command, making sure to carry it out exactly as they’ve been told because that’s what pleases them and their Dom.
I can tell she’s a submissive simply by the way she’s sitting. Legs crossed, shoulders back.
She waits to be approached.
But the rest of her body language means something else. The way she keeps fiddling with her hands…
Something is bothering her.
And I can’t just sit here and watch it from a distance anymore.
I finish my glass of water and stand. “It was nice to meet you, Lotus.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” she says.
Then I walk toward the table where her friend sits. I stand above her. “Good evening.”
She looks up at me with those whisky-colored eyes. “Good evening.” She clears her throat. “Are you…okay?”
“Only slightly embarrassed,” I say. “But I’ve been through worse. I’m Ronan O’Connor.”
“Blossom.”
“May I sit down?”
She nods slowly. “Sure.”
More details of her strike me now that I’m up close. The way the fabric of her black dress complements every curve, making everything about her appear soft and touchable. The way her hair catches the light and shines in several different shades of terracotta. And that mouth—those glossy lips on that pert little mouth.
“I met your friend,” I say once I’m seated. “Lotus.”