Free Worth The Wait: A Nature Of Desire Series Novel by Joey W. Hill

those questions, love. There’s a fine line between staying away from the games and drawing a complete map that leaves no room to explore." He curved his hand over her shoulder, thumb pressing into her collar bone in a distracting way. "Breathe for me. The nice thing about Dom and sub interaction is you can negotiate the lines and boundaries with no censure on either side. I may be intense when I want something, but I’m not pushy and I’m not going to ever make you feel like crap because you want to move at your own pace and define your own finish line. All right?”
    She believed him. It was part of his dangerous appeal. She knew the bulk of this unpleasant feeling was coming from her own worries.
    “Why don’t I just answer the question?” he suggested. “For you, not the theater manager."
    “I’ve forgotten what the question was,” she said.
    He smiled. “About what kind of Dom I am. I’ll answer the question in the Conservatory. How about some more snack mix?”
    “Why not?” She rolled her eyes and scooped up another handful. She’d noticed everything he made seemed to be both healthy and tasty, even his PB&J sandwich. Another eerily wonderful thing about him. Maybe he was an alien.
    “So do you know why I asked you to meet me here, instead of at the theater?” he asked, turning them to a different subject. She latched onto it gratefully.
    “Because you wanted to win points by inviting a woman somewhere she’d enjoy, instead of to a monster truck rally or gun show?”
    “You strike me as the type of woman who’d enjoy a gun show. But there wasn’t one in town this weekend.”
    “Damn. I wanted to add to my assault rifle arsenal.” She sighed. “Another weekend maybe.”
    “See? You’re already contemplating another date with me. Progress.” He rose. “I’ll answer both questions in the Conservatory.”

    * * *
    I t was a short , sunlit stroll to the glass building where the orchids were. As he opened the door for her, the moist, close air enveloped her skin, the smell of growing things saturating the senses.
    “Oh, look at all the different shapes and colors.” Moving along the concrete path, she stopped to gaze at orchids in shades of orange, purple, pink, red, white, magenta…countless colors. They weren’t planted like daisies in a field that grew thick together and formed a carpet. They were spaced to display their assets in a jungle-like environment, surrounded by rock formations and water fountains. They looked like jewels in carefully designed settings, so the delicate twists and shapes of the petals could be examined from all angles. Some grew out of tree trunks. Others twined like vines over branches. Still others grew on their own stems, nodding from the wind generated by the fans mounted throughout the building.
    “So why do you come here?” she asked. “What do you like about it, beyond the obvious that it’s amazing?”
    He’d stopped before a trio of white orchids. As he shifted his weight to one hip, he drew her over. “Notice the shape of the petals. When I look at them, I imagine transforming the female form into the same shapes, using rope. I get a lot of ideas from gardens, particularly orchids.”
    She shifted her gaze to the white orchid in the middle. He traced the air before it. “Imagine that’s her thigh, lifted, bound to her ankle. Her back arched, arms behind her so her breasts form this curve here… I’d suspend her, but I’d also twist a rope beneath her, so it would become the stem of the flower and anchor her.”
    As he described it, she could see it. “Why does it give you such a charge? It’s not just about tying a woman up so you can do whatever you want to her, or is it?”
    He gave her a quick, very male smirk. “That’s a very important perk. But yes, there are other reasons. I explore a lot of rope disciplines, and one of my personal favorites is semenawa , torture rope. Not as scary as it sounds. It's about contrasting stimuli."
    They