Leather Bound. Shanna Germain

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      ‘Go do something,’ Lily said. ‘I’ve got nothing, and I mean nothing, going on outside this place right now. Besides, I like to have you in my debt.’

      ‘But –’ I started.

      And then I stood there, uncertain what else I wanted to say.

      The truth was I didn’t want to be here, because I kept thinking about Davian with an urgency that scared me. Every time his face flashed in my brain, I got wet. Every time I saw his hands touching his briefcase, or my desk, or the tickets, my lizard brain, the part of me that was all sex all the time, woke up, aching for something I couldn’t name.

      I didn’t want to go home because I’d think about Kyle. Kyle, and his proposal. And then I’d have to think about what was wrong with me that I didn’t just say yes to this smart, funny, gorgeous, talented guy who wanted to spend his life with me. Wasn’t that what every girl dreamed of?

      I definitely didn’t want to go to Kyle’s, because I wouldn’t just think about Kyle there; I’d actually have to talk to him. And probably come up with some answers that I didn’t want to give.

      The only other places I ever went – did I mention I was an introvert? – were Cream, the coffee shop that our friend Stefan owned, and Cock’s Tail, the bar that our friend Jay owned. Both of those places offered comfort, but they also meant someone who cared about me offering sympathy and a listening ear. If I knew anything right now, I knew that I didn’t feel like talking.

      I felt like hiding out in a dark room where no one could see me, and letting all of this go for a little while. Somewhere that I could hide in the dark and think and make some of this stupid sexual desire disappear. Somewhere that I could –

      Suddenly, I knew just what I needed. And I knew just the place to get it. Dark. Quiet but not too quiet. Solitary but not too solitary. I grabbed my coat and practically ran to the front desk, where Lily was still hunched over her sketchpad, chewing on an eraser shaped like a robot. A mostly headless robot.

      ‘Hey, Lil, did you mean it when you talked about closing up?’

      ‘Nope,’ she said. ‘I changed my mind. You must stay here for ever and ever.’

      She must have seen something in my face because she started laughing almost instantly and flapped her hands at me, headless robot included. ‘Go, please. I love you, but you’re starting to make me crazy.’

      I leaned across the counter to kiss her cheek, and as I did so, I saw what she’d been sketching.

      It was Davian’s face. Almost. Just a little off, although I couldn’t tell how. I tried to puzzle out what it was. The eyes, slightly off-kilter? No. Not the mouth either. Something else. But it was definitely him.

      ‘Guess I’m not the only one with the hots,’ I teased, tapping the edge of the drawing with my finger.

      ‘No,’ she said. Her tongue stud flashed silver between her teeth. ‘It’s just that I do remember him from somewhere. But not here, I don’t think. I don’t know.’

      ‘Well, if you do think of it, let me know, ’kay? And I’ll open tomorrow. On time, I promise it!’

      ‘Mm-hm’ was her only response as I slipped out the door.

      * * *

      Leather Bound is in a part of town that most people, locals and tourists alike, just call the Sweet Spot. It’s this little area – two streets, maybe six or seven blocks long, of mixed business and residential – that’s known for being a bit risqué. It’s not a gay district per se, just a sexy district.

      Most of the smart businesses play up the theme, giving themselves double-entendre names, like ours. And it works. It’s safely naughty. So if you want to bring your best friend somewhere for her bachelorette party, you’ll probably head here. Maybe stop by Cream for a cup of coffee, then head to Lashes & Lace for toys, then on to Cock’s Tail or one of the other half-dozen nightclubs that offer a naughty ambiance.

      I asked around before we opened Leather Bound here, but no one seemed to know why this area is here, or where it came from.

      It’s a good place for Leather Bound. Although we’re not specifically focused on sex books, we definitely do our fair share of sales in that direction. Plus, the rent is cheaper than anywhere else, we get more walk-in sales and it’s easy to get to almost anywhere from the store.

      Like to Lashes & Lace, which was just around the corner a couple of blocks and down the street. I practically ran there. Now that I had a mission, I had someplace to put all my nervous energy.

      I slipped in the front door, the little bells tinkling to mark my entrance. As far as sex toy shops go, Lashes & Lace is high-end, deluxe and very, very lush. The walls are painted in a lovely crimson, and the lights are kept soft and dim. There’s more a sense that you’re walking into someone’s home. If that someone owned a couple hundred sex toys and had a fetish for leather paddles as wall art.

      A woman I didn’t know was behind the front counter, her ample curves tucked into a leather corset dress.

      Perfect. Anonymity was the key thing I was craving at the moment, and that made things so much easier. And sweeter.

      Walking past her, I caught her eye and gave an ‘I’m heading to the back’ gesture with my hand. She nodded. Sometimes I loved wordless exchanges.

      A wide black curtain hung at the back of the store, and I parted it to step through. Here, it was even more dimly lit, soft cream walls and flickering electric lights that guided you down a long hallway. Doors opened off either side. I wasn’t surprised to find many of the doors marked FILLED, even in the middle of the day. L&L was known for catering to couples and tourists who wanted a clean, safe place to act out their fantasies.

      I slipped down the hall until I found a door that read EMPTY. I swiped my credit card and, when the door clicked open, I stepped inside.

      The room was small but cosy. Three walls were covered with long roll-up shades. I knew from experience what lay behind the fabric: floor-to-ceiling windows. On either side, the windows were two-way. If you opened those, whoever was in the room on the sides could see you. Along the wall opposite the door was a one-way window. You could watch the action, but they couldn’t see you.

      I know a lot of exhibitionists, those people who get off on fucking in front of people, and I’m thankful for them because I like to watch, but I’m not one myself. The thought of being in front of people, of having sex in front of someone else, makes me feel breathless and weak, as though my legs won’t hold me.

      At a basic level, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to let myself go and enjoy it, knowing that someone was watching. It’s more than that, though. I just don’t know exactly what. Maybe it’s the introvert thing. Or a trust thing. Trusting them, trusting myself.

      But to sit in a dark corner and watch someone else get off? Yes, please. When I was little I wanted to be Harriet the Spy or Nancy Drew, looking through people’s things for clues, watching through keyholes, discovering the forbidden. That desire has changed over the years, it’s grown up from secrets and clues to sex and lust, but it’s never gone away.

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