The Secret Life of a Submissive and Bonds of Love: 2-book BDSM Erotica Collection. Sarah K

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘He needs to grow a pair.’

      ‘How about you, Sarah?’ Helen asked, trying to move herself out of the spotlight. ‘How’s the manhunt coming along?’ They all knew that I was internet dating and had been seeing a few people, although none of them knew what sort of sites I’d signed up for.

      Before I could reply, Joan, talking with her mouth full, waved her hands around and said, ‘Hang on. I knew there was something I meant to tell you. I’ve found the most perfect man for Sarah.’

      Everyone looked at her. ‘Oh no, you didn’t meet him at church, did you? He’s not a God botherer, is he?’ asked Gabbie.

      ‘No,’ said Joan, looking wounded.

      ‘Or another writer?’ asked Helen.

      ‘No, he makes bespoke kitchens,’ said Joan. ‘Really beautiful – top end, gorgeous.’

      Around the table everyone nodded enthusiastically. Good with his hands, practical, creative – I could see the three of them stacking up the plus points before they’d even clapped eyes on the man.

      I started to speak but no one was paying a blind bit of attention to me.

      ‘And he comes highly recommended,’ Joan continued. She didn’t expand on whether that was kitchen or relationship related. Joan managed a cookshop that stocks the most amazingly expensive gadgets and has a deli and wine section. Kitchen designers and fitters were part of her world.

      ‘And how were you planning to get him to meet Sarah?’ asked Helen.

      ‘Divine intervention,’ laughed Gabbie, taking a long sip of her wine.

      ‘Or we could all hang around in the deli section and drive him on to her – you know, like sheep-dogs,’ Helen suggested.

      Joan puffed out her cheeks. She was indignant: she was trying to be helpful. Joan is lovely; she is always kind and good, and really pretty in a wholesome way. Her stupid husband had left her for a twenty-three-year-old girl who worked in their local garage, who broke his heart and took his money, and then he had been furious with Joan when she wouldn’t take him back.

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Joan said. ‘We’re having an open evening at the barn at the beginning of next month. I’ve already invited Shaun and I was thinking you could all come along. He’s in Tuscany at the moment, fitting a friend’s kitchen.’

      Everyone nodded; I think the Tuscany thing clinched it.

      ‘So promotional evening it is, then,’ said Helen, refilling her glass. ‘Here’s to Shaun.’

      ‘Oh yes, Shaun, right. And Helen can get shit-faced on the cocktails again,’ hooted Gabbie. Everyone was off again. One bad thing about having good girl friends is that they all have memories like elephants: nothing is ever forgotten.

      ‘That was a long time ago,’ protested Helen. ‘And I was on tablets. And you’re one to talk. What about the time –’

      ‘Anyway,’ said Joan, dragging the conversation back on track, ‘what I’m saying is that Shaun is really lovely, he loves cooking, he’s divorced and he wears nice clothes.’

      ‘And he has friends in Tuscany,’ said Gabbie.

      ‘Gay?’ suggested Helen.

      ‘No. No, he’s not,’ said Joan. ‘I asked him.’

      I hated to spoil their fun …

      ‘You asked him if he was gay?’ said Gabbie. ‘Really?’

      ‘We got talking. He doesn’t know many people round here,’ said Joan.

      ‘I’d like to have been there to hear that conversation,’ said Gabbie.

      ‘And I’ve already told him about Sarah. He seemed quite keen.’

      … but I was going to have to.

      ‘You did?’ I said, finally managing to get a word in. ‘What have you told him, Joan?’

      ‘He’s not seeing anyone at the moment. And he’s hunky and hairy –’

      ‘What did you tell him?’

      ‘Maybe you should save him for yourself?’ suggested Helen, sucking the sour cream off another potato wedge.

      Joan shook her head. Her moving on from a bad break-up involved a complex, and from what I could make out, rather one-sided relationship with God, and two fox terriers. ‘No, he’s not my type, but as soon as I saw him I thought he would be perfect for Sarah,’ said Joan. ‘Just perfect.’

      ‘In that case we should all go to Joan’s next do,’ suggested Gabbie. ‘When is it?’

      ‘Tenth of next month,’ offered Joan. ‘What is that – five, six weeks?’

      Gabbie pulled a face. ‘Oh, that’s too long. Maybe you should just give him Sarah’s number. I mean, why wait? Or is he in Tuscany for six weeks?’

      In the end I held up my hands to stop the clamour and shouted, ‘Stop.’ I hadn’t got any plans to tell them about Max, and maybe I should have carried on with the plan, but I didn’t want Joan fixing me up with someone, and certainly not giving him my phone number, so I said, ‘Actually, I’m already seeing someone.’

      Talk about stopping the party dead. All three of them swung round to stare at me.

      ‘I thought you were going to give up on men after Henry?’ said Helen.

      ‘Are you just saying that you’ve met someone?’ said Joan.

      ‘No, I’m a bit old for an imaginary boyfriend. I’ve been seeing him for a few weeks now. Anyway you know I’ve been seeing people, Joan: you’re my safe call.’

      ‘Well, I know. I just thought you’d gone off the boil a bit lately.’

      ‘So what’s he like, then?’ asked Gabbie.

      I didn’t know where to start.

      ‘Oh, come on, Sarah, spill the beans. It’s not like you to keep a secret,’ pressed Gabbie.

      She was right. It wasn’t. I am notorious for telling everyone everything. I’ve shamelessly robbed my private life for the sake of fiction, not to mention the lives of my friends, my family and complete strangers. If someone ever begins a sentence with the words ‘Whatever you do, please don’t breathe a word of this,’ I always ask them, beg them, to go no further. Don’t tell me. I won’t be able to help myself: you’ll find yourself, halfway through a dinner party or a radio interview, at the heart of an edited anecdote or worse still in a book. As the main character. I’m hopeless at keeping a secret. No need to torture me: just ask and I’ll tell you. I had come to the conclusion that I was genetically programmed to tell people everything – right up until that moment.

      I took a breath, considering where I should start, whether I should tell them about Max and the nipple clamps, or how after we had driven home from СКАЧАТЬ