He wanted her. And pushing her away wasn’t an option anymore. He couldn’t do that to her. She needed him more. Maybe the direct approach would be best. I’m a Dom… No, no. That was too direct. He needed to ease into his confession a bit. No sense just bitch-slapping her with the truth. I practice the BDSM lifestyle… Practice? Shit no. He wasn’t a doctor—or a magical practitioner for that matter. He tried again. I own a popular BDSM club and BDSM-themed restaurant, but I’m not just the owner. I’m also an active participant in the lifestyle… No, no and hell no. He slammed the empty ice-cream container in the trash can with all the finesse of a five-hundred-pound ballerina. That line sounded as if he were giving the BDSM equivalent of the Hair Club for Men shtick. I’m not only the Hair Club President, but I’m also a client. “Damn it.” Admitting who he was shouldn’t be this damn difficult. This was Viv for fuck’s sake, a woman who had always accepted him for who he was.
