His Vanilla Girl | ✔

Chapter One

Maria Delsante cautiously entered the room, keeping her eyes focused on the floor, as she pulled her cardigan tight across her body. She was not a people person, let alone a sexy person, so how she found the courage to come to a BDSM meeting was beyond her. Did she really need to experience it first hand to be able to write about it?

It took a second for her brain to register that a pair of black polished dress shoes had stopped right in front of her. She glanced up and found herself looking into the most beautiful, hungry, smoky-gray eyes that she'd ever seen.

"Welcome to our humble abode," he said, his voice deep and husky.

Averting her eyes back to the ground, she offered him a timid smile. "Thank you."

"I'm Sylvester," he said.

"Just call me Tweety," she replied softly.

He threw his head back and belted out a deep-throated hearty laugh, which caused the entire room to pause from their discussions and look in their direction. Maria's cheeks burned as though someone held a candle up to her face.

"I'm sorry. I made a mistake coming here." She turned away and started walking towards the door. Crowds weren't her scene. She much preferred the quiet corner of a library or her usual corner booth at the little café on the corner of her stomping ground. And guys, well, she hadn't bothered with them since Derek ditched her for someone more willing to put out and less career focused.

What did she know about sex? Other than her little third base trip back in high school, she was pretty much clueless. When the boy's hand slipped into her pants and she felt the moisture trickle between her legs, she shoved the guy away embarrassed.

Sylvester placed his hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, as he leaned closer to her ear. "Come, let's chat."

"How do I know I'll be safe with you?"

"Nothing happens without consent here." Though his words were simple, they were laced with seduction and promise. As he stood behind her, he held out his hand. "I promise."

She stared at his palm, her hand itching to accept it. But should she go with him? What if he took her into some dank dark dungeon and did unspeakable things to her. The idea terrified her. And yet, the tingle that was working its way through her body at his simple offer made her accept his hand.

Everyone around them watched as he led her through the room and down a hallway, away from the surprisingly busy room. She had expected only a few people, not an entire community, old and young adults alike. One girl in the corner was chatting with a man in his thirties, while she barely looked old enough to drink. They were all surprisingly casually dressed. She was expecting leather type clothing and people wearing chains or whatever.

"Everyone looks so normal," she said, glancing back over her shoulder.

He laughed again and the sound brought life to the butterflies in her stomach. How oddly peculiar? She wasn't even here to try out the stuff, so why the heck was she getting excited? This was supposed to be research only. Sylvester guided her into a kitchen, away from the growing crowd in the conference room.

He reached for the kettle, filled it with water, and plugged it in. Turning to face her, he leaned with his back against the counter, his thumbs stuffed into his pockets. "So what brings you to our neck of the woods?"

She watched as a stray black hair fell across his creamy colored forehead, curling above his left eyebrow. Her hand itched to reach out and smooth it back into place, but she didn't want him to mistake it for some type of permission to touch her back.

"I'm, uh, doing research."

"A journalist?" he said, with a hint of menace in his tone. "We're a pretty close knit community, Tweety. We don't like interlopers."