For Real (Spires, #3)

by Alexis Hall

“It’s at times like this,” I told Grace, looking dismally into my glass of warm lemonade as someone subjected us to erotic performance poetry, “I really wish I drank.” “And I thought you were supposed to be a masochist.”

“Kink crowds are the same the world over. The good ones are already taken—” I gestured to them both “—the hot ones only talk to each other, and everyone else is desperate.”

“It’s like,” he went on tormentedly, “you’re not allowed to be a dom until you’re forty and six feet tall and own your bespoke bondage dungeon. But I’m probably not going to get any taller, and forty is forever away, so what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

I kind of half wish I’d met him later. When I’m older, and I’m all cool and sophisticated. However that happens. I can’t really imagine it properly though. The best I can come up with is us both wearing tuxedos.

“She’s not a martyred slave of time.”

Love this reference

Maybe it’s because of the kinky thing. Or maybe I’m a bad lay. But mainly it’s kind of wet and awkward, and you’re both kind of touching each other like you aren’t really sure what you’re doing.

I hated it when they called me boy, but I couldn’t remember if I’d mentioned it, and it wasn’t worth ending the scene over.

he’s this powerful, educated, gorgeous man. With a prestigious job and a fairy-tale house and most likely real relationships against which I’m always going to fall short. Because I’m not his equal. I’m just . . . not. It’s the wet-fish slap of reality I need as I’m standing there, up to the elbows in greasy soapsuds washing up after the lunchtime rush.

“That bull was nearly Margaret Thatcher, so don’t knock it.”

“Broke up with my boyfriend.” “Probably for the best, love. You know, relationships are ultimately an ideological construct designed to limit our freedom.”