Blackestnights Read Online Free PDF Page A

his face, I had no clue what he was thinking. Apparently I didn’t have the knack for it that he did.
    “You asked earlier if I’m a photographer. I am. I work so much with the human form that I’ve gotten intimately acquainted with its subtleties.”
    So this was how it worked. He’d mete out tidbits of personal information when and if he saw fit.
    “And obscene cross-sections of fruit.”
    “Those aren’t mine. A friend took them.”
    A friend. What in the world did that vague term mean? He’d prohibited me from seeing other men while we were involved, but he’d given no indication whether he was allowed other playmates. I thought about asking, but in truth, I didn’t want to know.
    Instead I asked, “Are you a professional photographer or is it a hobby?”
    “I sell my work in galleries up and down the East Coast and in Los Angeles.”
    I took in the quality of his furnishings, his taste in clothes, hell, his taste in wine. This was no fifteen-dollar bottle from the supermarket, even my unrefined palette could discern that much. Clearly he sold a lot of photographs.
    “That’s impressive.”
    “I’m glad you think so.”
    Feeling as though I were Alice after she’d drunk from the bottle in Wonderland, I shrank against the puffy back cushions of the sofa. Black took my glass of wine and set it aside. I knew there was no point objecting that I wasn’t finished with it.
    “What do you do?” he asked.
    “Nothing quite so interesting.”
    “I didn’t ask you if your job is interesting, I asked you what it is.”
    “I-I’m a customer service agent at the cable company in town.”
    He wrinkled his nose. “You’re right. That isn’t interesting. You should find a better way to spend your time.”
    My cheeks heated and I struggled to control my indignation. We couldn’t all be hoity-toity photographers. My job paid the bills and it was all I could find in this godforsaken economy and—
    “I’ve upset you,” he said.
    “No.”
    “Don’t lie to me. Tell me why you’re upset.”
    Really, I had nothing to lose by speaking my mind. If I offended him, maybe he’d take me back to the playroom and teach me a lesson. Maybe this time I’d get to come. My labia and clit ached from the climax he denied me.
    “I feel like you’re making fun of me. I know it’s a shitty job, you don’t have to tell me that.”
    “What did you want to be when you were younger?”
    “They’re not very interesting dreams either.”
    “Answer the question.” He took my hand.
    I sighed, sure he would make fun of me again. “I don’t know—a ballerina, Barbie, Mary Lou Retton.”
    A gentle smile pulled at his lips. “Okay, but those are the dreams of a child. What did you aspire to be when you were in high school or college?”
    I hadn’t finished college, a fact that further humiliated me. Clearly Black was educated and successful. I was neither of those things.
    “I dropped out of college.”
    “Again, not what I asked you.” He pinched my face, forcing me to look at him. “Why are you making this so difficult?”
    Swallowing hard, I closed my eyes. Why was I being so evasive? But I knew the answer to that question.
    “Because it’s too painful to think about things I’ll never get to do.”
    He let go of my cheeks, taking my hand again. “Open your eyes.”
    I did as I was told, but couldn’t force myself to meet his gaze.
    “Look at me, little Red.”
    After a moment’s hesitation, I complied.
    “What did you dream of being at this point in your life?”
    At this point. I was staring down thirty. I had a shitty little apartment and a shitty little job and I’d yet to meet a man who made me feel anything but bored out of my mind. Well, until I’d met Black.
    Yeah, when I was younger I’d pictured a very different life for myself, but it hadn’t worked out. So what? That didn’t make me special. Everyone I knew was in the same boat. Except for Black.
    And then it dawned on me. Maybe he knew