Thrill Seeker by Kristina Lloyd Read Free Book Online Page A

there, I wouldn’t have recognised him except that he was waving from a deep, leather sofa. He stood, jeans tight on his thighs. I greeted him with a peck on the cheek.
    ‘I was about to text you,’ he said. He had that first-date mania, smile a little too tense, eyes staring intently as if wanting to absorb me in case I fled.
    I smiled, searching for some vestiges of those elegant bones in his bloated face and bull-dog neck. Perhaps I looked manic too. I wanted to say, ‘That’s not red wine and cheese, mate! That’s burgers and kebabs.’ Instead, I chirped, ‘No need, I’m here! Nice to meet you!’ He wasn’t obese. He was stocky and it didn’t suit him. In his photos he’d looked cultured and intelligent. Now he seemed slow and stupid. Give him a chance, Natalie, I thought. Judge, book, cover and all that.
    We sat opposite each other at a long, low table, at our side a grand fireplace with dried flowers in its hearth. The space was awkward; both of us perched on the edge of our sofas, unable to hear properly because of tinny music coming from a speaker above us. Dreadful place. Why did I keep going there?
    We talked about our jobs, music and travel, and failed to laugh at each other’s jokes. I tried to picture him ramming his cock into my mouth and calling me names. The hand on his pint glass was chubby and I wondered if his fingers would feel good inside me. None of it worked. I couldn’t see how this uneasy, approval-seeking man might step into Baxter’s shoes by becoming a big, beautiful beast in bed. But if he were able to do that, maybe I could overlook the fat neck and lacklustre conversation to get my fix of twisted sex. And if that panned out OK, maybe I could stop pinning my hopeson a some faceless psycho who’d broken into my house to leave his kinky calling card.
    Kinky? No, Den’s calling card was beyond kinky. Again, I wondered if I ought to fess up to Liam so he could keep an eye out for me. No need, I reassured myself. I was safe. Den had removed his profile from FancyFree so there was a good chance he’d stopped already. And if he hadn’t stopped, well, that was fine too. I could handle myself. I was smart enough not to get embroiled in something seriously risky.
    ‘So how are we doing?’ Paul asked as we neared the end of our first drink.
    I smiled, stifling a sigh as I fiddled with the stem of my glass, thinking, stay or go?
    I often find it useful to narrow my choices down to two. Live or die? Live or live a lie? My instinct said this wasn’t going to work. Say goodbye, go home. But another voice, that of my devil’s advocate who lodges in my psyche in a room marked ‘desperate’, started telling me I was too damn picky. Dating was meant to be fun, an experiment to see if I could combine kink with friendship. This wasn’t a quest to find Baxter Logan the Second so why keep rejecting guys who were less than ideal? Lighten up, make some compromises, Natalie.
    ‘Another drink while you think about it?’ suggested Paul.
    I met his gaze. His brows were tipped high, his smile wide. Too puppyish, too eager. Not my type at all. I shook my head. ‘Sorry. I need to go. It’s been nice meeting you but … sorry. I think it’s best we call it a day. We aren’t … I don’t think …’ I shrugged, hating this part. ‘I don’t think I’m your type. We’re not compatible.’
    Paul nodded, lips tight, eyes downcast. Eventually, he said, ‘Well, thanks for being honest.’
    I knocked back the remainder of my wine. ‘No worries. Any time.’ In a hurry, I gathered my belongings and left the pub, thinking what a dumb thing to have said. Any time? What did that mean in the context?
    Outside, Old Town was quiet, and my footsteps echoed in the dreary sterility of a Monday evening. Sometimes, if I’m in a masochistic mood, I go running in Old Town although I pay for it later with aching calf muscles. The seafront is my preferred spot. Most days after work, I jog down the narrow,