“Will do. Later.”
“Later.”
Branch disconnected, swung up in his truck and drove away.
Eleven months later …
Branch parked directly in front of her house.
It had just gone two thirty in the morning.
He got out of his truck, his eyes to the home in front of him, not for the first time noting that the Willo Historic District of Phoenix was the shit.
Especially her place.
Second house from a dead end that led to a thick, tall hedge beyond which was a parking lot off Central. The location gave the property an odd sense of quiet, even right in the city, close to a busy street like Central, and also a definite sense of privacy on that dead end.
He kept his gaze on her place, the abundant tall trees and full shrubs around her house making it look like something not out of Phoenix, but from the East Coast.
Her water bill had to be off the charts.
She had a ton of planters bursting with flowers decorating the front steps of her bungalow.
Yup.
Definitely off the charts.
His eyes turned right.
She didn’t have a garage, just a carport, but she didn’t need one with those trees shading the house and her lot. When summer hit Phoenix and temperatures hit 115, her place would be thirty degrees cooler, a little oasis in a vast desert valley.
He walked up the front walk but took the path that led along her front porch to the side. Her drop-top white Fiat parked under the carport, Branch headed by it, seeing the interior was red and white, sporty, cute, such a girl car, it was a wonder it didn’t reach out and smear lipstick on his jeans when he walked past it.
Two side doors to the house, one from the floor plan he’d downloaded he knew led to a laundry room, the one closer to the back of her house let you into her kitchen.
He saw the moon gleam off the pool beyond the house, but just barely, due to the foliage and plant-covered pergolas that acted as covered pathways between house, carport and the small studio that stood at the back side of her property.
He stopped at the door to the kitchen and made a decision.
He’d inspect the studio later.
He picked the lock to her house.
He moved in and turned immediately to disable the alarm at the panel, feeling his mouth get tight when it didn’t buzz.
She hadn’t set it.
She didn’t even have a badge in the window that said she had an alarm.
She also didn’t have a dog.
And further, she didn’t have motion sensor lights outside.
But she did have a fucking car that sat under an open carport that screamed a girl lived there.
He drew in breath, turned to face the kitchen, and went completely still.
The floor plan showed the house had three sections of rooms, each section running the length of the house. One side office, laundry room, kitchen. Down the middle, living room opening direct into dining room opening direct into a family room. Other side, guest room, bathroom, small study, Arizona room jutting off the back. The bottom-level ceilings had been lowered so a master, with walk-in closet and master bath, could be set in the attic.
None of the rooms was big except the master.
But in that day of great rooms where kitchens were open, large and part of the house, Branch hadn’t been prepared for this room to be so small, downright snug, filled everywhere, even if he was seeing it by moonlight, with shit that declared boldly a person who liked cooking lived there.
There was a small breakfast nook beyond the counter with the sink that faced the big picture window at the back of the house. There was a little table there, only space for two ladder-back chairs on each side. Plants hung from hooks in the ceiling and sat on high stands, making it look like gazing out the window was doing it through a jungle of leaves.
This was not a kitchen.
This was a kitchen in a house that someone had made a home.
Branch turned and exited immediately, pulling in oxygen when it seemed his breath might turn shallow, and his eyes hit on the studio.
A better place to start.
He moved there, noting the plantation shutters on the windows had been carefully closed. No one could see inside. Not from any angle.
He picked the lock, went in, pulled his small Maglite from his pocket and shined it around the space.
He knew this was her playroom before he’d entered but right then he saw that she didn’t hide it under sheets and tarps, just behind shutters.
Branch shifted the light around, seeing a horse, a bench, a table, all of them good quality. It cost a mint to outfit a good playroom and she didn’t make do. She’d been investing. Making smart purchases that would look good, stand strong during play and last a while.
Fashionable sink in the corner set in an attractive wood vanity, two matching tall, slim cupboards on each side.
He moved there, looked through the vanity and cupboards. Thick towels. Washcloths. Wet wipes. Soap. Bottles of foam anti-bacterial. Cleaning supplies. A large box of condoms. A little basket filled with some cosmetics—powder, lipsticks, gloss. Another filled with first-aid supplies—Band-Aids, bottles of antiseptic, tubes of ointment, gauze, cotton.
He closed the door to the cupboard he was inspecting, turned and shined the light around the room. Moving across the space, he noted hooks on the walls, in the ceiling, eyes in the floor, all looking sturdy. Whoever put them in might have wondered why or he’d been hers. But whoever that was knew what they were doing.
There was a tall cabinet and a large dresser across the room, both in the wood that made up the vanity and the cupboards. It all matched, was heavy and dark but attractive, giving the space the definite feel of a playroom, not a dungeon. It was stylish and handsome, even warm, somewhere you’d want to stay a while.
He didn’t think on his last thought as he opened the top cupboard doors of the cabinet and shined the light in, feeling what he found there in his dick.
Cats. Whips. Switches. Flogs. Paddles. Some straps. Some harnesses. All hanging from hooks. All well organized and well maintained. All also excellent quality. Not many, but again, quality, not quantity, was what she was clearly going for.
He closed the doors and crouched down to the two drawers at the bottom of the cabinet, opening them. Top one had silk ropes, some chains, shackles, cuffs. The bottom drawer was full of leather straps with cinches attached.
Branch straightened, moved to the dresser. Nothing littered the top, so he opened the first drawer.
What he found there made his balls draw up.
Carefully placed in what looked like purple silk-lined, custom-made grooves were her toys. Plugs. Cocks. Vibrators. The first two in an impressive range of lengths, girths and shapes. If they had them, remotes were placed at the side of the toy they controlled. There was also a complicated cock ring, rabbit ears at the front for clit stimulation, and a strap that would lead between the balls to a bullet that could be inserted in the anus, all of it obviously vibrated—triple the fun.
She liked ass.
Not many of her kind didn’t.
He didn’t think on that either.
He closed the drawer, opened the next, and found baskets placed in, carefully organized and containing a large variety of necessary items. Lubes. Oils. Gels. Lotions.
Next drawer down he found scarves and eye masks, no sensory deprivation, no ball gags, no hoods.
Putting a hand in and touching the fabric, Branch noted she had a fondness for silk and all of them were either dark purple, deep blue or black.
He also noted in an intense way that almost made him feel something, not only in his dick and balls, but somewhere else, that she had her shit tight.
She knew who she was. She knew what she liked. And what she liked wasn’t common or vulgar, as many people might see it (but he didn’t, he still couldn’t deny he liked the way she obviously played it).
There was an elegance to her style.
It wasn’t about ball gags and he didn’t find a single strap-on.
She got the life.
But she did it her way.
Yeah, that definitely almost made him feel something.
Almost.
The next drawer down, he found more harnesses, these for smaller uses, balls, cock, jaw. There were also two carved boxes he pulled out and opened; their original use was for rings or jewelry but she’d put four cock rings in the purple velvet in one, and a number of gleaming nipple clamps with and without chains tangled against the blue silk lining in the other.