Chapter 8 #3
My nerves boil over. My eyes cast downward as I suck in a large breath of air.
That word out of his mouth is like an instant zap inside my panties.
The way his teeth grab hold of his lower lip to utter the sound of the letter F is spine-tingling.
I know he said all sorts of naughty things that night we had together, but it’s been so long now, and I was in an alternate universe then.
I’ve compartmentalised that night into a dream.
A fantasy. This is reality, yet all I want to do is ask him to say that word over, and over, and over.
“Don’t say that word again, please,” I groan, running my hands through my hair and pressing my thighs together as I try to ignore the fact that his lower lip is slightly thicker than his upper lip.
“What word?” he asks, seemingly sincere.
“The…naughty word.”
Careful, Sloan, your mom jeans are showing.
“Naughty word?” This makes him chuckle.
How can he be laughing right now? My body is racked with tortured awareness of how close we are sitting beside each other.
His knee has brushed against mine under the table three times in the past five minutes, and all I can think about is how badly I want it to happen again.
I cover my face with my hands to avoid looking at him.
He leans in and whispers, “You mean the word fuck?” The soft click of the K causes me to peek through the crack between my fingers.
His eyes are intense on me as he adds, “Sloan, all I’ve been thinking about for months is how badly I want to fuck you again.
” His lips dampen as he slides his tongue across them.
“Fucking you was the highlight of my year, Treacle.”
“Gareth!” I groan his name in frustration, dropping my hands and jerking back from his honest words. “This is so insane…and inappropriate!” And wonderful, and sexy, and frustrating.
“Why?” he asks, looking incredulous. “Because you don’t like it? Or because you’re not over your ex?”
“I’m definitely not thinking about my ex,” I reply with an immature eye-roll and fight off the shuddering thought of still being tied to Cal.
“If it’s because I’m your client, I don’t give a toss. It’s clothes, Sloan. What we have is far more important than fashion.”
“It’s not about the clothes,” I defend.
He narrows his eyes. “Do you regret that night we shared?”
“No,” I answer reflexively, then want to cover my mouth with mortification.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know!” I reply quickly, knowing I can’t tell him the truth. That I avoided all his attempts at contact because I was in the throes of a custody battle for my daughter whom he doesn’t know exists.
“You’re giving me a mess of mixed signals.” He slices his hands through his dark hair, mussing it up so beautifully, I itch to touch it. “You’re saying you don’t regret it, but you’re over there twitching. What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“I’m freaking mortified!” I bellow.
His face falls. “Whatever for?”
I blink rapidly. “What for? You want the list?”
“Top five at least,” he volleys back.
“Well, I’m ashamed of how I treated you,” I answer honestly. If he wants to hear the list, I’ll give it to him. “I yelled at you, and clawed you, and threatened you.”
“So, does that mean you didn’t like it?” he asks.
“No, I loved it! I loved it so much I’m humiliated.” God, what’s wrong with me that I liked making him kneel in front of me? I know this lifestyle exists, but I’m a mother and business owner. I’m a people pleaser! This isn’t me.
“If you loved it, what is there to be ashamed of? I wanted you to do it. I…loved it, too.” He hesitates when he says the last part, seemingly a bit uneasy as well.
He’s been so calm and collected thus far.
Seeing him falter is comforting on some weird level.
“Look, Sloan. We are two consenting adults. What’s the harm in any of this? ”
“I don’t understand why you liked it.” I look at him in question, wanting to know why a strong, sexy, hugely famous athlete would let a woman take control over him.
Having the attention turned on him brings him pause. He shifts uncomfortably before steeling himself to reply, “I maintain control in so many aspects of my life. I liked giving it up to you.”
I nearly snort. “Do you do this with all your women?”
“Women?” he repeats, rubbing the back of his neck in irritation. “You say it like there are loads. First of all, there aren’t. Second of all, I’ve never done anything like that with any other woman. Only you.”
Only you.
I repeat his words in my head and they feel good. Comforting. A small smile pulls at the corners of my mouth. I can’t help it. There’s something incredibly empowering about this information. Only me.
Gareth is smirking now. He’s smirking, and he’s so dang handsome it’s difficult to focus. “Did you like being in control?” he asks, his body language coaxing me to open up.
I nod woodenly. Nervously. Cautiously.
“Then why don’t we do it again?”
“Right now?” I bark, horribly unladylike.
The low chuckle that vibrates in his chest is thigh-clenching. “Not necessarily. I just mean, perhaps we can make this a thing between us.”
“I have so much going on, Gareth. I seriously don’t think I’m ready for this.”
“Ready for what?” he asks.
“A relationship with Manchester’s most popular soccer player for starters!” I run my hands through my hair, trying hard to stop the trembling that’s happening in my body.
“Footballer,” he murmurs under his breath and leans across the table to clasp my hands. “And I already told you last week, I’m not suggesting a relationship, Sloan.”
My spine straightens. “What exactly are you asking for then?”
“You just got out of a crap marriage. I’m not interested in being committed.” His hands freeze on mine as he looks down at our embrace and searches for the right word. “So let’s just call this freedom.”
He rolls my hand in his and runs his finger down a line on my palm. My skin is so pale and soft against his battered, weathered grip, but his touch is warm and comforting. And it’s doing things to me. Naughty things and enticing things.
I release a shaky breath and whisper, “What kind of freedom?”
He half smiles at me, a look of hope brightening his dark eyes. “The kind where we both get to explore these newfound feelings…together.”
“What kind of feelings are you referring to exactly?” I ask, my pulse thumping so hard he can probably feel it in my finger.
“The kind where you have all the control like you did with me that night…over…and over…and over.” He pulls one of my hands to his mouth and presses his thick, pouty lips to the tip of my index finger.
My voice quakes. “That was a crazy night.”
“A crazy night I want to repeat with you.” The sincerity in his gaze is pure. “Can you see yourself doing that on a regular basis?”
“That’s really what you want?”
“Very much,” he husks, a vulnerability clouding his eyes and drawing me in like a moth to a flame.
“So this would just be a casual, friends with benefits thing?” I ask, wanting to ensure I have all the facts.
“Friendly friends,” he replies. “Nothing more. Nothing less.”
I clear my throat. My tight, constricted, reactive throat. “But you’d still be my client?”
“Of course,” he replies flippantly. “None of that will change.”
I swallow slowly. “But I have responsibilities, Gareth. Things I can’t be away from.”
“So do I,” he argues. “It’s football season. I’m busy with training, matches, media. You know my schedule is mental. I’m not asking for seven days a week, Sloan.”
“What are you asking for exactly?”
He shrugs. “Whenever we’re both free.” He makes it sound so simple.
It’s not simple for me, though. I’m a mother. I have a child. A child whom I only get to see every other week.
It’s then that the most obvious realisation strikes me.
Why didn’t I think of that before? Gareth can brighten my weeks of darkness.
My days when all I do is obsess over Sophia and what Cal is or isn’t doing with her.
Instead of slipping into a state of depression, I can spend some of my free time with Gareth.
It’s like Zumba, but I get to make up all the moves!
My face heats from the notion that I may be saying yes to this craziness. “Where would we do this…freedom?”
His eyes narrow as he retreats into thought. “I train in Carrington Tuesday through Friday, so I could come to your place after—”
“No!” I nearly scream, picturing Freya on the couch squealing over Heartland while Gareth asks me to spank him. Oh my God, would he let me spank him?
“My place then?” he asks, eyeing me speculatively. “I just assumed since I live an hour from Manchester, you’d prefer something more central.”
“Your place is perfect.” I force a smile and glance around his home, curious about all the rooms I haven’t seen yet.
It’s far from Manchester. It’s far from reality.
It’s ideal. “But we’re going to need rules or something,” I rush out.
“I need to know what kind of expectations you have. How far we’ll go.
” My face heats from the naughty thoughts making their way out of the dark crevices of my mind.
I’m picturing dungeons, and sex hotels, and weird clubs.
I’m certainly not equipped for that kind of lifestyle.
“You don’t think we can just figure it out as we go?” he asks with a pleasant smile. “I don’t really have any expectations here, Sloan.”
“Okay, but I’d like to do some research. I’m not very experienced, Gareth. I mean, for God’s sake, I haven’t even kissed a man in…” I pause, cringing over the fact that I can’t remember the last time Cal kissed me. “A long, long time.”
“You don’t need to do research to remember how to kiss, Sloan.” He leans across the table and hits me with all his rugged scent and charm. “I can refresh your memory right now.”
I lick my lips and stare down at his perfect pout of a mouth. God, it would be incredible to kiss him. To seize his lips with mine and know exactly what he tastes like.
The thought makes my blood run cold. This isn’t about a connection. This is about sex. I missed out on casual sex in my twenties by getting married and having a baby. This is my chance to make up for it. I don’t want to screw it all up by getting feelings involved.
The idea of kissing Gareth feels very personal. Very real. Very relationship-like. I don’t need a relationship. All I need is a distraction to survive my weeks without Sophia.
“No kissing,” I blurt out. It worked the first time we hooked up. Surely it will work again.
His eyes narrow. “None?”
“Not on the mouth.” I blush.
“Why?” He looks agitated.
“Because it’s too intimate,” I explain, knowing the complications that kissing would cause. “I have a million other things on my mind, so I can’t have feelings getting in the way.”
He looks back and forth between my eyes like he’s searching for something, then shakes his head and sits back in his chair. “You know what? That’s fine. I want you to make all the decisions, so whatever you say is fine with me.”
This makes me smile. “Then it’s settled.”
“It’s settled.”
After a significant pause, I stand to leave and Gareth follows me to the door. He nearly leans in to kiss my cheek goodbye, but thinks better of it and pulls back. “Can I kiss your cheek?”
Rolling my eyes, I reply, “Are we starting this now?”
He braces his hand on the doorframe, propping himself like a fucking model doing a cover shoot. “I don’t see why not.”
I straighten my spine and give him a simple nod. “Yes, you can kiss my cheek.”
He leans in and his chuckling breath is warm on my skin. His lips brush against my jaw and linger for a beat as he inhales the area behind my ear. “The ball is in your court now, Treacle.”
I take a moment to marvel over that fact.
Control.
Complete and utter control.
It feels pretty damn good for a change.