Chapter 11 #3
The displeased sound Drake made came from the back of his throat.
“He’s a lawyer. Lawyers cover their emotions like a cat covers its scat in the litterbox, and they think everyone else should do the same.
” He tilted his head. “Your emotions are unguarded, unrehearsed. I like that. And I enjoy the drama.”
Oh, guess she hadn’t exactly tried to hide her personality, had she?
“What else? Give me the awful whole.” He moved close enough she could feel his hard thigh against hers. His arm along the back cushion touched her shoulders.
“I… I jump from activity to activity, lose track of time. Miss meals and dates. And get bored easily.”
His lips twitched. “Now, in all reality, as a Dom, I’d probably look for ways to ensure you didn’t miss important times—like dates with me or meals.” His fingers cupped her chin, forcing her to face him, and she had no defenses left to push him away.
His voice dropped to a smooth—intimate—murmur. “Keeping you from becoming bored will be a pleasing challenge.”
Her heart sped up. The owner of a BDSM club, an experienced Dom, he probably had way too many ideas.
“Um.” What would he do? She could feel herself getting damp. “No, we were talking about, um, personality clashes and—”
“I see no clash. But I am remiss.” His lips curved…and she remembered how his mouth felt against hers. “Is there something you don’t like about me?”
Her mind went blank.
No way would she let him think he was perfect, true or not. Come up with something, anything. “Um. You’re pushy?”
“Zut, is that a question? Oui, I am pushy, and you appear to like it, non?” His gaze intensified.
Oh, hadn’t he said his being a Dom too often was what upset his ex. Stupid, Ray, what an objection to throw out there. Even worse, he’d caught her. “Yes. I do like when you go all Dom…even if I feel as if I’m betraying the sisterhood.”
“And sometimes male Doms feel as if we’re reinforcing a toxic patriarchy.
What redeems us are the other genders who are submissives and female Dominants.
Power exchanges aren’t about gender.” He ran a finger down her throat.
“You gift me with your trust and submission…just as I work to take some of the decisions from you and let you exist in the moment without worrying.”
Oh. Yes. The gift went both ways.
“Nonetheless, it will take some discussion to learn how much and when D/s is wanted.” He leaned in, rubbing his cheek against hers. “I like you very much, Ray, and you like me. Why don’t we see where this attraction will take us.”
Every muscle in her body simply sagged.
A stronger person would fight longer.
“I brought pizza,” he murmured. “Say yes, ma chérie.”
“You… I see what you’re doing—taking this decision away too?”
His dark eyes lit. “But, of course.”
She laughed, knowing full well she could say no, and he’d respect it. And then she summoned up all her courage. “Yes. Let’s see what happens.”
Please, let it all work out.
Drake took the pizza from the oven and tilted his head. The faint sound of the shower upstairs had stopped a while ago, but…no Ray. Was her knee giving her trouble?
Doubtful. She’d said it no longer hurt, and the swelling was gone.
Was she having second and third thoughts? Maybe he should check.
Upstairs, Ray was standing in front of the dresser in the master bedroom.
A towel was wrapped around her hair. A second towel wrapped around her torso, plumping up her breasts and revealing appealingly long legs, toned arms and shoulders.
Her skin was pink from the hot shower. She carried the delightful fragrance of raspberry-scented soap.
Merde, taking her to bed now would be wrong. She needed to know he liked who she was, that he wasn’t here for sex.
He’d take it slow—even if he had to throttle his testosterone faucet. Intimacy might or might not happen later on. He cleared his throat. “Is there a problem?”
She jumped and spotted him. “No.” Her gaze returned to the dresser, and her scowl deepened. “Yes.”
He managed to smother a laugh. Shy and yet straightforward. Delightful. “Tell me what is wrong, chérie.”
She sighed. “Normally, I’d lounge around in an old T-shirt of Tomo’s, only it feels as if I should wear something nice for you.” She pulled the towel off her hair and tossed it into the laundry hamper. “But that’s not who I really am and—”
“Ah, I understand.” Tell her to discard the towel and wear nothing? Bad Jean-Pierre. “Since I am hoping for a relaxed, quiet evening, it would please me if you chose the T-shirt option.”
He could see her tight shoulder muscles relax with her sigh, and the look she gave him was filled with gratitude. “Sounds good to me. Thanks.”
“You are very welcome.” De-stressing a submissive pleased the Dom in him. “Pizza is out of the oven. Come down and eat.”
“I’ll be there in two minutes.”
She was exactly as fast as she’d said. Surprised, he set the bottle of a good Barbera red wine and glasses on the coffee table, then took a moment to study her.
No makeup. Hair still damp, beginning to curl around her face.
Her oversized T-shirt wasn’t a military one of Tomo’s.
No, he’d bet she bought this one. It was a pale green that brought out the color of her eyes—and the graphic was a stack of books and the words: Imagine being scared of drag queens and books.
Yes, he did like this woman. As she padded over in in fluffy green socks, he put an arm around her. “You do look comfortable.”
Max jumped up onto an arm of the couch, nose pointed toward the pizza.
“Is anything left to prepare?” Ray asked.
“Not unless you require a salad or vegetables.”
“You got George’s favorite.” She grinned. “And a supreme pizza has plenty of vegetables.” She took a seat next to Max.
The scant scattering of peppers, onions, and tomatoes on the pizza was…plenty? And she’d mentioned missing meals when she was working.
Hmm. Would he be coaxing her into eating healthier? He poured the wine before sitting beside her. “What do you prefer on your pizzas?”
“Mmm, it varies, depending on what I feel like at the time.” She pulled off a slice, swiping a finger through the string of cheese.
He took his own slice and handed her the shaker of parmesan cheese he’d found in the fridge. “In that case, what don’t you like?”
“I know it’s a controversial topic, but”—she pointed at him sternly—“fruit does not belong on a pizza.”
Fruit? Ah. “No Hawaiian style. Understood. How about white sauce?”
“Mmm, once in a while. There’s a spot near the driveway where I pick chanterelle mushrooms—and they’re awesome on white pizza.” She grinned. “What about you?”
There were so many dishes he could make with fresh chanterelles. “I’ll have to cook for you during mushroom season.” He took a bite of pizza, savoring the tang of tomato sauce and the smoothness of the mozzarella. “Be warned. I do enjoy an occasional Hawaiian pizza.”
She hissed. “Sacrilege. You truly are evil.”
“Mmm, it appears we will be role-playing in the future.” At her confused expression, he added, “The devil visits a convent and finds a virtuous, virginal nun.”
She sputtered delightfully as her face turned pink. “That is so wrong.”
And she was enchanting. He took a sip of the deep red Barbera. Medium bodied and dry with a touch of fruit. Very nice and went well with the complexity of the supreme pizza. “So what movie would you like to watch?”
When she didn’t answer immediately, he wandered over to the bookcases along one wall, filled with books and DVDs.
One section for nonfiction, especially wood crafting books.
In the fiction and movies were a variety of genres: mysteries, science-fiction and fantasy, historical romance, comedies, and… “Horror?”
“I love it—well, some. Not the psychopath slasher bloodbaths. But monster—uh, creature horror is awesome. Godzilla, Alien, King Kong. Oh, and Tremors—so good.”
He had to laugh at her enthusiasm. And that their interests overlapped rather nicely. “Well then, have you tried foreign monster flicks?”
“No. I don’t think I’ve seen hardly any.”
“Then, do you want to try a South Korean one called The Host?”
Two hours later, they were lying stretched out on the oversized sectional with her tucked in front of him. Curvy woman in a soft cotton T-shirt. Smooth, warm skin. He’d lost track of the movie a time or two.
After the explosions and flames, new beginnings, and the scrolling credits, he moved her hair away from her neck and nibbled beneath her ear.
When she shivered, he smiled and cupped her breast. The nipple bunched to a peak against his palm. “Ma chérie, take me to your bed.”
True to her open nature, she didn’t even try to protest. “Yes.”