Chapter 9 #2
Admittedly, there was a part of me that was immensely glad I didn’t have to worry about the romantic side of her.
The evidence of her heart’s true desire for love was displayed on her wall for all to see—proof that she was the opposite of me.
And she didn’t hide it. She didn’t try to deny it.
She simply tried to live by it. Of course, now she was trying to both live by it and add a few new tricks to the mix in the proverbial quest to have it all.
But some small part of my heart lurched in sadness that I could only serve the physical.
I didn’t have it in me to be more. I wasn’t prone to romance, or to the kind she wanted anyway.
Once was one time too many for me. I’d made a choice to live on the other side, and that was a damn good choice that had served me well, and protected me.
I’d stand by it, come hell or high water.
And since we didn’t see eye to eye on this front, it was best for our friendship, and our future, that we be able to do precisely what we were doing right now—safely return to the friend zone after a session in the lover’s lane.
So I did what I’d done before, even if it pained me to bring up an ex.
“Did Scott tend to that side of you?”
She shrugged, a defeated look in her eyes.
“As much as I hate to admit it, he did. I mean, it’s not like he’s some paragon of how to be a good boyfriend, but he was attentive, and took me to dinner, and bought me flowers and gifts, and candy on Valentine’s Day.
So really, it was clearly the other side of me he didn’t like. He didn’t like me in the bedroom.”
My jaw clenched. The guy was such an ass. “That’s not romantic,” I muttered.
She propped herself on her elbow. “Oh yeah, Mister Not-Romantic? Tell me what’s romantic then.”
“You think I’m not romantic just because I don’t get serious?”
She scrunched up the corner of her lips. “Well, kind of.”
I grabbed her hip, playfully pulling her closer.
“I’ll have you know, Miss Casey, that I am excellent at buying flowers.
I can whip out my platinum card like that,” I said, snapping my wrist and mimicking slapping down a plastic card.
“I can also—wait for it—use that same card to buy gifts. In fact, I did,” I said, gesturing to the box.
“I know, and I liked your gift. But you know what I mean.”
“I can do candlelight dinners too. Let me tell you, the way I book a restaurant is inspired. Only to be topped by my ability to order champagne and have chocolate delivered on Valentine’s Day.”
She held up her hands in defeat. “Fine, fine. You win. What is romantic to you then?”
“Romantic,” I said, lingering on the word as I stopped to finger a strand of her hair, “is taking care of a woman. It’s listening to her.
It’s being attuned to her needs. It’s making her feel beautiful, inside and out, because she is.
It’s knowing her favorite dish, and picking it up on the way home.
It’s giving her your coat when she’s cold, and holding open the door, and it’s making sure she has everything she needs before a big meeting,” I said, and a flicker of recognition flashed in her mountain lake blue eyes.
It was as if we existed in a bubble right now, a sealed cocoon where we were dancing perilously close to admissions we should never make. The moment fueled me, spurring me on. “It’s knowing what matters to her, whether it’s her collection of kisses, or the way she likes to be kissed.”
She brought her fingers to her lips, as if recalling a kiss.
I couldn’t resist. “Sometimes, it’s just kissing her because she needs to be kissed, and because you can’t help yourself when it comes to her,” I said and kissed her once more.
A soft, slow kiss. An unhurried one, as I explored her lips with tender moves, tracing her mouth with the tip of my tongue, gently brushing my fingertips along her face.
Our bodies drew near to each other inch by inch, as if an invisible thread knit us together.
The kiss became a sensuous journey across her mouth and her lips and her tongue.
It was her melting into my arms, and me melting with her.
Because I kissed her with all I had and she kissed me back the same way, spreading her hand across my chest, and hooking her leg over mine.
It was a full-body kiss, heady and intoxicating, and it pulled me under, like a wave. I barely wanted to come up for air.
Then I stopped and looked her in the eyes. “Is that okay?”
“Is what okay?” she asked, sounding dazed. Looking dazed too. I loved that kiss-drunk look she wore so well after I’d touched her.
“If I just kiss you like that? For no reason? Or is that crossing a line in our agreement?”
“Oh, right. Yes, our agreement,” she said, smoothing her hands down her shirt, looking away from me. She seemed to be…rebooting. When she returned her gaze to me, she had on that businesslike face.
“I think as long as we know that there are lines we’ll be fine,” she said, in a cool and measured voice. “Your version of romance is very caring, and nothing more.”
“Absolutely. The lines are clear. Hell, if you want, I can keep my hands off you unless we’re practicing a lesson,” I said, perhaps more gung-ho than I intended.
But I couldn’t stop. I needed the reminders too.
I laid on the bravado reassurances that I was cool with it all.
“It’s not a problem. I can easily just take a step back when we’re not in the middle of things. ”
“Don’t you worry,” she said with a cheerful smile.
“I’m not going to get confused and think the sex, or the almost-sex, or the kissing for no reason, means anything more than it does.
We’re still friends, and these lessons aren’t changing that,” she said, so damn matter-of-factly that she could be teaching a course on nonchalance.
My chest tightened, and I tried to ignore the way those words gnawed at me. They shouldn’t annoy me, because this was what I wanted. To stay friends with her, and to be the one to help her in her quest.
The friendship mattered too much to me to let this momentary irritation win.
That was why I stayed. That was why I ate sesame tofu and moo shu pancakes and broke fortune cookies with her, handing her mine—now is the time to try something new—and saying, “I believe this one was meant for you.” She gave me hers, as she said, “Then, this must be yours then. Your fondest dreams will come true this year.”
“I am going to open a hotel on the moon,” I said in an awed voice, and she laughed, then danced her fingers across my chest.
“Here. Right here,” she said, tapping my left pec. “I’m going to write that on your chest like a tattoo.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That I’m opening a hotel on the moon?”
She shook her head. “No. That you’re a good teacher of tricks.”
“Trick teacher,” I said, with a laugh. “Yeah, that’ll be my first tattoo.”
“I’ve always wanted to brand you,” she said.
We were back to being friends. We were back to the zone where I’d always have her in my life. Because there, she could never break my heart. She could never hurt me. I could always be happy with what we had.
Sex, and no expectations of more. Or sex soon, I should say.
As she gathered up our empty cartons, she tossed out a question. “Do you think Jack would care? If he knew what we’re doing?”
“Eating Chinese?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do know. And I don’t know how it could matter to him, because we already agreed that nothing has changed, and that nothing is going to change.”
She nodded several times, as if reassuring herself. “Right. Absolutely. Everything remains the same.”
We both knew that if things did change, Jack would care a lot. It wasn’t just our friendship on the line—if we couldn’t stay friends, Jack would be the one in the middle, hurting right along with us.
After I put on my shirt, tie and shoes, she walked me to the door.
“Thank you. For the lesson. I really enjoyed it.”
“So did I,” I said. “As you saw the evidence on your chest.”
She laughed, but then looked nervous as she fiddled with the neck on her shirt. “So,” she began, clearing her throat. “When will I see you again? You know, for my next lesson.”
“Such an eager student.”
“We’re going to the Comets game this weekend, right? After you get back from Miami?”
I nodded. I was taking off tomorrow to visit our property on South Beach. “I got the good seats and Kat and Bryan arranged for a sitter so all four of us can go.”
She pumped her fist in the air. “Yes! But we’re not doing a submission lesson at the ballpark with your sister and her husband.”
“Obviously. So after that. Which territory should we conquer then?” I stroked my chin as if in deep thought. “I feel like that would be a good time to spank you.”
Her eyes sparkled with desire. “I like spanking.”
I lifted my hand and swatted her ass, and instantly I was erect. Then I grabbed her waist, pulling her close, and whispering in that rough, commanding tone she seemed to love, “If I stay here, I’m going to have to fuck you now.”
She grabbed my collar. “Stay.”
A tremor of lust slammed into me, threatening to obliterate my self-restraint from earlier. But I remained steadfast. Instead, I left her with something I hoped she could take to bed and feed her fantasies.
Of me. Fantasies of only me.
I threaded my fingers through her hair, and said, “The next time I’m alone with you, I will be fucking you. That’s a promise.”