“Well, they’re gone now. You’ve successfully run them off.” I gave him a lopsided smile. “Where were we?”
“We were going to talk about how this is going to work.”
My smile hung. “Talk?”
He flashed an amused look, like he found derailing me entertaining, but then he turned serious. He leaned forward and took my hand. It was the first time he’d touched me where I didn’t feel any motive behind it, other than he just wanted a connection.
“I’d like a relationship with you.”
“Okay,” I said before realizing he wasn’t finished.
“Our relationship isn’t going to be like what you’re used to.” He studied the way he played with my fingers, as if fascinated by them. “And it might not be long before you realize it’s not enough for you. I can give you a lot of things you’ll like.” His gaze had been focused on his fingertips tracing my hand, but it snapped to mine. “Pleasure. Pain. Even euphoria. I can show you how good you are at things you don’t realize you’re capable of. But I know my limits, Lilith.”
His fingers urged mine apart so he could lace our hands together.
“We’ll trust each other and enjoy being together. And I’ll care for you, but . . . I won’t fall in love. It’s not something I do. So, if that’s your end goal,” sadness hinted at the edges of his eyes, “we might as well stop now.”
I filled my lungs with air as I considered what he’d said and how to respond.
“It’s not my goal,” I said softly. His discerning gaze tightened like he didn’t believe me, but I squeezed his hand. “Look, I’ve never fallen in love, and honestly? I don’t plan on doing it—at least not anytime soon.”
Once again, I caught him off guard, and he struggled with how to regroup.
“So,” I continued, “if you want a relationship that’s just sex and kink . . . I’m game.”
“It’s more than just that,” he said.
I gave him a sinful smile. “I’m sure you’ll show me, then.”
Clay’s surprised reaction told me he didn’t think I’d accept his offer, and pleasure seeped into his expression. “If your goals change, or you start to develop feelings, you have to be upfront with me.”
“Fair enough. Same for you.”
He looked at me like I’d just told him the sky was green. Him developing feelings for me wasn’t a possibility as far as he was concerned, but he humored me anyway. “Yes.”
With that settled, he began to relax and return to the man he’d been earlier when he’d told me to get on my knees.
“So, now that you know my limits,” he smoothed a hand down the line of buttons on his shirt, “what are yours?”
It felt oddly like negotiations, and I considered some glib answer, but in the end, I went with the honest one. “I’m not sure.”
It was as if he’d hoped I’d say that, because a smile widened on his lips. “I have an idea. Something we can test and see if it’s a limit for you.”
“Oh? What is it?”
He let go of my hands so he could cup my cheek and draw my ear close to his mouth. Like it was important, and he didn’t want me to miss a word. His voice was low and devious, sliding into me like a hot knife through butter. “Ask the next man who walks by if he wants to taste your pussy.”
Whoa.
“What?” I jolted back from him, and my eyes went wide. “What if he says yes?”
There weren’t words to describe how Clay stared at me. If there were, I wouldn’t be able to find them, because I flash-boiled and everything inside me became steam. His eyes were lidded with desire.
He likes to watch.
His shoulders rose with his uneven breath. “Would that be a limit for you?”
The steam fogged around in my head, and I blinked my eyes rapidly, trying to get it to disperse. Was it a limit? Could I let a total stranger go down on me while Clay watched?
The depraved part of me hungered to find out. A runaway freight train had replaced my heart, barreling out of control, chugging away at a million miles an hour.
He’d asked if this was a limit, but I’d been waiting for him naked in his house this afternoon. He knew what my answer would be.
I subtly shook my head. “It’s not a limit.”
Excitement crackled in his eyes before his gaze turned toward the room, surveying the crop to see who’d be the lucky man.
Hyperawareness traveled up my back like faint pinpricks. My body sensed what was happening, while the rest of me struggled to catch up. Had I subconsciously willed this into existence?
No, I realized. This was too perfect to be anything other than designed.
At some point, the man in the gray suit had come into this room. Now he stalked toward us, and his intense gaze was fixed on me.
EIGHT
All the sound in the room faded out, and my heart leapt up to my throat, cutting off my airway.
The man in the gray suit moved deliberately and with focus, ignoring the groups of writhing bodies scattered around the space. There was an easy swagger to him as he walked. If Clay was a man drawn with sharp angles and precise measurements, this guy was beautifully sketched by freehand.
I dry-swallowed. As he approached, so did the moment I’d have to speak to him. I wanted to—part of the fun was the challenge of it—but that didn’t mean I wasn’t nervous. What if my question, like, offended him?
And what if he said no?
He reached the end of the couch, stopping a respectable distance away from us, which meant I couldn’t whisper my question. I’d have to say it loud enough for him to hear me over the swelling noise of the room.
It wasn’t just music and conversations in here now. There were throaty moans. Cracks of palms against asses. Steady thumps of hips beating against hips.
The man didn’t notice or care. He was focused only on me.
I opened my mouth to speak, but when the words didn’t come, the guy cocked his head, puzzled.
His voice was deep and hushed. “You have a question for me?”
I knew it. Clay was an architect. He made his living by planning and designing, and that extended into the other areas of his life. I glanced at him, but his expression was fixed. I’d have to ask him later how he’d accomplished this, but I suspected it’d happened when he’d stepped away to use the restroom.
“Yes,” I said, “I have a question.” I was grateful it came out confident and clear.
And why shouldn’t I be? I wanted this. Even if nothing came of my offer, just making it to a complete stranger was wild and exhilarating. I uncrossed my legs and pressed the front of my skirt down in the hollow I’d created between my knees, my hands curled around the hem.
He peered at me expectantly as I took in a preparing breath.
“Do you want,” I said, “to taste my pussy?”
Disbelief knocked him back a half-step, and as soon as he finished processing the question, his attention snapped to Clay. Was it to check with him if this was all right? To see if my date would allow it? The two men exchanged a long look, and God, what I would have given to understand their wordless conversation.