"Bet poor WON has been gathering dust. I doubt you use him when you've got your sexy stud around."
"Except for when Ronin uses WON on me," she muttered. She glanced across the roof of the car to see if Emmylou had heard that, but she'd checked her ringing phone and gestured that she needed to take the call.
Amery slid into the driver's seat and started the car, welcoming the cool air blowing on her heated face. The memory from last night with WON once again under Ronin's control rolled through her like a violent summer storm filled with lightning, thunder, tornadoes, and hail.
The car jiggled as Emmylou climbed in. "Sorry about that. Two injured Rockies players need immediate massage therapy sessions, so I had to shift my schedule for tomorrow."
"Doesn't immediate mean . . . now? Today?"
"It would if they were in town, but they're on the road, so luckily it means tomorrow." Emmylou's eyes narrowed. "Why are you all flushed?"
Wet daydreams courtesy of Ronin Black. "Because I've been sitting in a hot car waiting for you."
"Then let's hit it, sista."
Horrible traffic meant it took twice as long to reach the Super Target in suburbia.
They each grabbed a cart and separated. Amery stocked up on fruit, produce, Noosa yogurt, deli fixings, and frozen entrées for one. Then she tracked down the remaining household items on her list before heading into the health and beauty section. Face wash, hair products, mascara, and lip gloss added to her cart, she cut down the feminine products aisle.
She stopped in front of the depilatory creams, waxes, and concoctions devoted to aiding in the removal of unwanted hair. As she debated choices on what would work best around her bikini line, Emmylou barreled around the corner.
"There you are. I worried I might find you cooing over baby clothes again."
"I did that one time and it was a fluke." She'd hoped for privacy in making this personal grooming choice, but Emmylou gave her none.
"What're you doin' down this aisle anyway? This stuff is crap. You want to skin the beaver you go to a professional."
Amery blushed. "Jesus, Emmylou. You didn't have to shout that."
"I didn't. Why are you embarrassed?" Emmylou pushed her cart closer and peered into Amery's face. "You've never been professionally waxed, plucked, or creamed, have you?"
"No. I can't imagine spreading my legs and showing my naked feminine bits to a total stranger. I'd die from that much exposure."
"Sweetie. It's clinical. No different than goin' to the doctor."
"Wrong. I know it seems old-fashioned and ridiculous, but I don't ever see myself waltzing into a salon and asking some stranger to pour hot wax on my crotch."
But you had no issue with Ronin pouring hot wax all over your breasts.
Not the same thing.
Emmylou kissed her forehead. "Darlin' girl, I'll never make fun of you for that. But if you really want to try waxing the lady taco, I'll do it for you at the studio. Takes, like, ten minutes to heat up the wax tank."
"Since when do you give wax jobs?"
"Since always. Some of the guys who come to me for a massage are apelike hairy. The fur on their backs grosses me out and reminds me why I prefer to eat the banana split rather than the banana."
"Emmylou!"
She laughed. "I love shockin' you, sugar. Anyway, it's easier if I have to do a deep-tissue massage to remove the man pelts beforehand. Word spread among my clients that I'll wax backs, chests, eyebrows, ears, bellies, and the old twig and berries for an extra fee. I don't broadcast those services, but I figure I'm doin' hetero women a favor by secretly providing manscaping for these macho athletes who'd never set foot in a man salon."
Amery frowned. "But you have waxed women before?"
"I wax myself. I waxed Helena. In fact, I still wax her."
"Your ex?"
"She hasn't found anyone who'll wax her better." She waggled her eyebrows. "And you don't need to worry I'll be scheming ways to take a bite of your naked peach. While I'm sure it's a pretty pussy . . . kitty-cat, you're just too vanilla for me."
I'm not as vanilla as you think and I've got the rope marks to prove it.
Amery just smiled and said, "Probably."
• • •
WAXING hurt.
Like really fucking hurt.
Even after Amery followed all of Emmylou's aftercare instructions, she felt too sensitized to spend the night with Ronin. Seeing him wasn't in the cards because seeing Ronin meant fucking Ronin.
In true Ronin form, he hadn't demanded an explanation on why she'd canceled. He hadn't been happy she'd backed out of their dinner plans, but he'd retreated to unflappable Master Black and ended the conversation.
That caused a pang of . . . not sadness, but something she couldn't put her finger on. Almost as if he didn't care what she did when he wasn't fucking her or binding her.