Back then when he’d lain in bed alone and thought about her, this was the exact expression on her face. Her interest had been purely in him, not what he could maybe offer her. She’d looked like she cared about just him.
Only now her looking at him like this was real. And now it felt wrong.
There was too much depth to it—to her. To what she was offering with just her eyes. He didn’t want her concern or caring. He’d never wanted that from anyone. Never needed it.
Never wanted to need it.
Still didn’t.
And he didn’t want to see her hurt. If he kept going like this, she was going to get hurt.
Damn, he had to pull this back to the easy “lesson” sessions it was supposed to be.
“Sssshhh.” He pressed his lips to hers, mainly to stop himself from staring into her eyes and falling. “Sorry. I’ve got a class. You go back to sleep.”
“You’re crazy. People want to exercise at this hour?”
Her soft tones tempted him. For once he didn’t want to leap out of bed. Which was exactly what he didn’t want.
“Work comes first,” he answered more sharply than he’d meant to.
There was a small silence. “I know that.”
He gritted his teeth. She’d answered conciliatory enough, but he’d heard the slightest hurt in her tone. And fuck. She was right. The only kind of exercise people ought to be doing at this hour was the horizontal sort. But he’d never missed a class—was always the one to step in if one of his instructors was down, like today. And he’d never before had trouble leaving a lover to get to work. He wasn’t changing for anything. Or anyone.
But he couldn’t leave her with that hurt lingering. Couldn’t undo the progress she’d made. Nor could he let this become more intense. Playful was the only way, right? He thought fast. “I’m going to be at Pelly’s bar at eight p.m. You’re going to walk in at eight eleven and you’re going to own me by eight thirty.”
“Eight eleven?”
“On the dot.”
“And I’m going to own you?” She rolled onto her back, reached out for him in the dark.
He took her wrist with one hand and folded her fingers into a fist with the other. “Have me like putty in your hand. Eager to please any way I can.” He punctuated his words by giving a playful squeeze.
“How am I going to do that?” She shook her head. “This isn’t fair. You keep testing me all the time. Expecting me to be able to just do it and I don’t know—”
He shut her up with a kiss. A slow, deep one. The hardheaded woman still didn’t understand that all she had to do was turn up and he was putty. But he didn’t want her to angst all afternoon about what she should do. “Okay.” He eased back. “So you’re still going to turn up at the bar. And you’re going to be picked up by a stranger.” He’d turn this into more of a role-playing thing, keep his distance that way.
“Literally picked up?”
She’d liked that the other night, hadn’t she? “Possibly.” He angled his head. “Think of it as a one-night stand. You’ve had that fantasy, right? Where you go off with a guy who you barely know and have hot sex?”
“You know about that fantasy?” Her voice was soft and tempting in the darkness.
“Everyone has a version of that fantasy.” He’d had that fantasy the second he’d seen her ass swaying as she’d walked across the road the other day.
“You don’t think it’s dangerous and possibly degrading to let a guy I’ve barely spoken to use me that way?”
“Aren’t you going to be using him?” He smiled. She could so use him. “And this is just a fantasy. It’s me in disguise. And I’m not dangerous. And I’d never degrade you.”
She reached out and pressed her palm on his abs. “I know.”
He was glad she did know that. “Fantasies are just fantasies. There’s no need to overanalyze. I’m okay with anything you want to explore with me. You can tell me anything, ask me anything. I’m not going to judge.”
“You might laugh.”
“That I might, but not because I’m being mean.” He bent close again, brushing the tip of his nose against hers. “I make you laugh.”
“You do.”
“So just let it go. Indulge. Enjoy. You’re safe with me.”
“I know.”
He could hear her satisfied smile. His cock twitched. He shook his head, surreptitiously grabbed the bag of toys, and was gone before he did something reckless and stayed.
…
Abbi was crazy nervous went she walked into Pelly’s bar at exactly 8:11 p.m. She knew he’d be there, but still. She felt like a fool. Scratch that. She felt vulnerable. She’d gone all-out vixen and worn a little black dress—lower-cut and clingier in the body but with a flared skirt. A vintage style that Nadia’s tailor had made. She’d left her hair loose, put on some makeup. She looked as good as she got and she knew that was actually pretty good. And she knew she had some follow-through skills now. With Joe, anyway.