She winced. “Ouch.”
“You’re telling me. Try staying hard while drunk women with terrible aim throw things at your junk.”
She snorted and let her fingers explore a little, sliding along the warm strip of skin between his shirt and jeans. “What’d you think about to stay…up for the job?”
“Boobs,” he said with a solemn nod.
A laugh burst out of her. “That’s it?”
“I was eighteen. Didn’t take much back then.”
She looked up, frowning. “Eighteen? When did you start—”
He lifted his hand and pressed it over her lips, cutting off her question. “I’ll tell you, but if I agreed not to play therapist, I need the same assurance from you.”
She nodded.
He lowered his hand. “I was sixteen the first time. I was failing out of school, my parents were about to kick me out of the house, and someone made me an offer I couldn’t turn down. The rest is history. Buried history.”
Her stomach twisted at that. Knowing Lane was an escort as a grown man was one thing. Thinking of someone preying on a vulnerable kid and dragging him into that kind of life was another. But she’d promised not to psychoanalyze, so she held her tongue.
“And now we’re done talking,” he said, giving her a look. “Do you want to un-safe word, Elle? Or should I go home?”
She wet her lips and tugged at the hem of his shirt. “Option one. Happy Un-Birthday, Lane Cannon.”
“Great. So we’re going to watch a movie, then?” He grinned wide.
She pushed him, almost tipping him over the edge of the couch, but he grabbed ahold of her and took her down with him. They landed in a heap, almost rolling right off onto the floor. “No movie. Unless it’s reenacting one where the hot stranger does really bad things to the lady of the house.”
He stared up at her. “I’m all for that. But tell me one thing first. Were you really planning to call things off?”
She settled on top of him, feeling the heat of his growing interest pressing against her, and braced her hands on his chest. “Yep.”
“Because I wasn’t calling you on your schedule or doing things the way you wanted me to.”
She shrugged. “Basically.”
“And now I am?”
“Pretty much.”
His smile was slow. “You may not be submissive, doc. But you certainly have a masochistic streak.” He took her by the wrists, rolled her off of him, and sat up.
She blinked at the sudden change in position. “What are you doing?”
He took her hands and kissed her knuckles. “Go to your bedroom, take off all of your clothes, and wait for me.”
She stared at him for a moment, wary of his tone, but when he didn’t say anything else, she nodded. “O…kay. Not a do-it-on-the-couch kind of guy?”
“No more questions. Go. Do what I asked and don’t leave the room unless I call for you. If you leave your bedroom without my permission, I’m going to go home without touching you.”
She frowned.
“My rules,” he said, cocking his head in challenge. “That was the deal. I’d take your money. You’d deal with me calling the shots. Or are you backing out of that deal?”
“I’m—” She cut herself off before she could give her knee-jerk response and tell him no. He was right. They’d made a deal. He would be in control of this part. She took a deep breath. “Okay.”
He released her hands and smiled. “See you soon.”