“Did I really have a choice?”
He shrugs. “Definitely. Yeah. You always have a choice. You could walk out of here any time, sugar. You’re not my prisoner. But if you stay, you follow my rules. That’s our deal.”
I take a deep breath. “There’s this part of me that keeps freaking out about everything. Like this is just one giant mind-fuck, and I’m playing right into your hands. Did you ever see that movie9½ Weeks?”
“I thought it was hot.”
I laugh. “Okay, so did I. But the message was that it was all wrong for her. And he was dangerous.”
Bobby’s brows drew together. “You think I’m a psychopath?”
Do I? No. He seems quite sane, actually. I shake my head. “No. I’m just confused. I’ve been mixed up all morning, that’s why you caught me sitting around in my pajamas. Part of me feels bad about screwing up and getting in trouble, and then another part is a little upset that you actually punished me. And then still another part says none of it was real–it’s just the way you like to have sex. And then the last piece of me says who really cares what you do, you just gave me a thousand bucks. If you want to take a belt to my ass and get us both off afterward, who am I to complain?”
Bobby’s smile is sexy as hell. “I don’t know, Lex. It is confusing. I like to be in charge of you. I like to punish—in the bedroom and for real. And real-life spanking is hotter to me, even when it isn’t sexy in the moment. Does it make any sense to say that knowing you will submit to me in real life makes the sex steamier when we play?”
I relax. He’s definitely sane. Hearing him articulate his fetish makes it obvious. He understands his quirk and doesn’t believe punishing a woman for breaking rules is a God-given right afforded to men. Or even a normal, accepted behavior. He may be a dangerous criminal, but he’s not deranged. He knows the line he walks.
In fact, it totally explains why he prefers the whole “arrangement” thing versus a real girlfriend.
He picks up my hand and interlaces his fingers over the tops of mine. “I know you liked some part of it, too,” he murmurs.
I almost don’t want to admit it, even though it’s true. Because what if he gets even more intense with this? What if I no longer like it?
I lift our joined hands to my lips and kiss his fingers as my answer.
“So you’re staying? You’re still my girl?”
“Did you bring any money?” I ask with mock greediness. “No, just kidding. Bad joke. I sort of hate myself for using you like this.”
“I don’t hate myself for using you. At all.” He waggles his eyebrows in an appreciative leer. “And yes, I brought the money. Go get dressed, and we’ll take it down to the salon together.”
I climb off his lap. “Do I have time for a quick shower?” I call over my shoulder as I pad to the bedroom.
“Do what you need to do.”
I turn on the water and pop in the shower, making it quick, not wanting to keep him waiting. The heaviness and confusion that plagued me this morning is gone, and now as I shampoo my hair and shave my legs, a new excitement bubbles up. Bobby’s still into me. My debt’s getting paid off. And our honest conversation made me feel safe with him.
When I step out of the shower, I find Bobby sitting on the bathroom countertop, waiting.
I yank the towel from the rack. “Eek! You surprised me. I’m sorry, am I taking too long?”
As usual, he looks casually elegant, his khaki slacks crisply ironed, the short-sleeved button-down square cut at the bottom to wear untucked. “No, I just wanted to watch.” His eyes rove across my wet shoulders, then skip down to my legs.
I drop the towel to give him the full view. “I’m yours to ogle.”
He grins. “My buddy Dean just texted to say he has tickets to the Yankees game next week. You want to come?”
“I’d love to! Oh wait” I give him a coy look over my shoulder as I head out the door– “Why are you even asking? I thought I’m supposed to be available to you anytime you demand, unless I’m working.”
He lunges and catches me around the waist before I make it out the door. Hauling me back, he puts his lips to my ear, nipping the shell of it before he growls, “Are you really going to tell me how to do my job?”
“No.” I laugh.
He squeezes my ass, then cranes his neck to inspect my backside. I examined myself in the mirror this morning, fascinated with how quickly my ass recovered from punishment. Only a few red lines remain from my whipping.
“How is this beautiful ass today?”
I consider lying. I certainly don’t want him to ever spank me harder than he did. But he seems so good at reading me, he’d probably know a fib when he heard it. “A little sting-y in places, but mostly fine,” I admit.