Extra Whip (Bold Brew #8) - L.A. Witt Page 0,180

counter.

Lupé raised an eyebrow. “Another?”

“No.” Max chanced a glance at Tom, but his head was still down. “What’s his regular?” He chose Spanish, but kept his voice low so it wouldn’t travel far.

Lupé made a silent “o” with their mouth, then said, “Tall cap with skim milk.”

A simple brew. “Make him one. Dust it with some cinnamon sugar. Poor man looks like he needs something sweet in his life.”

They got a curious look, then smiled. “Ah, Professor. A sweet from the sweet, eh?”

Max shrugged. His personality wasn’t sweet, per se. He cared about people and was too much of a Dominant not to take charge of a situation. “More like a treat for a fellow human traveling through the world.”

“There you go again. Poetry. In several languages”

Max handed over his card. “Hardly.”

When Lupé handed the card back, they asked, “Do I tell him who it’s from?”

“If he asks, that’s fine.” Autonomy was important. If Tom was interested, Max would know. If Max had been slotted in as an asshole, Tom was free to ignore the drink entirely.

Lupé gave him another long look, then nodded once.

Max returned to his grading, and watched Tom as Lupé took the drink to him.

There was a conversation, and Tom locked eyes with Max, before thanking Lupe. He took a sip and his shoulders relaxed. A moment later, he stood, drink in hand, and made his way toward Max.

A thread of exhilaration traced up Max. He set his pen down and leaned back as Tom drew close.

Rather than say anything, Tom pulled the other lounge chair close and sat. Finally, those dark honey eyes homed in on Max. “If this were a bar, I’d think you were trying to pick me up.”

Max chuckled. “But it’s a coffee shop.” He wasn’t trying to pick Tom up, even if the man was certainly worth the attention. Pale skin. Light brown hair. Caramel eyes. Long nose. His type, in more ways than one from everything he knew about Tom.

He really didn’t need a sub right now. Even one with a pretty mouth.

Tom’s smile was enjoyable and his limbs loose and calm. “You’re Max, right? I’ve seen you at munches and around, but I don’t think we’ve ever talked.”

They hadn’t. When Max had been unattached, Tom had someone else, and that someone else was often overly possessive. There were games Max didn’t play, and fighting against an overcompensating Dom was one of them. The few times when Tom had been single, he’d very much avoided Max.

“Maxime Demers, but yes, Max is fine.” He extended his hand.

Tom’s hand was electrifyingly warm and strong. “Tom Cedric. Only my mother and certain judges call me Thomas.”

They both let go. “Noted.” Some of the men Max had seen Tom with had called him Tommy, which had grated on Max’s ears.

“You’re a professor, right? Languages?” Tom grabbed his coffee and sipped, watching Max over the rim.

Oh, dear. Perhaps Tom was trying to pick Max up. “Linguistics.”

“What’s the difference?” There was honest curiosity there.

“Linguistics is the study of languages, how they evolve, the foundations and structure. The semantics.” Max gave a light shrug. “Languages are…individual languages. How to speak them. Vocabulary. Grammar. Idioms.”

“So similar to the difference between practicing law and studying…say, the legal system?” Another sip. Another look with those eyes.

“Maybe? Law’s not my forte.” Max’s cup was woefully empty for this kind of discussion. “But you’re a lawyer, if I’m not mistaken?”

Tom’s smile turned almost conspiratorial. Very nice. “You know something about me!”

Max chuckled, and picked up a pen so he’d have something to toy with in the face of those disarming dimples. “I do go to the same munches, you know.”

“But you never talk to me.” Amusement in his voice, and yes, interest.

Max should put a stop to this. There wasn’t enough time in his life for dating. Or flirting. Or whatever it was they were doing. “You’re usually occupied.” Or running in the other direction.

Tom’s smile vanished. “Yeah. I guess I am. Or was.” He twisted his lips into an ugly frown. “You watch the performance?” He poked his thumb in the direction of the bulletin board.

Max nodded. “Those men were answering your ad?”

“Yeah, except they were all assholes.” Tom sighed, then gave Max an appraising look. “You read my ad?”

Max tapped the pen against his right hand. “I always read the board. You never know what you might see.”

Tom’s gaze flicked from Max’s pen to his face. “You didn’t call me.”

He spread his hands, pen gripped lightly in his left. “Maybe I’m an asshole?”

That earned him a laugh. “No. I don’t think so.” Tom lifted his coffee. “You wouldn’t have bought me a cappuccino in my hour of need.”

“Ah, you have me.” When Max tapped the pen on his hand again, he realized he wielded his crops in a similar manner. That shouldn’t have been so exciting. Hell, he shouldn’t have been turned on. He certainly shouldn’t have been having vague thoughts of helping Tom.

Maxime, what are you doing?

“Why didn’t you call?” The question was soft, and there was a heartbreakingly vulnerable tone in Tom’s voice.

Max dropped his hands to his lap. “I only saw the ad today, but I didn’t think it would bring you what you wanted.”

“What do you think I want?” Tom wasn’t soft now. Everything about him was tight and agitated.

Max held Tom’s gaze and his own tongue, waiting for the heat in Tom to abate.

Eventually, Tom cooled, and he sighed. “I mean, the ad’s self-explanatory. I want a man to tie me up, make me hurt, and then fuck me.” He cocked his head. “I know you like men, and I know you’re a Dom.”

Max nodded. “Yes. And a Dom is what you asked for in the ad, but I think you want something more.”

“What’s that?” Two brittle words through a smile that wasn’t friendly.

“A Dom who will treat you with the respect you deserve.” He spoke softly, but made sure every word was as clear as the finest crystal.

Tom inhaled sharply, his eyes fluttering and lips parting. Then the hope, oh such hope, lit in Tom. Fear, mixed with desire. He set down his empty cup.

Max hadn’t intended to pick Tom up, and this wasn’t that. This? This was the beginning of negotiation. He wondered if Tom understood. “Would you like another cappuccino?”

Tom didn’t move. “Yes, please.”

A deep pulse of satisfaction thrummed through Max. Grading be damned, he’d finish later. Someone needed to treat Tom correctly, show him what a Dom should be. Might as well be Max, then Tom could find the right man, the non-asshole Dom.

Max collected their cups and rose. “I’ll be back.”

The Bold Brew Series

Cup of Joe by Annabeth Albert

Puppuccino by Allison Temple

Perfect Matcha by Erin McLellan

Vanilla Steamer by Crystal Lacy

Order Up by Wendy Qualls

Silky Smooth by A.M. Arthur

Fair Trade by Cate Ashwood

Extra Whip by L.A. Witt

Cinnamon Roll by Anna Zabo

Double Shot by Gwen Martin

Also by L.A. Witt

Aftermath

(Vino & Veritas # 5)

This is a standalone romance set in Sarina Bowen’s True North world.

Other Ménage & BDSM Romances:

Ménage

Out of Focus (BDSM)

Hiatus

What He Left Behind

Kneel, Mr. President (MMF, BDSM)

Who’s Your Daddy? (MMF)

The Best Laid Plans (MMF)

BDSM

Not Safe For Work

The Master Will Appear

Finding Master Right

Kinky Sprinkles

Roped In (written with Marie Sexton)

Season’s Beatings

Coming Soon

One city.

One high-end escort service.

Six steamy love stories.

Don’t miss

The Gentlemen of the Emerald City.

About the Author

L.A. Witt and her husband have been exiled from Spain and sent to live in Maine because rhymes are fun. She now divides her time between writing, assuring people she is aware that Maine is cold, wondering where to put her next tattoo, and trying to reason with a surly Maine coon. Rumor has it her arch nemesis, Lauren Gallagher, is also somewhere in the wilds of New England, which is why L.A. is also spending a portion of her time training a team of spec ops lobsters. Authors Ann Gallagher and Lori A. Witt have been asked to assist in lobster training, but they "have books to write" and "need to focus on our careers" and "don't you think this rivalry has gotten a little out of hand?" They're probably just helping Lauren raise her army of squirrels trained to ride moose into battle.

Website: www.gallagherwitt.com

Email: [email protected]

Twitter: @GallagherWitt

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