a grinning, happy idiot.
He’d never had this kind of reaction to anyone else. And the idea of letting her go tomorrow and just being friends? Hoping that they bumped into each other at a future play party and that she was alone? Competing for her against other Doms? Not a fucking chance.
He grabbed plates, silverware and placemats.
“Can I help?”
Doing household chores, naked? “Yes.”
He admired her crimson bottom when she joined him in the kitchen. At least one of his marks lingered on her thigh, and her abused nipples were taut.
As she worked, he carried in the food.
She’d placed him at the head of the table with her seated to his right. Intentionally? If not, it was further proof of her great instincts. “More wine?”
When she nodded, he topped off her glass. It’d be a few more hours before they scened again, and he’d make sure this was the last she drank if she wanted to play.
“Thank you for this,” she said. “I’m feeling spoiled.” She picked up a chip and dipped it into the guacamole. “Delicious.”
“Made better by the company.”
“You say that to all naked women.”
“You’re the only one I’ve ever had at my table.”
“Even the woman who dumped you on Valentine’s Day?”
“So nice of you to remind me.” He took a drink of the Mexican beer he’d found in the refrigerator.
“Sorry.”
“Said in the not sorry tone.”
She shrugged, the motion accentuating her breasts. It cost him all his resolve to stay in his seat instead of morphing into a Neanderthal, slinging her over his shoulder and hauling her up the stairs to dump her on the bed before fucking her fast, slow and every speed in between.
“Not even Helen.”
“Why me?”
“You had the interest in BDSM. Common ground. Helen came to it through me. And I want to explore it more with you.”
“I bring out your inner Dom?”
Yeah. “Or something a bit less civilized.”
“But no less polite.”
“Shrug like that again and we’ll find out.”
He expected her to blush. Instead, she folded her arms beneath her breasts, pushing them up and out seductively.
“I will never make you eat naked again,” he vowed.
“I may never wear clothes again,” she responded. “Sir.”
When he was about halfway finished with the meal, she said, “Back to the surveillance.”
“I thought I changed the topic earlier.”
“You did.” She crunched another chip.
“You’re persistent.”
“If we’re going to be fucking—”
“It will be so much more than that.”
“Will it?” She sat back.
She said it as if it were his choice, his decision. He knew what he wanted. Her. But could she put up with him? His schedule? His commitment to his work? The ghosts that still shrouded his days? How independent was she? He knew she wanted to pursue her career, and he was fine with that. Maybe, just maybe, they could both get what they needed. “If you’re agreeable,” he responded finally.
“In that case, I want to know about your business.”
“That’s something I only discuss with my closest associates.”
“I’m the one seated at the table next to you, naked,” she countered. “And you told me that you and Helen had issues, some of them because of your job. You kept her out of your private life. If you meant what you said, that you are interested in whatever I’ll give you, then I won’t be kept out of your private life.”
“Fair enough.” He considered how much to tell her.
“It’s dangerous?”
Logan didn’t reply immediately. He didn’t want her frightened. On the other hand, there were times he didn’t arrive home in time for dinner. He’d been shot at, sucker-punched and kicked in the kidneys so hard that he’d peed blood for a week. He kept his freezer filled with ice packs, and he’d been known to sleep for forty hours at one time. “It can be.” Absently he traced the scar then abruptly dropped his hand.
“I didn’t know being a PI was risky.”
“Depends on the kinds of things being investigated.” He took another drink. She was right. If they were going to go forward, if she was eventually going to give him her complete submission, she deserved some information. Maybe more than he’d told anyone but Joe. “At the moment I’m working an illegal arms dealing scheme.”
She blinked. “Shouldn’t the government be pursuing that?”
“They are.”
“And you’re…” She blinked, looked away, then back at him as if the last piece of a puzzle had just been tapped into place. “Doing the same sort of thing that you were in the Middle East.”
“You could say that.”
Jennifer was obviously choosing her words. He’d answered her