This time, he should get up, get dressed and get the fuck out of there. He was getting in too deep. The first actual conversation they’d had and it was happening.
He had to step back and get control.
He didn’t. He slid his hand up into her hair, fisted it gently and gave it a tug.
She lifted her head and he saw her face, shadowed but visible by the lights of the city.
“You dug that scene, master and slave,” he noted about the scene that she definitely dug when they met at the club.
As a response to that, she lifted her hand, cupped his jaw and slid her thumb along his lower lip before her eyes caught his in the shadows.
“We should book a salon,” she suggested softly.
They were seriously fucking doing that.
But that wasn’t what they were talking about.
“Changin’ the subject, Olivia,” he noted.
“Are you asking me if I liked to be whipped?” she asked.
“Whipped. Spanked. Caned. Cropped. Some or all of the above,” he replied.
“I have no idea,” she told him. “Do you?”
“Think you’re missin’ in your desire to cow me that I’m tryin’ to do the same to you.”
“No, Sebring,” she said in that fucking voice. That fucking voice that now that he had, he had to brace against because he liked it too much. “I am not missing that.”
“Not sure this works, two tops with neither of us feelin’ good thoughts about bein’ a bottom.”
She dipped her face close as she again slid her thumb along his lip in a gentle way that felt good just as it felt claiming before she moved her hand down so she could stroke his jaw.
“I don’t know. Seems you don’t mind when I top you.”
“Prefer it when I top you. And I’ve noted, especially just now, you don’t mind it either.”
He felt her lips touch his.
Then he felt, actually felt her smile.
And he wished the lights were on so he could see that in those green eyes.
“Strange that we don’t seem ill-suited,” she remarked.
Seriously?
“Ill-suited?” he asked.
“Ill-suited,” she answered, then went on like he needed an explanation. “Not a good match.”
“I know what it means. But who says ‘ill-suited?’” he asked and felt another smile.
“Me,” she whispered against his lips
He felt that whisper there and in his gut and he knew. He knew he was better when the woman didn’t talk.
He was about to do something about that when she asked, “Are you saying you think we should stop meeting?”