Take the Chance (Top Shelf Romance #9) - Brittainy Cherry Page 0,275

a physical expression of our emotional connection and our history. We’d been through so much, and I’d wanted to shelter her, protect her, cherish her, even during sex. I’d never even thought about being rough with her, pulling her hair, leaving bruises on her body. Maintaining control had never been an issue, because I always felt I had it.

Sex with Margot was passionate too, but in a completely different way—if being with Steph was like diving into a beautiful blue sea, being with Margot was like going over Niagara Falls without a barrel. It was rough and turbulent, fraught with panic and desperation. At any given moment, there might be pleasure or pain, fear or relief, stillness or chaos. I had to fight for control, assert myself over her, combat the feeling that I was powerless. Thankfully, that dynamic worked for her too. She liked that I didn’t treat her as if she were delicate, breakable, and when I issued commands, she obeyed.

I loved the contradiction between the Margot everyone else saw and the person she was with me. I loved every dirty word she whispered, every scratch and bite mark she left, every animalistic moan and cry.

Maybe that was it—maybe it was so good between us because we could be someone with each other that we couldn’t be with anyone else. Or maybe it was the short-lived nature of this thing, sort of like how vacation sex feels better than everyday sex. And maybe I’d been able to sleep next to her because for the first time in years, I’d been able to forget for a while, let go of some of the pain. That was OK, wasn’t it? Because it was only temporary? I’d take it all back again as soon as she was gone. For now, I’d stay focused on the present. On her.

I looked over at her and saw her chewing on a thumbnail. “So serious. Are you worried about what I’m going to do next to unshelter you?”

She smiled, giving me a sidelong glance. “Should I be?”

“Definitely.”

“Whips and chains?”

“Ha. You wish. I’m taking you camping.”

The grin melted off her face. “What.”

“You heard me.”

“Like…camping where you sleep outside on the ground in the woods?” she asked, like she might not entirely understand the concept.

“Yes. Scared?” I reached over and poked her in the side.

“Yes! There are creepy-crawly things on the ground! And there are no bathrooms! Or room service! Or plush hotel bedding!”

I laughed. “Nope.”

“And there are animals in the woods.” She whispered it, like she didn’t want to alert them she was coming.

“Sweetheart, the only animal in the woods you’ll have to worry about is me.” I glanced over at her. Her eyes were wide, her expression half-pleased, half-terrified.

“Couldn’t we just go to a nice, quaint little B & B around here?”

“What fun is that?” I turned into Pete and Georgia’s driveway. “No, I want to take you camping for real for one night. You can manage one night without luxury, can’t you?” I put the truck in park and looked at her.

“One night?” she asked shakily.

“One night.”

She thought for a second, then sat up straighter. “OK. Yes. I can handle camping for one night. And you,” she went on imperiously, “can handle a black tie Great Gatsby-themed fundraiser for the Historical Society.”

“Black tie?” I pretended to think. “I don’t think I own one of those.”

“Black tie means you wear a tuxedo.”

“Well, I sure as fuck don’t own one of those.”

She patted my arm. “I’ll take care of everything.”

“No way. I’m not going to any fundraiser.”

“Scared I’ll throw a scone at you?” Cocking her wrist back, she pretended to take aim.

I laughed and opened the driver’s side door. “Actually, I’d like to see you do that.”

She jumped out and met me around the back of the truck, and we began to unload it. “Come on, please? It will be fun.”

“You don’t really think that.”

Her turn to laugh. “Not really. But I don’t think camping will be fun, either.” We started to walk through the dark toward the shed, arms loaded with empty crates and boxes. “Actually, you know what? I think we would have fun at the fundraiser.”

“Oh yeah, why’s that?”

“I think we would have fun anywhere.”

I smiled, wondering who’d feel more out of place—Margot in a sleeping bag or me in a tux? It was a close call, but I think I’d win. Plus, I was only comfortable spending this time with her because whatever was between us would end when she left. I