Love in Lingerie(35)

“Oh please.” I roll my eyes. “Ignore him, Stephen.”

“No, really.” Trey leans forward, his hands linking, his forearms resting on the linen tablecloth. “Is she an alpha?”

“I’m actually very submissive,” I lie, for no reason whatsoever, except that Little Miss Chelsea here seems to be positively collared by design.

“Oh please,” Trey scoffs. “You couldn’t be submissive if your life depended on it.”

“Put your hands on the counter. Flat. Palms down.” I stare at him and wonder if he has forgotten that moment. “I think you’re wrong.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” he challenges. “A lot of men like a little fight in their woman.” He glances at Stephen. “So settle it for us. In a relationship, is she dominant or submissive?”

He’s asking a man who barely knows me, and he knows it. This isn’t a question, this is a pop quiz, one to find out how involved my relationship actually is, how much of my heart this man has actually sampled. I rip off a piece of bread with my teeth and wonder how convincingly I can feign illness. Maybe we could skip the main course and escape after appetizers.

“She’s not that simple,” Stephen says, his hand running down my back, his fingers cool on the bare skin. “Just when I think she’s the most independent woman in California, she’ll surprise me.” He leans in and presses a soft kiss on my shoulder. “Like you did last week.” I flick my eyes up to him, a question in them. Last week? He leans in, lowering his voice. “In the elevator,” he reminds me.

Oh. I wouldn’t exactly call that a submissive moment; it was more of a weak one. The elevator in his building had shuddered, the lights flickering, and I had all but crawled into his arms, terrified of being stuck there, in the dark, a claustrophobic attack armed and ready. It hadn’t been necessary. The lights had stayed on, and the elevator had resumed its climb, crisis averted. I shrug, ready to be done with the conversation. “You’re right. I’m a paradox of contradictions.” I stick my tongue out at Stephen, and he gives me that smile, the one he reserves for moments when he’s enamored with me, and I’m not surprised when he leans forward, pressing a kiss to my lips. When I pull away, the waiter is finally here, and I smile at him in relief.





Him

The dinner is two hours of absolute agony, and I don’t know if it had originally been Kate’s idea or mine, but it needs to never ever happen again. Every time he touches her, my skin crawls. The prick kisses her, and I about come out of my chair. And I’ll never be able to step on an elevator again without running through every possible scenario that could have occurred between them. The question had been a test, and he’d failed. Submissive and dominant aren’t words that apply to Kate. She is both, constantly, and at the same time. She challenges me as she begs for domination. She argues for what she wants to be told. She needs a firm hand that gives her everything she wants. She needs me, and no one else.

Chelsea says something and I turn my head, nodding, willing her to go to the bedroom and sleep. Tonight was as cruel to her as it was to me. Each touch was a show, each whisper a power play, the entire meal a battle between Kate and me. Chelsea pulls on my hand and I stand, following her to the room.

“Wait here.” She pushes me down in the chair, the one by the bedroom’s fireplace, and I sink into the velvet, rubbing my hands across my face.

“Not tonight, Chels—”

“Shut up.” She disappears into the bathroom, and I slouch in the chair, closing my eyes and resting my head on the back of the chair, listening to the sound of water running and drawers opening. When she reappears, I crack open an eye, her profile silhouetted by the bathroom’s light. “Close your eyes,” she whispers.

I don’t, my head rolling to one side as I eye her, trying to understand what is different. It’s her hair, it’s dark and shorter, brushing the top of her shoulders. “What are you doing?”

“Shhh…” she says, straddling me. “Don’t ask questions.”

She leans forward, and it’s then that I smell the perfume, the scent that Kate wears. I stiffen, and she lifts my hands, placing them on her hips. “Undress me.”

“Chelsea…”

“Don’t think about it. Pretend I’m her. You need it.” She drags her fingers through my hair, and in the dark bedroom, with the dark hair, her smell … I can almost believe it. I can almost believe that this is Kate, and I can have her. Right now, I can unbutton her top and bury my face into her breasts. I can push her to the floor and have her mouth around my cock. I can carry her to my bed, and wrap her legs around my waist and tell her everything that I always think and never say. I love Chelsea for this, and I also hate her for seeing it, for how transparent I must be.

I drop my head forward, resting it on her chest, my arms stealing around her waist. I hug her to me and feel myself breaking, feel exactly how fragile every piece of my world is. “I can’t,” I say, the words gruff. “I’m sorry.”

She leans back and lifts my chin. I’m glad it’s dark, glad I can’t see her face. “Don’t be sorry. It was a stupid idea. A little creepy on my part, too.”

I laugh, and drop my forehead into the crook of her neck. “It wasn’t a terrible idea. I’m hard as a rock right now.”