Tied With Me (With Me In Seattle)(12)

Her insisting that she’s not my type should be a flashing neon warning sign that I should just stay away.

No means no, after all.

But she’s wrong. She may not be submissive all the time, but she is beautifully submissive in the bedroom.

And damn if I don’t want to show her how life-changing it can be.

Fuck it.

I yank my phone out of my pocket and dial her number. She answers on the third ring, sounding out of breath, and my cock immediately stirs to life.

All she did was breathe, for Christ sake.

“Hello?”

“Hello, little one,” I murmur and smile when I hear her gasp.

“How did you get my number?”

“You made a cake for my brother, Nic,” I lie, not wanting to admit that I’ve had her number for well over a week now but was too consumed with my family to call her. “It wasn’t hard.”

“You are tenacious, I’ll give you that.”

“Look,” I begin and shove a hand through my hair, “I think we got off on the wrong foot today. I’d like to talk with you.”

“I like you, Matt.” She sighs before she continues. “And, honestly, I’m flattered. You seem like a really good guy. But I wasn’t kidding when I said that I’m not your type.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” I counter softly. “Let me show you.”

She’s quiet for a long minute, and I wonder if I’ve lost her before she clears her throat.

“I’d like to be friends,” she whispers. “But I think that’s all I can give you.”

That’s a start.

“Okay, for now.”

“You’re hot, but you’re not irresistible, you know.”

“You think I’m hot?” I grin and lean my shoulder against the cold glass of the window, watching cars drive by below.

“I have to go, egomaniac.”

“I’d like to see you tomorrow.”

“I just told you…”

“As friends. Friends drink coffee, right? Do you serve coffee at your bakery?”

She chuckles in my ear, and the tension in my stomach loosens as I hear her softening.

“Yes, I serve coffee.”

“Great, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Matt.”

“Good night, little one.” I hang up, change into my gym clothes and head for the door. I’m too restless to be home. I need to burn off some steam, and going to the club tonight holds no interest for me.

Which in and of itself should be another big red flag.

The ten-block jog to the gym is invigorating. Summer has settled nicely over Seattle, making the days warm and the nights just perfect.

I start on the weights, working my core and arms today. Just when I’ve finished my second set of bench press, I sit up and pull my T-shirt over my head, wipe the sweat off my brow and chest with it, and throw it on the floor. As I take a long drink of water, my eyes survey the room.

And that’s when I see her. Jesus, we belong to the same gym? She’s on a treadmill across the room, running at a fast clip. Earbuds are tucked in her ears, and her eyes are on the console of the treadmill, probably watching her distance.

She’s wearing nothing but black shorts and a tight black tank top. More of her body is exposed now than it was when I was plunged deep inside her.

Her little body is firm, yet curvy in the right places. Her arms are defined, probably from all the manual labor she does while baking.

When she’s finished running and climbs off the treadmill, takes a long drink of water and wipes her face with a towel, I walk toward her.

Shit, I must look like a f*cking stalker.

I keep my eyes trained on her as I approach, eager to see what her reaction will be when she sees me.

And I’m not disappointed when her eyes widen and her mouth opens as she lets those gorgeous green eyes roam down my body. My cock tightens at her gaze, and I want to pull her against me and kiss her stupid. But I just stay where I am, watching her.

She quickly recovers and raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, Matt, it’s called stalking now.”

I grin and offer her a fresh bottle of water, which she accepts, unscrews the cap and takes a sip.

Fuck, she has beautiful lips. Lips that look amazing wrapped around the head of my cock.

“It’s not a crime to belong to a gym,” I reply.