Exposed by Fate (Serve #2)(22)



“No.” Warmth bloomed in her chest. “No, I guess not.”

“What happens in the bedroom is separate. At least for us. You. I meant, you,” he corrected quickly. “Some people like to be submissive in all areas of their lives, but you’re not one of them. You never could be. What your mother went through is abuse. This, what we did, is not abuse. If anyone ever crosses that line, I’ll gladly kill them for you.”

Eliza’s breath caught, surprised by his vow, his white knuckled grip on the shot glass. This wasn’t the Oliver she’d grown used to over the years. Suave, easy Oliver had left the building. Just as quickly as the realization appeared, though, she blinked and he was back, giving her a lazy smile. “Where’s Mom now? Still in Maine?”

After a beat, she nodded. “Yeah. After my father died, she sold the house and rented a small apartment in town. She’s much happier.”

“Good.”

Eliza recalled the week her father died. She and Caroline had been juniors in college. Her best friend had gone with her to the funeral as support, since she had no siblings. Until now, she’d forgotten that Oliver had driven them to the airport. Checking them in at the curb, hugging her so tightly before she left, whispering apologies into her hair. He’d even asked her if she needed him to come. He’d meant it, too. She must have been so lost in her grief, she’d forgotten about that morning until now.

With great effort, she dragged herself back from the memory, hoping to lighten the tone. “So. Personal trainer, BDSM instructor, therapist. Do you have any other hidden talents I don’t know about?”

Oliver capped the ouzo and stuck it in the fridge. “I do. And you’ll never see it.”

An outraged sound tripped from her lips. “It must be embarrassing. Now I’m really curious.” She drummed her fingers on the island. “I have a hidden talent too. If I show you mine, will you show me yours?”

“We already played that game in the shower, bunny.”

She laughed and felt the remaining tension leach from her body. “I can juggle.”

“Not worth it.”

“I can juggle while doing the splits.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You have a deal.”



Eliza shook her head as she collected three green apples from his fruit bowl and stood. “You men are so easy.” Then she dropped into the splits. Right there in his kitchen. Oliver found himself diving over a stool to get around the island. He found her in a perfect split, those long legs stretched out in two delectable lines on either side of her. Blond hair shielding one eye. Big satisfied grin on her face. Fucking hot. Those were the only words he could think of to describe the picture she made. Okay, maybe boner inducing. Fantasy material. And…goddamn adorable. Those worked, too.

“High school cheerleader?”

She pursed her lips. “Gymnast.”

Oliver cursed, not even bothering to hide his interest in her spread center. That sweet spot he’d been buried in less than twenty minutes ago. Want to go back. “Should I juggle now?”

“Who?”

Eliza chuckled before drawing her brows together in concentration. She focused on the fruit in her hands a moment. Two apples launched into the air, a third joining them in a continuous pattern almost immediately. Against all odds, he found his gaze drawn to her hands, impressed by her speed and dexterity. Holy shit, she was really good. There’s a beyond sexy, uber-flexible, newly-minted submissive in your kitchen and you’re marveling at her dexterity. You’ve finally lost it, Preston. Even his obnoxious inner monologue couldn’t stop him from smiling, though. This entire situation was absurd and yet it felt oddly comforting. Like nothing out of the ordinary. As it should be. Of course, Eliza should be juggling apples in his kitchen on a Tuesday night after a mind-blowing f*ck session in his shower.

Her voice broke into his thoughts. “Okay, your turn. What you got?”

“Please don’t make me do this.”

She lobbed an apple at him. “Deal’s a deal, playboy.”

Ignoring the stab of hurt he encountered at the nickname, Oliver took a deep breath, giving himself some time to get into character. He propped his wrists at the back of his waist. Stuck his lips out like a duck. And did the Mick Jagger impression that had been his claim to fame through four years of business school. Strutting around the kitchen like the Rolling Stones front man, he sang, “Let’s Spend the Night Together,” because it seemed appropriate. He hadn’t done the stupid impression in years, especially for a girl he wanted to continue sleeping with, but once he started, it was like riding a bike. Muscle memory. He would have stopped after enough time had elapsed to hold up his end of the deal, but her musical laughter was addictive, so he kept going.

She grabbed onto his ankle from her position on the floor. “Stop. Oh my God, please…I can’t watch you do it anymore. I’m going to pee my pants.”

He kept his lips in quack position. “Tha’s no way to talk to a bloody English knight, love.”

Her body curled up into a ball on his kitchen floor, sides shaking so hard she was clutching at her ribs. Around her, bright blond hair was spread out like sunshine. His masculine, functional kitchen had been lit up by her. God, when was the last time he’d genuinely laughed? His sister got a chuckle out of him from time to time, but right at this moment, he felt new. Fresh. Fucking happy.

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