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NDA Coffee Date
I breathe into my palm to check for freshness. I brushed my teeth less than ten minutes ago, but I pop two Altoids anyway. Fresh breath is crucial. I crunch down and spread the fiery-cold bits over my tongue. The burst of mint makes my eyes water, so I have to dab at the corners with my sleeve and breathe through my nose to avoid making it worse.
Darren Westinghouse is picking me up for a coffee date. TheDarren Westinghouse, Chicago’s NHL right wing and the most mysterious man in the league. There are loads of rumors about him. His dating history is unclear and based mostly on speculation and conjecture. I’m excited to get to know the man behind the intense, stoic mask.
My palms are sweaty, and my panties are inappropriately damp as I wander around my kitchen. My reaction to anxiety is weird. And rather inconvenient. I’ve already changed my panties once in the past half hour.
“It’s just coffee,” I scold my crotch.
It doesn’t seem to matter, though. She’s preparing for all possible scenarios.
I introduced myself to Darren when I went with my best friend, Violet, to an away game. He was gentlemanly and sweet, offering to walk me back to my room. I went in for a goodnight kiss that turned into an epic make-out session. We kissed like teenagers until my lips were raw. It took a week before they finally stopped peeling.
Today I’m wearing shiny gloss that tastes like cotton candy—my hope is that Darren likes the flavor and will want to kiss it off more than once. I smooth my sweaty palms down my jean-covered thighs. I’m going for casual—except under my jeans I’m wearing a nice pair of lacy panties, just in case his hand happens to find its way into them. My bra matches, of course.
I check the time. It’s nine forty-nine in the morning. He’s picking me up at ten, but those eleven minutes feel like they’re taking an eternity to pass. I mentally scroll through the approved topics of conversation: obviously hockey, weather, my job, and my college experience are all approved.
I’ve learned that it’s best to give people the barest of facts and then shift the topic away from the really personal stuff. People usually love to talk about themselves, so it’s not all that hard to do. At nine fifty three I do another breath check and startle as my doorbell chimes.
“He’s here!” I whisper-shriek to no one. Or maybe I’m addressing my anxious vagina. I take two deep breaths and count to three before I open the door.
I’m still not adequately prepared for the vision taking up my front porch.
Darren’s in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt—so different than the suit he was wearing the last time I saw him. His short hair is styled neatly, and his hard, icy blue eyes move over me in a casual sweep that I feel everywhere. Darren is intense. He’s lightness and darkness fused together. And he’s unearthly beautiful. It’s a lot to process.
A half-grin tips his mouth and quickly becomes a disarming full smile that transforms his face from severe to stunning for as long as it lasts.
“Hi.” It’s almost a moan it’s so breathy.
I have tingles below the waist from those two words.
“Hi.” I’m repeating myself. Not smooth.
“I’m a little early,” he says. “I hope that’s okay.”
I snap out of my Darren-induced daze. “Yes! Yeah, of course. Just let me get my purse.” I turn, prepared to grab it from the kitchen, when I realize it’s already hanging from my right arm. “Oh, never mind. Looks like I’m all set.” I hope he doesn’t think I’m a complete idiot.
I shrug into my coat with Darren’s help—so courteous—grab my keys from the hook, and step out onto the porch. It’s a crisp morning, but the sun is shining, so it takes the edge off the chill in the air.
Darren is ultra-polite, opening the passenger door and helping me in before he rounds the hood and takes the driver’s seat. We make small talk as we drive toward the water.
I’m a little surprised when Darren pulls into a Starbucks and heads for the drive-thru. This isn’t quite what I had in mind when he proposed a coffee date. I figured we’d go to some quaint, cozy little café and stare into each other’s eyes.
“I thought we could go to the park.”
“Oh, sure. That would be great,” I say. Parks can be romantic. Especially since it’s kind of chilly today. Maybe he’ll have to put his arm around me to keep me warm. I can totally get on board with that.
Once we have our coffees, Darren drives to the water. He parks the SUV, but leaves the engine running. I assume we’re going to get out and stroll the boardwalk, but instead we stay where we are and chat while we people-watch. Also not what I was expecting, but he smells great, so I guess I’ll take it.
He’s a quiet guy, so I end up doing the majority of the talking. Instead of rambling about myself, I regale him with Violet stories, which make him chuckle—a sound I like a lot.
After an hour or so, during which my stomach starts to grumble since I was too nervous to eat this morning, he shifts to face me. He skims my cheek as he sweeps my hair over my shoulder.
I lean into that touch, willing him to lean in, too. And he does. His thumb rests against that soft spot under my chin.
“I would like to kiss you,” he says.
“I have coffee breath.”
“As do I.”
I consider offering him a mint, but decide I don’t care. I tip my chin up. “Okay then.”
His smile is soft and warm, in stark contrast to his hard features and icy eyes, and his lips feel like silk against mine. I have no idea how long we kiss, but it’s enough that my neck starts to get a kink. He finally pulls back, those icy eyes heavy with the same lust that’s ruining my underwear.
“Would you like to have lunch with me?”
In my head I turn lunch into extended foreplay, but either way, spending more time with him is on my yes list. “Definitely.”
“Great.” That smile of his makes another appearance, shorting out all the connections to my brain and redirecting the energy to my lady bits.
He reaches into the backseat and retrieves a messenger bag. He then produces a file folder with my name printed neatly on the front of it. Well, that’s kind of . . . odd. Although that seems to be the way this date is going: nice, but odd.
“What’s that?” I ask, the lust and excitement I was feeling a few seconds ago transforming into anxiety.
“A non-disclosure agreement,” he says breezily, as if he’s telling me the name of a flower.
I’ve signed plenty of non-disclosure agreements during my time at Stroker and Cobb Financial Management. It’s necessary when working with famous hockey players and managing their finances. But unless I’ve read this whole thing incorrectly, Darren isn’t going to ask me to manage his finances. At least I hope he’s not.
“I’m sorry, why would a non-disclosure agreement be necessary?”
His brow furrows, making the sharp lines of his face even more severe and slightly ominous. “Because I’d like to have lunch with you.”
I surreptitiously place my hand on the armrest, near the door handle. Just in case. “You need a non-disclosure agreement for lunch?”
He runs his hands down his thighs. “I’d like to take you to my house.”
“Is lunchcode for something?”
I get more of his furrowed brow. “Code?”
Maybe the rumors about him are true. Maybe he really is some kind of Dom and he’s looking for me to be his next submissive. I’m not sure how to feel about that. I’ve read all the Fifty Shadesbooks, and sure, some of that stuff sounds like a fun time, but I don’t like to sign contracts for anything outside of work and banking. Even then, it makes me uncomfortable.
“Yeah, like, is luncha code word for some kinky sex games or something?”
His furrow turns into an arch, and a slightly sinister smile tugs at the corner of his sinfully sexy mouth. The same mouth that was recently suctioned to mine.
“No. Although I’m certainly not opposed to kinky sex games if that’s what you’d prefer in lieu of lunch.”
I pick up the folder, which he’s left on the dash between us and flip it open. The agreement is several pages long.
I glance at Darren and raise my own eyebrows.
“Take your time. I can wait.” He smiles again, but it seems more like a grimace.
I scan the contents. It’s incredibly thorough, with a whole bunch of clauses. There’s even one pertaining to a credit card and a budget for clothing and lingerie. What in the actual fuck?
I close the file folder and pass it to him. “I’d like you to take me home.”
He grins widely and produces a pen. His smile is so pretty I almost forget why I want to go home. Then I remember the pre-date paperwork.
I hold up a hand. “No, you’re not understanding. I’d like you to take me to my house, not yours. I’m not signing an NDA agreement for a lunch date—especially this type of NDA.”
That smile of his drops, and he blinks rapidly, fingers tapping against the manila file folder. “But I thought we were enjoying each other’s company.”
“We were. But there’s no fucking way I’m signing this, so if you want to have lunch with me, you’ll have to do it without an NDA.”
He’s clearly experiencing some conflict over this because he stares at me long enough that my skin grows hot before he finally says, “It’s meant to protect us both.”
“It’s not a condom, Darren. It’s an NDA. The next thing I know I’ll have some kind of tracking chip and I’ll be tied to your bed.”
He tips his head to the side and seems to be fighting a smile. “Would you like to be tied to my bed?”
“Not if I have to sign an NDA.”
“And if you don’t have to sign an NDA?”
The answer to that question is still no, I think, but I shrug, because even him asking makes things happen in my panties.
“I’m a very private person, Charlene.”
“So am I. Doesn’t mean I make all the people in my life sign an NDA because of it. If you want to have lunch with me, you can do it without asking me to sign away my rights.”
He regards me for several long, intense moments in which I have to fight to hold eye contact. Jesus, I’m nervous.
“Okay, no NDA,” he finally concedes. “But I have rules for dating, Charlene.”
“So do I, and we can discuss them over lunch.”
Two years later
We arrive at my house, two huge vehicles filling up the driveway. Normally, we’d go to Alex’s house after practice (my best friend and teammate), but his wife, Violet, is working from home today, and he doesn’t want us to pose a distraction. My place is the second closest to the rink, and I don’t live with anyone, so I’m the default.
My house is a modern build with solar panels and floor-to-ceiling soundproof windows you can see out of but not into, because I like my privacy. I also like having sex with my girlfriend against the ones that overlook the front lawn.
Our teammates, Lance, Randy, Miller, and Rookie, pile out of Lance’s Hummer while I grab my stuff from the trunk of Alex’s muscle car. I key in the code, and they follow me into the foyer, where I dump my hockey bag.
“I’ll grab some beers, and we can head out back.”
It’s early April, but the weather has been unusually warm, so at least we can get some fresh air while we discuss the impending expansion draft. Vegas is starting a new team, which means they’ll be cherry picking a player from every established team in the league. So far, only Alex and Randy are safe from the draft with their no-trade clauses.
I stop short and breathe a curse when I reach the living room. My erection is nearly instantaneous. It’s also very confused because I shouldn’t be seeing what I’m seeing.
“Holy shit,” Alex says from my right.
“What the fuck?” Randy bumps into me from behind.
“I knewyou were into some kinky shit!” Lance’s thick Scottish accent makes me acutely aware that what’s supposed to be for my eyes only is not. I consider, very briefly, the ramifications of scooping out my teammates’ eyes with a melon baller. I decide it’s in my best interest not to act on that impulse. I don’t think prison suits me, and it’s hard to play hockey without eyeballs.
A low whistle comes from my right. I glance over to find Rookie blinking rapidly, his bewilderment apparent. “Dude, are you having some kind of fucked-up party? ’Cause if you are, I might want to get back on the bunny train for a night.”
Randy smacks him across the back of the head. “That’s not a bunny, asshole.”
He’s referring to puck bunnies, the groupies of the hockey world.
“Ow! Fuck!” Rookie rubs the spot.
In the middle of the room, halfway between kneeling and standing, is Charlene. My girlfriend. Naked. Well, apart from her pearl necklace and a pair of fuck-me heels. Her gorgeous hazel eyes are deer-in-the-headlights wide as they meet mine, and then they dart down to her naked form. Seeming uncertain how to proceed, she stumbles a few steps and drops back to her knees on the pillow. She bars one arm across her chest, the other moving to shield the apex of her thighs.
Rookie seems unable to process the scene with anything but stupidity. “Is that a ball gag? Who the fuck wears that mask? How do you even breathe with that on?”
“Shut it, Rook,” Miller says.
I hadn’t even noticed everything else. But I pull my gaze from Charlene and look at the items littering my living room. This is pretty damn far from ideal.
“Everybody out,” I snap as I cross the room, nab the throw from the reading chair—Charlene’sreading chair—and step over the dragon dick dildo Charlene purchased when she was in her Game of Thronesphase. I drape the blanket around her, which sends some of the light, lacy pieces of lingerie fluttering across the floor. But the blanket does the job, hiding every inch of bare skin covered in goose bumps.
That my teammates have now seen.
I grit my teeth against the possessive anger and exhale a slow breath, trying to find some calm.
Here’s the thing, finding Charlene mostly naked in any given room in my house is not necessarily out of the ordinary.
Even the selection of lingerie arranged in a very neat circle around her—everything from virginal satin to a studded leather corset—isn’t particularly unusual. Charlene enjoys dressing up, and her choices often tell me a lot about what she’d like to have happen in the bedroom—or whichever room we’re having sex in—and prove helpful in allowing me to gauge her expectations. Leather often indicates she’s feeling feisty. It’s cute when she thinks she wants to be in charge.
What ishighly atypical is the second circle, which consists of a wide variety of assistive pleasure devices, many of which have been on Charlene’s I think I might want to try that eventuallylist. It’s a long list. Almost as long as her I thought it would be fun but I changed my mindlist.
Charlene and I have been extraordinarily careful about keeping what she feels is our sometimes colorfulsex life private. What happens behind closed doors should remain behind closed doors, as far as I’m concerned. It’s the reason I’ve always insisted on an NDA—until Charlene, anyway. Not particularly romantic or enticing when starting a new relationship, but my privacy has always taken precedence.
In lieu of signing a non-disclosure agreement, Charlene promised not to discuss our details with her girlfriends. Those women love to share, especially her best friend, Violet, and I have a feeling they might not fully understand the complexities of our relationship, since sometimes even I struggle with that.
“I’m sorry,” Charlene’s voice shakes along with her hands as she clutches the ends of the throw.
“Stay here, please.” I bend and press a kiss to the top of her head, hoping the simple gesture helps dispel some of her anxiety.
Her bottom lip trembles. “Okay.”
I want to assure her my dark mood isn’t directed at her, but I need to deal with my teammates before they run their mouths to someone besides each other, like their girlfriends or wives. This is why relationships are tricky. I may trust Charlene to maintain our privacy, but I can’t be sure anyone else will—especially when we live in a world where people like to color inside the lines, and Charlene believes she likes to scribble in all the margins, when really she likes to get close to the margins and then run away from them.
I step over the sex toys, noting exactly how many are from her I thought it would be fun but I changed my mindbox. Apparently she had big plans. I wasn’t expecting her until much later, as she’d messaged earlier to let me know she had to work late. She must have rearranged her schedule to accommodate me.
I drag a hand down my face and follow my teammates outside as they head for their respective vehicles.
“Wait.” It’s more bark than word.
They turn as a collective, expressions ranging from curious to downright disturbed. I need to do triage and smooth this over. I slip my hands into my pockets, conscious to remain calm on the outside, unaffected. I think it’s pointless to tell them it isn’t what it looks like, because it honestly is exactly what it looks like, just not quite the way they think.
Instead I go with, “It would be ideal if we could all keep this between us.”
“And you all think I’mfucked in the head? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Lance waves a hand in the air as I open my mouth to speak. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” He spins around and stalks to his Hummer. “I’m out.”
“It’s really not . . .” I don’t know how to finish that sentence without compromising Charlene more than she already has been, so I don’t.
“We’ll talk to Lance. You don’t have to worry about him saying anything.” Miller thumbs over his shoulder and then motions between himself and Randy.
Randy lifts a finger, looking like he has something to add, but he stops and strokes his beard, gives me a nod, and follows Miller to the Hummer. Of all the guys, Randy is probably the least likely to get on my ass about this. Last month he and Lily did five grand in damage to a hotel bathroom when they ripped the sink off the wall during one of their own sexy funtimes and flooded the room.
“I always thought you were so . . . normal.” Rookie rushes after them. He doesn’t even have the door closed before Lance starts backing up.
Alex is the only one left. We watch Lance’s Hummer peel out of the driveway.
“What was that about?” I ask.
Alex glances at me, his expression flat, lips mashed into a line. “I don’t know.”
I don’t like the way he’s looking at me, like he doesn’t know me. And in some ways, he doesn’t. He only knows the sides of me I let him see. And now he’s seen one that’s not easy to explain.
“Let Charlene talk to Violet, please.”
He huffs out a small laugh and shakes his head. “What Charlene tells Vi isn’t your problem right now, Darren.”
“It’s not what it lo—” I stop, because it’s pointless to say that. “It’s complicated.”
“Well, it just got a fuckload more complicated.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m gonna see if I can catch up with the guys and make sure they keep this to themselves, maybe find out what’s got Lance so riled.”
“I should come with you.”
I take a step toward his car, but Alex slaps a palm against my chest. He gives me a look, somewhere between disbelief and disgust. “Are you fucking serious right now? You can’t leave Charlene in there on her own after that. Where are your priorities? Manage your relationship, Darren, or whatever the hell it is.”
He’s right. Of course. But what he doesn’t understand is that Charlene is my priority, and making sure the guys keep their mouths shut is more about her than it is about me.
Well, this certainly didn’t go as planned. I had great intentions when I came here today. Violet is the one who made the suggestion. Well, she didn’t suggest I surround myself with weird sex toys and hang out naked in Darren’s living room. She thought it would be a good idea for me to be here when he arrived home so I could offer to relieve some of his stress. With sex.
I glance around at the sex wheel of fortune. Individually, the toys might not be that shocking—except maybe the dragon dildo, the crotchless black latex bodysuit, and possibly the mask that looks like it belongs to the lizard man or something—okay, maybe it’s a bit more shocking than I originally thought. On a scale of one to ten, I would classify this as an eleventy-billion of epic clusterfuck.
Playoffs begin in a few short days, which is both exciting and stressful. Chicago has had a great season and is in a good position points-wise. But the excitement over making it into the playoffs this year is dampened by the looming expansion draft.
Today they had a team meeting about it, and Darren doesn’t have a no-trade clause like Alex, so he must be worried. I know I am. It doesn’t matter that he’s older than a lot of his teammates; his stats are great—better than they were last year, which puts him at risk. Especially since the owner of the expansion team has been interested in Darren before.
So I came up with an awesome plan to surprise him. Or it would’ve been awesome if he hadn’t brought half his team home with him. I’d wanted to provide all the best distractions for Darren tonight in the form of every single sex toy and apparatus he’s ever seemed remotely interested in. In hindsight, my choices might have been a little over the top.
I clutch the blanket Darren draped around my shoulders and stare at the empty space where his teammates—our friends—stood moments ago. The front door closes with a slam. I jolt and clench below the waist, as if it’s echoed in my clit.
Which it kind of is. Whenever I get anxious, I feel it in my vagina, like my clit is the Grand Central Station for my nervousness. It’s rather inconvenient, and it can be embarrassing. It’s also not a normal reaction to stress. I know this, but there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
I finger the pearls at my throat, their smooth surface strangely calming as I debate whether I should clean up the kinky evidence, or wait for Darren as he requested. Another wave of anxiety slaps me right between the thighs. My eyes roll up, and I exhale a shuddery breath.
I don’t have a chance to make a decision about putting away the sex toys, because the front door opens and closes—much more gently this time. Darren appears at the threshold of the living room a few moments later.
“I didn’t think you’d be by until later,” he says, low and even, despite the dark look he’s wearing.
I swallow thickly as he approaches, my body lighting up like an arcade game. A bead of sweat trickles down my spine and I shiver, clutching the blanket tighter.
“I wanted to surprise you. I thought it would be okay since the guys never come here. I’m so sorry.”
“You’ve already apologized.” He steps over the dragon dick again—it’s ridiculously huge, and not at all useful—and skirts a pale lace teddy until he’s standing in front of me. His rough finger rests gently under my chin, and he tips my head up. His expression is intense, as is typical of Darren. “And you’re certainly a surprise.”
Instinctively, I want to issue yet another apology. My lips part of their own volition, and Darren tilts his head ever so slightly. It feels like a warning. I have to remind myself to breathe. Shadows dance across his face, sharpening the angles and making them more severe. He’s terrifyingly beautiful. Quietly stunning.
He caresses my cheek, the touch so gentle it’s entirely possible I imagine it. “We need to talk about how this changes things.” He holds out his hand. “And I would prefer if you weren’t on your knees for this discussion.”
My panic takes over, and the worst possibilities bubble up in my head. The weight of his words feel like anchors wrapped around my heart. The only thing Darren has ever asked of me is to keep our private life private, and now it isn’t anymore.
I slip my shaking, clammy fingers into his warm palm. I’m stiff from kneeling for so long, and I wobble unsteadily as Darren helps me to my feet.
The uneasiness that’s settled low in my belly flares and claws its way up, twisting through my stomach, into my chest, until it clamps around my throat. My pearls feel too tight and not tight enough.
What have I done? What if he breaks up with me over this?
My lashes wet with each frantic attempt to blink back the tears. All it took was one mistake to unravel two years. I feel as though I’ve tried to build a house of cards on the precipice of a mountain.
“It was an accident.” The words crack like shattering glass.
“I’m aware it was unintentional.” Darren frowns. “Why are you crying?”
“I broke a promise.”
He inclines his head—it’s more acknowledgement than it is agreement. “And what do you think that means?”
I lick my lips, my mouth dry, palms sweaty. “That you’re going to . . .”
“I’m going to?” he prompts.
The words stick in my throat, like I’ve tried to swallow a pill without water. “I shouldn’t have listened to Violet. I should’ve messaged you first. I didn’t think. I-I-I—”
“Charlene, stop.” He places his wet thumb against my lips, and I taste my own sadness.
Darren takes my face in his palms. I memorize the feel of his fingers sliding along the edge of my jaw, consider what the absence of his touch will be like. Remember how the fear that Darren could be traded at the end of the season has plagued me all day.
I brace myself as he tips my head up. “Look at me.”
I have no choice but to comply. I try to stop my chin from quivering, but I’m too unnerved to manage my emotions.
He sweeps his thumbs under my eyes as new tears free themselves. “Do you think I’m angry with you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what are you so upset about?”
Now it’s my turn to frown. “I-I—” I have to take several deep breaths to calm down and organize my thoughts. “You didn’t want anyone to know.” I motion to the lingerie and surrounding sex toys. “And now they do. So I thought maybe . . . it might mean that you’d—”
He waits for me to go on.
“End this.” The words barely carry.
“End this?” His expression shifts to confusion.
“Us. End . . . us.” My stomach churns at the thought. Losing Darren would mean giving up a lot more than a boyfriend. He’s connected to almost every single important person in my entire world.
His eyes flare. “Do you honestly believe I would walk away from you over something so trite?” His jaw tics. “Have I ever been that rash in my decision making?”
“No, but—” I bite my lip and drop my gaze. It’s hard to look at him when he’s this intense. His severe beauty is more than I can handle sometimes.
“Is it unfortunate? Yes. Will it create unpleasant questions? Most likely, yes.” He traces the contour of my eyebrow, sweeping along my temple. “Help me understand what’s happening in this beautiful head that would make you come to such an extreme conclusion.”
“I just thought, I don’t know. I broke a promise. The only promise. I guess in my head it’s the same as if I’d gone back on an NDA.”
I’ve taken great pride in my ability to keep our private life private. Well, I mean, obviously I talk to Violet about the things I can, but I never tell her what reallyhappens behind closed doors.
“Did you happen to write an exposé chronicling our sex life in an attempt to blackmail me in addition to this?” He makes a sweeping motion to encompass the circle of toys and lingerie.
“No, I just gave all of your closest friends a very vivid peek into what we do when no one else is watching.” Now that I’m not quite so worried about Darren breaking up with me, embarrassment is setting in.
His cheek tics, not with a smile exactly, but a hint of mischievous humor makes his eyes glint. “I’m sure they’re having a very interesting conversation about it at this precise moment. And I’m even more certain questions will follow for both of us, which is why we need to discuss how this changes things.”
“Oh.” Wow. I went way overboard with the internal drama on this one.
“Come. You’re shaking; you need to sit.” He keeps hold of one hand and wraps his other around my waist, guiding me to the couch.
I drop to the cushion and immediately spring back up, face mashing into Darren’s chest. His fingers curl around my arms. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. I’m fine.” Shit. I forgot how thoroughly I prepared for anypossible scenario this evening, which is saying something about my state of anxiety and might explain why it’s been bouncing around in my clit so hard.
“Between the tears and how jumpy you are, I’m going to disagree that you’re fine.” He smooths a palm down my back. I try to shift away before he reaches my ass, but my calves are pressed against the couch and I’m wearing sky high stilettos—which accounts for the sore ankles—so my coordination is somewhat lacking. I accidently step on the end of the blanket, tugging it free from my grasp, which means I’m once again naked—apart from shoes, and pearls. At least this time there are no other witnesses.
“Maybe I should get dressed before we talk about how to deal with this,” my suggestion is super pitchy.
Darren’s eyes narrow as I attempt to untangle my heel from the blanket. It’s one of those soft, hand knitted ones from a super-cute store downtown. I pointed it out to Darren once when we were out for dinner, and the next time I came over it was draped over the reading chair he bought me last year. The chair doesn’t often get used for reading, and the blanket doesn’t match Darren’s décor, but it’s sweet that he bought it for me.
Unfortunately, I’m now caught up in his thoughtfulness. Literally.
“Turn around for me, Charlene.” Darren’s voice is low, commanding.
My entire body flashes with goose bumps. Oh shit. His expression is no longer serious. Instead a dark smile appears briefly. I can’t decide right now if that’s a good or a bad thing.
I turn slowly, fighting the urge to crane my neck so I can see his face. I shudder as he drags a single knuckle from the top of my spine to my tailbone and then lower. Fanning out his fingers, he skims the pink, fuzzy bunny tail—which is attached to a butt plug that’s currently parked in my ass.
“I see you had expectations for tonight,” he murmurs.
“No expectations,” I breathe.
“I don’t think that’s true.” His lips are at my ear, his fingers spread across the underside of my jaw, palm resting against the base of my throat as his other hand trails along my hip, palm flattening under my navel as his chest comes flush with my back.
His shirt is cotton, soft and warm, his belt buckle is a cold shock resting against my low back. I exhale on a whimper when Darren’s fingertips graze the crest of my pubic bone, the heel of his palm pressing firmly against my low belly, his thick erection putting pressure on the plug through the barrier of his jeans.
“I wanted to be prepared for whatever you needed tonight,” I whisper.
“Ah, you were being thoughtful, then?”
“I know today was stressful for you.” It sure was stressful for me, even more so in the past twenty minutes.
“All this trouble you went to.” His teeth graze the sensitive skin at the side of my neck. “It was definitely a stressful day, and you would’ve been the perfect surprise had circumstances been different.”
“I’m sorry.” I need to stop saying that.
“Actions always speak so much louder than words, don’t they?” His voice is a shadow looming. “Why don’t you show me how sorry you are?”