“Yes,” I told him. “And another for him.”
“Good to see you, Callum,” Ronan added, that honey smooth voice flowing over the music until it was the only thing I could hear.
Callum mixed up two drinks and set them on the bar in front of us. With a giant swallow, I finished what was left in my glass and then picked up the new one, using my trembling fingers to move the straws out of the way.
Ronan watched me, taking in every move I made, and the cool and calculated way he appraised my movements had my knees threatening to give out. This was a man who knew what he wanted, and I was fairly certain he wanted me.
“Thank you for the drink,” he said, raising his glass to me.
I answered with a jerky nod and a quick swallow. The vodka was sharp, biting, and I was thankful for it.
“So,” Ronan continued, “tell me about yourself, Kevin.”
“I hate that opener,” I said, forcing myself to turn and face him. I wasn’t a doormat; I needed to stop acting like one. I was strong enough to consent, to take control of my pleasure. I could face this man and have a conversation with him.
“Oh?” He winged up an eyebrow, looking utterly amused at my boldness. It made me feel small, but in a good way.
“It’s like a bad interview question. What’s your biggest strength? What’s your biggest weakness?” It felt wrong to speak to Ronan like that, but I did it anyway.
He watched me with a curious expression, squeezing lime into his drink before raising the glass back to his mouth and taking a thoughtful sip.
“Whatisyour biggest weakness?” he asked me.
“What’s yours?”
“You, I think.”
I swallowed, breath not reaching my lungs where I so desperately needed it. How did this man know what to say to keep me just enough off-guard that I couldn’t pinpoint if my arousal was from desire or fear?
Maybe it was both.
Maybe that was his plan.
“I don’t know how that can be,” I muttered.
“You’re utterly captivating,” he said without pause and without thought.
I gave him a doubtful look, but he shook his head, lips pursed and ready for argument.
“I think you and I are looking for the same thing,” he continued.
“And what’s that?”
“Some fun.” He smiled at me, a row of bright white teeth visible between his full lips. “Some negotiation.”
I inhaled and looked away from him, focus shifting to the people playing in the upstairs loft. I’d been there long enough that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness and I could better make out the shapes of bodies
pressed against a cross or bent over a bench. The noises of leather against skin echoed down to the lower floor, largely ignored by those who’d come to dance, but not missed by those who hadn’t. I shifted my weight, hoping to ease some of the tension between my legs, to no avail.
“I don’t have a lot of limits,” I told him.
“Isn’t that careless?” Ronan finished his drink and set it down on the bar.
I bit the thin black straws in my own glass between my teeth, debating the question. While I answered him with my silence, Ronan pulled out his wallet and tossed a fifty onto the bar top.
“It might be,” I finally verbalized.
“Are you careless?” he asked, dipping his face back toward mine. His damp lips brushed against my temple and I set my half-finished drink down on the bar.
