"Yeah, well, you try hiding a goddamn hard-on for someone whose name you don't even know," I mutter.
"Her name is Jasmine Knudsen," she retorts like she doesn't know who I'm talking about. "And believe me, you can't handle her."
"I'm not talking about your friend, Lilah. I'm talking about you," I say, flicking a glance in her direction. "You looked like you were having the time of your life. I've never seen anything more beautiful than you when you're happy."
"You're doing it again," she whispers, swallowing audibly.
"Doing what?"
"Making it impossible not to like you."
"Good. That's the plan," I rasp, pulling up outside the store. It closed an hour ago, but her car is here, so I promised to bring her back. I'm already regretting it. I want to keep her right here for a little while longer, just talking to her. Every word she says is fascinating.
She hesitates with her hand on the handle and then peeks over at me. "Do you want to come in with me? You still haven't told me about your diner history."
I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles are white. "If I come in with you, I can't promise I'm going to behave. Not with you in that dress."
"Maybe I don't want you to behave," she whispers.
Fuck my life. Dirty little angels do exist. One is sitting beside me right now, offering me a glimpse of heaven.
I kill the engine and pocket the keys, my heart beating like a war drum. "Stay right there," I murmur, already climbing out. The cool air hits me in the face, but it doesn't cool me down anyat all. If anything, it makes me hotter, more desperate to get her inside.
I stride around the side of the SUV, trying to remind myself to take it slow, that she doesn't trust easily, and that this is too important to fuck up. I'm not sure my pep talk has any effect whatsoever when I help her out of the SUV, and her body brushes against mine. My cock is rock hard. My heart is in my throat.
"Single mom," I growl as we stride toward the front of the store.
She peeks up at me, a question in her gaze.
"I was raised by a single mom. We survived on food stamps and store brands." I swallow. "The only reason I was able to afford UCLA was a scholarship."
"I didn't know that," Lilah whispers.
"Not many do. When you make it, people tend to forget where you came from. I never forgot, though. You think I have an issue with strong women, but that couldn't be further from the truth, sweetness. I was raised by one of the strongest. I admire the hell out of women. If superheroes are real, they're women."
"Well, now I feel like a jerk."
"Don't. I'm not mad. I think it's fucking sexy when you light into me. Please, don't refrain on my behalf."
"I guess maybe I just got used to being judged for liking what I do," she says softly, shoving the key into the lock. "I get defensive because there have been so many reasons to be defensive. There have been a lot of men who walk through our doors who would prefer that a store like ours didn't exist. God forbid their wives read about—and enjoy reading about—sex and men who believe in a woman's dreams as hard as she does. After a while, you just snap first because it's better than listening to all the demeaning, insulting shit they have to say."
She walks through the doors before me, the little bell jingling. I step in beside her, allowing the weight of the door to drag it closed behind me. Most of the lights are off, leaving just enough near the door and windows to make anyone who were to break in visible from the outside.
"Fuck all of them," I murmur when she turns to face me.
"I'd rather not," she says, a hint of dry humor in her voice. "They probably like boring missionary sex with their crusty socks on and the lights off."
"As opposed to you and your Daddy kink."
"I do not have a Daddy kink!" she cries, smacking me across the chest.
I chuckle, grabbing her wrist in a gentle vise to pull her closer. "Liar," I whisper. "I read that fucking book today, sweetness. Every word. You loved it, didn't you?"
"Maybe," she says, the same thing she said earlier today.
"You like the thought of trusting someone so completely that you can just hand control to them and know they'll give you exactly what you need."
"I think most women like that thought, Lincoln," she says, her gaze earnest. "We're expected to be everything for everyone and conquer the world. It gets exhausting sometimes. The thought of just shutting it all off and not having to think, plan, or be in charge for even a little while is a tempting lure. But that doesn't mean we all want to call our partners Daddy or be a little. Sometimes, we just want to be the center of someone else's universe for a little while."
