“Help yourselves. No.” I point an accusing finger at the PI. “Now I’m here, you’re officially relieved of duty. Come back tomorrow at eight and no playing cards again, okay?”
Despite the loud groans of protest from Finley and Rosa,Eddienods his goodbyes and takes off, leaving me with two accusing faces turned my way.
“We were fleecing the hell out of him,” Finley says with a growl. “Give us another hour and we could’ve earned your entire fee back.”
“I don’t want a desperate, money-starved investigator doing work for me,” I say with far more good cheer than I had a minute ago. “Now, d’you like edamame beans or can I have the lot?”
“You don’t live here, you know,” Rosa says, her attempt at a glare a complete failure. “You can’t bully your way through the door every time you want.”
“Who’s bullying? I just walked in with armfuls of food. Hardly a bully move.”
“It’s blatant manipulation,” she declares, heaping a plate with food. “And just because it works doesn’t mean you can act on any other ideas.”
“Unless they’re as good as this food,” Finley interrupts, beaming. “This is amazing.”
Once we’ve finished eating, I take care of the scraps. Rosa follows me into the kitchen, resting against the opposite bench. “Thanks for all of this, but you don’t need to hire someone to keep tabs on me.”
“I’m not.” At her confused expression, I explain, “I’ve hired him to keep tabs on any potential intruders. Keeping tabs on you is just a by-product.”
“I’m out for the night,” Finley announces from the doorway. “Thanks for dinner, Trent, and don’t listen to a word she says. You can keep coming back as often as you like. We always appreciate when someone else cooks.”
Once she’s out the door, Rosa and I walk through to the couch. My cheeks grow warmer, remembering what happened here last night, then feel mortified as she says, “I asked someone about your… situation.”
“Mm-hm.” I try to keep the anxiety off my face. “And did they tell you to leave well enough alone?” Even with my eyes deliberately averted, my gaze crawls back to her face, desperate to read what she’s thinking.
“Something like that. Are you in counselling?”
“I don’t need—” My teeth snap together, not wanting to draw the obvious retort out of her. “No. No, I’m not.”
“I also read up on paraphilias on the way home. Pain is very common. Hence the popularity of BDSM.”
“You think I want to tie you up?”
My voice might sound incredulous, but the idea prompts a thousand images to flood my mind, exciting me more the longer I think on it. I can all too easily imagine her bound and at my mercy. Begging me; to start, to perform a specific request,to stop.
The blood leaves my cheeks and heads straight in the other direction.
“No, I was thinking more of the Sadism part of the acronym.” She stretches her leg out to poke me with her big toe. “Why? Do you want to be restrained?”
All my ideas flip on their heads, and I can’t speak for a minute as a cascade of depravity overfills my brain. Straining against ropes or twisting against the metal grip of cuffs. I imagine the thwarted desire, the frustration of wanting to move, to touch, to hurt, to harm but being completely unable to fulfil the impulse, instead writhing inside my bonds.
I meet Rosa’s eye, my instinctive response to deny it, push it away, but she can clearly see the temptation twisting across every inch of my face.
She swings around to sit beside me rather than propped against the opposite arm. Her forefinger touches the fiery flame of my cheek, then turns so her knuckle trails down, winding to my neck, then out along the width of my shoulder. The light touch drives my nerve endings insane.
“You would like that?”
I swallow and my throat clicks with a sudden dryness. Even when I clear it, there’s still a crack as I answer, “Yes. I think I’d like that.”
“And what would you want me to do while you’re restrained?”
Another struggle to get the words free. “Anything you want.”
She nods, then frowns, the tiny crease between her brows so cute I have to grip my hands together to stop from caressing the small line. I can’t touch her. Not while this turmoil is happening inside me. Not when an alternative path to fulfilment is opening before my eyes.
“Can you show me what you like?” When I return her frown, she nods to my pocket. “The videos you like to watch.”
“Oh, I…” My voice halters to a stop as I wipe my palms against my jeans’ leg. “They’re not meant for other people.”
