“That’s very kind of you, but your suggestion is good with some... caveats.”
“Caveats?”
“You are used to your partners submitting to you, yes? You throw them around, fuck them until they beg you to stop?”
For the first time, his polished accent slipped, and something else snuck in, something I couldn’t quite place. “I’m used to a lot of things, but I’m adaptable, within reason.”
Teddy smirked. “I’m sure you are, and don’t worry. I’m not asking you to bend over for me if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It’s not. I have zero problems saying no.”
“And I have no problem listening. But that isn’t what I want.”
“So... whatdoyou want?” Unable to help myself, I stepped closer to him, my entire body alight with anticipation. “You have some boundaries you want to set out?”
“The opposite, actually.”
I swallowed thickly. “What?”
“Boundaries. I don’t really have any, but I’m not submissive. I will tell you what I want, and I’d like you to do it.”
“Where are you from?” It wasn’t what I meant to say, but his slipped accent was doing strange things to me. In the pub, he’d sounded as English as the queen. Now? I couldn’t tell, and my gut was churning enough to cool the blaze obliterating my common sense. “You sound Russian or some shit.”
Teddy’s grey eyes flickered. “Would that bother you?”
“Only if there was a reason for you to hide it from me.”
“We are strangers. There is no reason for anything at all.”
I tilted my head, assessing him more than I had when a simple hook-up had been on the cards. “Tell me then. Where are you from?”
“Right now? Where you found me. But I was born in St. Petersburg if placing my accent is so important to you.”
“St Petersburg in Russia?”
“Yes,Cam.” Teddy thickened the English accent he’d started with, that dry humour lighting his eyes again. “Or is it Cameron, if we’re oversharing tonight?”
“Define oversharing.”
“No. You do it.”
I couldn’t figure out if he was playing with me. Or if it mattered. I didn’t give two shits where he was from as long as he wasn’t a shady fuck, but the sense I was missing something was hard to ignore, especially in my life. “Cameron was my dad’s name, and he’s long dead. You... TeddyJones, can call me whatever you like. Is that enough for you?”
Teddy picked up his vodka with a noncommittal hum and tipped it down his elegant throat. “Follow me to the bedroom if you are happy. If you are not, you know where the door is.”
He left me. Again.
Andagain, I gave little conscious thought to following him.
His bedroom was how I imagined a fancy hotel room to be—cold and impersonal, but with the bonus of a giant bed.
A blank canvas for filth.
Teddy—not his name—was on the far side, taking his Rolex off. He laid it on the bedside table and shot me a challenging smirk.
I scowled. “I’m not going to steal it.”
“You wouldn’t need to. If you wanted it, I’d give it to you.”
