“That’s true. But you also don’t have anyone to take care of you.”
“There are plenty of people in my life to take care of me if I need it.”
“It’s different when it’s a woman. When it’syourwoman.” My fingers trace patterns on his stomach, feeling his muscles jump beneath my touch.
He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “Sounds like you want to get wifed up.”
I laugh softly. “Maybe at one time, but I think I missed my window. I’m 34, and most of the men who share my views on traditional marriage have already settled down.” I turn on my side, facing him fully now, and let my fingers trace lower. “I’m content now to be married to my restaurant, and occasionally pull handsome strangers into my bed.”
His whole body tenses. When I slide my hand under his waistband, he grabs my wrist, stopping me.
“I thought you said you didn’t want to fuck.” His voice comes out strained.
“I didn’t say that.” I tip my chin up to him innocently. “Just no anal. If that’s okay with you.”
The hunger that flashes across his face as he stares at me makes my breath catch. Neither of us says anything as for a moment. Then he gives me a quick nod, and his mouth is on mine.
14
Vin
Istare at her for a long moment, my gaze dropping to her mouth. Those full, wet lips that have been driving me insane since the first time I saw her bite her bottom lip.
I haven’t fucked a woman’s pussy in—Jesus, longer than I can remember. Seventeen years? Maybe more? The math blurs somewhere around the time Valentina shattered my ability to trust anyone with more than my cock.
Honestly, this isn’t my preference. And FUCK, this is bad for business. But the way she was dragging her fingers over my chest, those little shorts, this tiny fucking bed—
When I kiss her, her mouth is impossibly sweet, soft, warm. She makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan and melts into me like butter. My hand slides into her hair, gripping hard, and I kiss her deeper, harder, my tongue claiming, my other hand grabbing hers and pressing it against my aching cock. She doesn’t pull away. She squeezes.
Fuck.
When we break apart, we’re both gasping, her pupils blown wide, her chest heaving.
“I have a condom in my pants pocket,” I rasp, my voice gravel.
“I have some in my nightstand.” Her voice is breathy, wrecked, and it goes straight to my dick.
I push off the bed and yank open her nightstand drawer. And freeze.
Never in a billion fucking years would I have guessed what this quiet shy woman had in this drawer, stuffed to overflowing. Bottles of lube. Different sized vibrators and dildos arranged like a goddamn toolkit. A paddle. A flogger. Gleaming metal handcuffs. A blindfold made of black silk.
I raise my eyebrows at her, smirking. “You’ve been busy, princess.”
She laughs like it’s nothing. The woman who blushes when I look at her for too long has no problem with me seeing her drawer full of fuck toys. What?
“Not as busy as you’d think. I make sure those vibrators get a lot of use, though. It’s hard to find handsome strangers when you work as much as I do.”
I hold up the blindfold with one finger. “And the bondage stuff?”
“More wishful thinking than anything.” She shifts on the bed, pulling her knees up, casual as if we’re discussing the weather. “I got it for a guy I sleep with occasionally as a surprise, but he wasn’t into it.”
The words hit me like a fist.
“You’re sleeping with someone?” A weird twinge shoots through my chest. “Where is he tonight?”
“That’s none of my business.”
I watch her carefully, searching for bitterness, resentment. Most women would have at least a hint of sarcasm, but not Sophie. I don’t get it.
