His voice slid over me, smoother than top-shelf whisky.
The people around us disappeared. The world shrank to nothing but Matt and me. The air between us cracked with enough electricity to supply the greater Dallas area.
In that moment, nothing mattered but Matt and me and the sparks flying between us. Neither of us wanted anything permanent.
That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends with benefits.
Goosebumps covered my arms as I remembered the feeling of his muscular hands brushing against my skin as he tied my wrists. An unexpected shiver raced along my spine.
A plate crashed to the floor, shattering our spell as it broke into a thousand tiny shards.
The all too real memory of Matt dissolved. The lingering sensation of his touch and the desire pooling in my core didn’t.
I inhaled sharply and forced myself to think of something else to clear Matt from my mind.
It didn’t work. The desire to jump into bed and experience the thrill of Matt tying me up again was stronger than my willpower.
That Matt had that kind of power over me was thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.
Thrilling because I knew from experience how he’d wield that power. Terrifying because I knew my heart would pay the price.
“Who ordered the steak with baked potato?” Our server’s voice had the same effect as a bucket of ice water being poured over our heads.
I yanked my hand back, grabbed my water, and held the ice-cold glass to my chest.
Matt chuckled—thebastard—and coughed.“I did.” His gravelly voice made my lady bits desperate.
The ineffective, ice-cold glass did nothing to cool the fire burning through my veins.
After the server left, we dug into our food to avoid talking.
My mind drifted to the future I wanted. The one where I owned my practice and had a supportive husband and kids.
While I didn’t want a relationship right now, I wasn’t anti-relationship. If love fell in my lap tomorrow, I wouldn’t kick it to the curb as long as he didn’t expect me to give up my career aspirations.
Matt couldn’t be that man. He didn’t want a relationship. I couldn’t expect him to change, and I’d never ask. If I wanted him to respect me and my choices, I had to respect his.
Before long, Matt broke the silence with safe, comfortable small talk.
I ignored my inner ramblings as we talked about shared experiences in the Navy.
“I totally vomited after exiting the chamber,” I said. Most recruits did, so there was no shame in admitting it.
“I was one of the lucky ones,” Matt said. “I gagged and had snot leaking down my face, but I kept my lunch where it belonged.”
Most people wouldn’t consider vomiting after testing our masks in the gas chamber during basic training to be good dinner conversation, but we’d both seen so much worse it didn’t bother us.
Under the table, Matt’s foot brushed mine.
My feeble attempts to ignore or distract myself from my desire for him were useless.
He grinned. I lowered my head and lifted my eyes so I could look at him through my lashes. I gave him a small, inviting smile before looking away.
Matt shifted in his seat.
When Matt offered me a bite of his loaded baked potato, I slowly put my hand over his and guided the fork to my mouth. I took my sweet time closing my lips over the fork without breaking eye contact. When his pupils dilated, I moaned.
I swallowed, licked my lips, and said, “So good.”
