She writes my name down, slides both sheets as well as her pen, and instructs, “Sign here.” I comply, still greatly entertained by how formal this whole thing is. When I hand everything back, she scribbles whatever’s left to write on one of the pages and hands it to me. “This one will be yours.”
I skim over it while she fills the second one, and I quickly spot an unexpected detail. “Genevieve Charlotte Kensington,” I read, trying out her actual name on my tongue. “How sneaky of you, Genevieve.”
“Don’t call me that. Genevieve is for when I get scolded.”
“Hmm… I’ll try to remember that whenever you’re being a bad girl.”
She crosses her legs under the table, which brings a wolfish grin to my face. This is too fucking easy. I wonder if she can ever get used to my teasing. I hope the fuck not. “What should I call you then, red?”
“Call me Gen.”
“Does everyone call you that?”
“Most people, yes. Some call me Miss Kensington.”
“Oh, I like that better. I need to find you a flogger and a latex catsuit.”
She drops her pen with a sigh and meets my eyes with a ferocious glare. “Will you stop?”
“Stop what?”
“Trying to turn me on.”
“But am I only trying, red? If we’re beingveryhonest with ourselves, am I not succeeding?”
She thinks about it for the longest time, and I’m nearly positive she’ll deny it. She’s too prideful and proper to admit she’s sitting in her juices, dripping for me and my dirty tongue.
For the God-knows-how-manyeth time since I met her, she surprises me again when she replies.
“What if you are?”
My cock twitches, my mind flooding with images of us fucking until there’s nothing left but cum, sweat, and sore limbs. I’ll wreck that pussy of hers like no other man has before. I’ll dick her down so thoroughly that her world will never be the same.
This poor woman has no idea what she’s getting herself into, does she?
“If I am,” I say, “we need to get ourselves a fucking room.”
Her eyes flutter while she takes in my bold statement. When she nods with her lips parted, I swear my cock gets even harder than it already was. Without a word, we both finish our drinks in one go and get out of our chairs. I fold my copy of the contract and tuck it in the back pocket of my jeans before I slip on my jacket. We make our way to the bar, where she pays for her drink, and we walk together to the front desk.
She looks tense as she books a room for us, so while the clerk processes everything, I bend forward to whisper in her ear, “You know you can change your mind anytime, right?”
“Yes, the contract stipulates that—”
“Forget about the contract, red,” I interrupt her. I can smell the cherry scent of her skin, and as much as I want to head upstairs with her, I need her to understand she’s in charge of what does or doesn’t happen. “There is no obligation of any kind, no engagement, no commitment, and no expectations. We’re only going up there, taking it slow, and seeing where it goes.”
“This is light speed compared to what I’m used to.”
“Look at me, love.” She does, and when her blue eyes meet mine, I swear a wave of calm confidence rushes through her. I might be crude and terribly straightforward, but I’m not a bad person, and I hope she knows that. My intimidating physique and the rebellious attitude that sticks to me like a second skin aren’t an accurate projection of the man within.
“You said you didn’t do dates,” she says.
“Fuck that. Because we met tonight doesn’t mean youhaveto give me something in return.”
There’s a moment of silence, interrupted by the clerk who slides a keycard on the counter beside us. “There you go, miss.”
But Gen doesn’t look at him—only me. “What if I want to?” she whispers.
“If you want to, that’s another thing, red.”
