“Flirting with him?”
“Fucking with me.”
I gave an exasperated/bored sigh. “I’m your wife, Dane. We have ground rules. Fighting in public is okay, but we keep it to a minimum. I know.”
“And what about flirting with him? How far would you take that?”
“I guess I’d take it as far as I want to.”
He just stared at me. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t voice any issue with that.
But it churned in the depths of his eyes, his issues with that statement.
“What if I wanted to be that girl?” I asked him. “The one who got to slip away with him after the fight and suck him off in one of those dark rooms?”
Dane said nothing for a long moment. Then he growled, “As long as you don’t get caught, right?”
Right.
“Yeah?” I pressed. “You like that thought? Your best friend, all sweaty from his fight, pumping his dick into my mouth? Unloading himself down my throat, like you did on our wedding night?”
He said nothing. But his jaw clenched as he looked away.
My husband was full of shit. I fucking knew it.
He was jealous the whole damn time.
The cold and impervious thing, in this case, was all just an act.
I didn’t believe a word of the brief, chilly lecture he launched into in the back of the car as we reached downtown and our drive neared its end.
We were in public. People could see you. I have a reputation.
Blah blah blah.
It wasn’t about that. I saw the way he reacted when I described giving a blowjob to his best friend. It had nothing to do with possession or public opinion.
It had to do with power.
His power.
He didn’t like that picture I’d painted in his mind of his best friend using me to get off. And me, very possibly enjoying it.
I let him just think about it for a while when I said absolutely nothing in response to his lecture.
In some twisted part of me that I didn’t even know existed before I married this man, I wanted to see how this played out. If he got angry enough to try to fuck me. If I got aggravated enough to let him.
I wanted to know what the hell he had in mind as we rode the car elevator up to the penthouse. Ream me out in the privacy of our apartment? Put me on my knees and spank me again? Call me a good girl after he unloaded another orgasm on me?
How twisted was this man?
And was he as twisted as me?
To my annoyance, he gave the lecture one more go as soon as the first steel door had closed behind us and Rolf was out of sight.
“I’m known in this country,” he informed me. “People know my face. And word is I’m married. To you. Even if there aren’t any cameras around, it matters how you behave in public, around other men.”
“Uh-huh.”
