I don’t know how long I sob or when the tears finally slow. I’m curled up on his lap, feeling smaller with every second. “How are you doing?” he asks in a quiet, calming voice.
“That was a really shitty punishment.” I wipe my nose on the blanket. “How did you even do that? You didn’t say anything and suddenly I’m a sobbing mess.”
“It wasn’t a punishment, it’s what you needed.” He presses his head to my forehead and whispers, “I’m so proud of you.”
I don’t remember a time when anyone’s been proud of me and I squeak, “Thank you.”
He tightens his grip on me and pulls me closer to his beating heart. He’s warm and the rise and fall of his chest has a steady rhythm that lulls me into a sense of security. No one has ever held me like this. I don’t want to leave. “How long can I stay here?”
He strokes my hair. “As long as you need to.” He shifts my body so I’m higher up on his chest. There’s an ache to his voice as he says, “I’m so sorry, I knew this was a bad idea.”
Oh no, he’s blaming himself for my tears. “Well, I did say I wanted to feel something else other than fear.” I force a little laugh. “Mission accomplished.”
He huffs, his breath brushes against my head and he stays quiet for a few moments. The lights flicker on and off. “What does that mean?”
He lets out a long sigh and shifts his weight. “Dimitri will be here soon.”
I lift my head off his chest. Turning, I gaze at the masked man as his thumb strokes my cheek, wiping away the now-dried tears. I don’t want to go. He said I could stay.
“It’s a shame we don’t have time for your reward.”
“What kinda reward? Like a sticker? I like stickers.”
I blink a few times at him, waiting for clarification. Instead, he touches his forehead to mine and says, “I make good girls likeyou come so hard you’ll see stars.” Then he leans back and lifts his head to the ceiling, like he’s disappointed, but I’m annoyed as hell.
Shoving him in the chest until he makes an “ooof” sound, I whine, “That was an option?”
His cheeks tighten under his mask, and a tiny sense of satisfaction grows inside me. I made him smile. He taps my nose with each word. “We are in a sex club.”
I throw my arms around his neck and shake my head in a dramatic fashion. “Why didn’t we start with that?”
He huffs another laugh. “Maybe next time.”
“There’s going to be a next time?” I can’t contain my excitement and let out a tiny squeal of delight I only make whenever I open a fresh set of colored pencils. “When? Tomorrow? I’m free tomorrow.”
He pulls back for a second. Didn’t he say he would make me see stars? Who wouldn’t want that ASAP?
There’s a knock at the door, followed by a long pause before it opens. The brick house with arms walks in. He pauses when he sees me still on Fox’s lap. “Is everything ok in here?”
Fox nudges me and I swing my legs to stand on the floor, but I overestimate and sort of wobble to my feet. My masked man’s hands steady me, and I give him a quick smile.
The brick house extends his hand with a sympathetic expression. “I’m Dimitri, the club manager. I’m sorry you’ve had a rough night.”
I shake his hand. “Hi.”
He motions with his head to follow him as he speaks. “We retrieved your car. Did you always have a ding on your passenger door?”
“Yeah—someone hit it while I was doing a food run.”
Dimitri nods. “Fucking savages.” Out in the hallway stands another man, smaller than Dimitri but not by much. He standsstraight like he's a former military guy and the buzz cut adds to that conclusion. “This is Darren. In his day job, he’s a personal security agent. He’s going to take you home and make sure your apartment is safe.”
I smile. “That’s so funny—I’m designing a logo for a security company. Ms. King can’t make up her mind about which elephant logo she wants.” The comment is casual and light. I don’t understand its instant reaction. Both Dimitri and Darren pull back, and I hear Fox gasp from behind me. Her name has a magical aura for them, a mix of terror and respect.
“Oh shit. You know Alana?” Dimitri says, and he pulls out his phone and lifts his index finger. “One second.” The phone rings twice, and before the person on the other end can speak, Dimitri asks, “Is your graphic designer a woman who works at the Cerberus building?”
A woman’s voice asks, “Is she cute as hell and probably wearing an outfit with an animal printed on it?” I recognize Alana’s voice instantly. She’s the only woman I speak to on the phone every week.
He lifts the phone toward me, and I realize he’s just pointing the camera. “This her?”
