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He walks back to the island and picks up his fork and knife so he can resume eating his dinner.
“I thought it was understood that I’m kind of a controlling bastard.”
Of course he is. What surgeon isn’t? I can be that way too, and maybe that’s why this is making me want to fist my hands in protest. I don’t like deferring to anyone. It goes against my nature.
But then I consider my past relationships, all the considerate men I’ve lain with in bed, the times I wanted them to do more, grip my thigh, hold my wrists, do one damn thing without asking me outright if it was good or if I liked it or if it should be a little harder or softer or or or—
“Now,” I say suddenly, surprising us both.
“What?” he asks sharply.
“One night. Tonight. Take it or leave it.”
I expect him to laugh me off and say something like, Can I at least finish my chicken?
Instead, he drops the utensils and nods toward the stairs. “All right then. After you.”Chapter TenConnorOne night is laughable. One night is barely enough time to kiss her properly. But she seems insistent, and I know I won’t succeed in convincing her to give me more than that right now. I know how to bide my time. I’m good at getting what I want. It’s a give and take, a skillful dance. Sometimes it’s about letting the other person think they’ve won. It’s about playing possum so your opponent forgets just how much of a threat you really are.
When Natalie doesn’t immediately make a move for the stairs, I round the island and help by placing my palm on her lower back, pivoting her toward the hallway. She’s sticky with sweat from her run. Her hair is damp, her skin flushed. I love it, but I have a feeling she’ll be too hung up on the fact that she needs to bathe to let herself relax, so first, I lead her to the bathroom on the second floor and flick on the light. There’s a large white tub beside the shower. That’s where we stop, right at the lip.
I turn the lever until the water is hot and then I plug the drain.
When I turn to find her watching me, her brows are furrowed in a deep-set frown. Control—she loves to have it, but she won’t get it with me. At least not tonight. I step toward her slowly, making no sudden moves as I start to lift her tank top over her head. Then, quickly, she steps back out of my grasp.
“What are we…what—”
“You’ve given me one night. Don’t make me use half my precious time explaining things to you. Do you trust me or not?”
She glances over to the bathroom door, purposely left ajar, and then back to me. Her blue eyes are wide and vulnerable. “I guess I do.”
Good answer.
“Lift your arms.”
She does as she’s told, and I waste no time gripping her tank top in my hands and slowly start to work it up. It gets bunched up over her belly button and I see her stomach quiver. I move it up another few inches, just to the base of her sports bra, and then flick my gaze to meet hers again. She’s watching me with bated breath, waiting to see what I’ll do next. I tug her shirt the rest of the way up and over her head.
When she throws her arms across her bare stomach, I resist the urge to smile.
“Take off your socks,” I say, nodding down to her feet.
She laughs lightly, probably relieved by how innocent the request is, and then she does as I instructed. Her toes are painted with a pale pink polish and she wiggles them against the cold tile as I step back and take a look at her in her shorts and sports bra. Her body is small and athletic with supple curves. Her bra has slid up a little, revealing a red mark it made across her ribs during her run. I drag my thumb across it gently, and she stays stock-still.
“Does this hurt?”
“No,” she answers, nearly whispering.
My hand moves down, lower across her rib cage before I force myself to let it fall away. I want to see more. I want to feel the rest of her skin. I want to find out if she’s as smooth between her thighs as she is everywhere else. I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from asking her to continue taking off her clothes.
“Now what?” she asks shyly.
“Now I leave and let you take your bath.”
I turn off the faucet, and she grips my arm to stop me before I walk out of the bathroom.
“What?”
She’s turned on, sure, but I want her crawling with need. Going out of her mind with it, in fact. I want her to realize one night is not enough. Not for us. That means staving it off a little longer. That means the torture continues.
