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"I am interested in them," he said shortly. "I remember everything they tell me, and lots of stuff they don't but I pick up."
"Hmm." Her gaze became more thoughtful. "Like my attraction to lost souls?"
"Yeah." He bit into a cinnamon bun, and died a little death. He could hardly stop himself from shoveling in the eggs like a backhoe. He loved her voice, so he wished she'd just talk and not ask him to do so.
Fortunately, she seemed to pick up on that. She didn't ask him to talk again. Eating was serious business, so when he got a chance at a spread like this, he didn't like to split focus. Though he didn't mind that he was sharing the meal with a beautiful, hot Domme who smelled like clean sweat, cinnamon and sugar. And bacon.
As he scraped the last of the eggs from the bowl onto his plate, he realized the bacon was gone, and he'd mowed through half the cinnamon buns. She was still working on her first one, pulling the soft, fresh sweet bread into pieces to put
them in her mouth, licking icing off her fingers after each bite and making him want to do that for her all over again.
However, her scrutiny distracted him. She'd been watching him closely.
"When was the last time you ate, Marius?" she asked.
"Last night. With you."
"I meant before that. I get the feeling you're used to feeding yourself on the cheap."
"It's not hard. McDonald's has a dollar menu." Christ, shut up, he told himself.
"You made money working security, and you make money on those fights, I hope. Where's your money going?" She leaned forward. "Marius, your only contact info is a Zone email account and a burner phone just for Tal. Where do you live?"
He pushed back from the table. "I got to go. I have to go."
"Nice grammar correction, but it's not the first time you've slipped. I know you're a rough man. That you have to work at it to sound educated. But you can do it, because you're also a smart man. That's different from an educated man, but valued far less than it should be. I'd hire a smart man over an educated one any day."
She rose and went to the counter. "I'm giving you a shave. Then you can go."
"I'm going now."
"That would be poor manners for a full breakfast. Or are you scared to let a woman shave you?"
She pivoted and he saw she was holding a hunting knife. Perhaps five inches in length, the blade flashed, catching the overhead light over the kitchen table.
The look in her eyes was pure Mistress, and it did something to him, he couldn't deny it. He felt rooted to the chair.
"I'd think twice before letting anyone shave me with that," he said, to buy himself some time.
She grinned, and something loosened in his gut at the relaxed gesture. She was going to let the other topic go. For now.
"See? Smart man. But am I just anyone?" Setting the knife aside, she pulled off the sports bra, freeing her generous breasts. Beneath the sports bra, she had on a scrap of a bra that engaged the male senses far more provocatively. It seemed to be nothing more than a transparent, shimmering black mesh. She shimmied out of the exercise shorts, revealing a matching pair of panties which showed the cleft of her sex. Tiny red bows were at the strap on either hip, which he found absurdly sexy and delicate at once.
Picking up the knife again, she gestured. "Pull the chair back and straddle it, facing away from the table."
He swallowed. She had him, she knew it. If she'd kept it casual, just "fine, leave, and have a nice day," he would have left. But she'd shown him the knife and pulled out her Mistress side. She knew how to bait a hook. She was registering his triggers, learning how to stay a step ahead of him. That could get her hurt again, and he needed to go. Needed to go...
"Duncan." The edge of her voice cut into him like the physical blade. His lip twisted, an automatic reaction of rebellion and defense, but the rest of his body betrayed him, already turning to straddle the chair as she'd commanded. Her gaze slid along the denim creased over his thighs.
"See something you like, Mistress?" he said, trying to work up the energy for the taunt.
Her dark gaze lifted to his. "You're the one with a hard-on. Seems I should ask you that question."
He shifted his gaze to the wall before him without answering.
"Shirt off," she said. "I don't want to get it wet."
He removed and laid it aside. He wanted her to keep it anyway. Wanted to think of her wearing it like she had last night.
