Page 18 of Tank’s Weakness

“I’m sorry I made last night difficult,” she murmurs.

“You didn’t.”

“So what do you want to talk about?” she sighs.

“I have a proposition for you. A no-strings fling. I’ll help you figure out how to break that mental wall. How to come with someone other than yourself.”

Her cheeks flush, and it’s not from the heat.

Delaney looks toward the gulf. “And why would you do that? What would you get out of it?”

This is it. This is where I admit what I’m into, and the woman turns up her nose and walks away in disgust. I have a feeling she won’t, though.

“I need to confess something, but I hope it won’t change your opinion on this.”

Hesitantly she nods, so I continue.

“I’m a submissive. I get off on being told what to do, being dominated by my partner.”

Confusion fills her pretty little face. “I have no idea what that means.”

I put my arm behind her and turn my body toward hers. “I’ll teach you, but to cut to the chase, I fucking loved it last night when you used me, when you told me specifically what you wanted. That’s what gets me off. In the bedroom, the woman is in charge, calling the shots, not me.”

“Oh,” she murmurs, cheeks bright red.

If I had to guess, she’s remembering what happened last night. Replaying it in her mind.

“I think your ‘problem’.” I air quote. “Which, for the record, isn’t actually a problem, is that you don’t like sex when you aren’t in control. I think you like leading what’s happening, demanding what you want. If you aren’t in control, you can’t relax, which means your body doesn’t respond the way you think it should.”

She shakes her head. “Honestly, I had never thought of it like that, but the theory has merit.”

“So you’re in? We figure this out together?” I ask, heart racing.

Say yes. Please fucking say yes.

“It would be a no-strings-attached fling?”

“If that’s what you want.”

She bites her bottom lip but turns toward me. “You can’t sleep with anyone else if we do this.”

“Done,” I say with no hesitation.

“I need to think about this.”

“Take your time,” I say as she gets up.

I watch as she pulls on the sides of her shirt, smoothing it down.

She’s so fucking pretty I can hardly stand it.

Standing, I reach into my pocket and hand her a piece of paper with my number on it. “Call me when you decide.”

She takes the slip of paper and shoots me a smile before walking away.

Halfway to her car, she turns back and says, “Wear a helmet.”

It’s not a request. It’s a demand. One I know I will obey.