Page 39 of The Dragon’s Good Girl

"If you want me there, yes."

"I do."

"Then I'll come."

There's a difference between those two yeses. I'm beginning to understand that now.

By the time we hang up, dinner needs reheating and I'm exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with sleep. Listening to Bree struggle without immediately taking the problem out of her hands was harder than solving it would have been.

But she has a number to call.

And I didn't have to become responsible for what happens next.

I reheat my dinner and take it to the table.

Later, I put my book on the nightstand and start getting ready for bed. My bag for tomorrow is already sitting near the bedroom door, and seeing it sends a familiar flicker of anticipation through me.

I get to see Soren tomorrow.

I've been thinking about that more than I probably should.

We've had two sessions. Two. He's a Dom I booked through a website, and his job is quite literally to make me feel good, help me relax, and take care of me for a few hours. Getting attached to the man because he happens to be exceptionally good at doing exactly what I'm paying him to do would be a spectacular failure of common sense.

Unfortunately, common sense doesn't seem to have much influence over the way I feel when he calls me Angel.

I think about that more than I'd like to admit.

The first time he called me Angel, I'm almost certain he hadn't meant to. I saw the surprise on his face the second he said it, there and gone so quickly I might have missed it if I hadn't been staring straight at him. A moment later, he was back to his usual calm, controlled self.

Maybe that means nothing. Pet names are hardly unusual in what we're doing, and reading something into it because I like the way it sounds in his voice would be embarrassingly easy.

There are other things too, little moments I could probably explain away if I tried hard enough. The way he watches me when he thinks I'm not paying attention. How pleased he seemed when he realized I'd bought the same shampoo he used on me. The soup he made for me.

None of it proves anything.

But it's enough to make me wonder.

And wondering is dangerous when I'm already counting down the hours until I get to see him again.

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling.

This is ridiculous. I'm thirty-two years old. I should be able to enjoy incredible sex and being spoiled by a dragon without developing feelings about him.

That was optimistic.

The more immediate problem is that there's something I want tomorrow.

So far, letting Soren decide has been the easy part. I walk through the door, hand over control, and trust him to figure out the rest. Even when he asks what I want, I give him broad answers because broad answers don't require much from me.

I want someone else to decide.

That was true when I said it, and it's still true now.

But tomorrow, I want to ask him for something specific.

My first instinct is to leave it alone. Soren will have something planned, I'll almost certainly enjoy it, and I can avoid the considerably more uncomfortable experience of looking him in the eye and admitting what I want.

Which is probably exactly why I need to do it.