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He left her standing there, looking dazed, and focused his attention on washing his hair. He was smeared with enough bug guts to make him feel like a human windshield, so he took his time washing, concentrating on getting clean rather than drooling over the sight of Arabella running soap over herself with skimming hands. If she had been trying to tease him it probably wouldn’t have affected him the same way. She looked off-kilter, maybe even a little lost, as though she was feeling as confused as he was.
“So, that’s it?” she asked.
They had both rinsed and now stood under the spray together, quiet, the bare skin of his leg touching her thigh, but just barely. There was no hiding the fact that his dick was still painfully hard, but that didn’t mean he had to do anything about it—at least not with her around.
“I’m done if you’re done.”
She made a sound that was either a sigh or a quiet, bitter laugh, and turned to shut off the water.
He reached for two towels and handed one to her even though he really would have preferred to dry her himself. She wrapped the towel around herself and stepped out, her ass swaying, luring him like the Pied Piper’s flute.
How was he going to take the edge off if they were sharing a room all night? She had to know what she was doing to him. Admittedly, the shower had been his idea, but once in a while he lost control over his better judgment where this woman was concerned.
Maybe he was fooling himself thinking he had a chance for more with her. Even though she was a tomboy, she was the sexiest girl at the club. She was a smart, successful, independent little badass.
She didn’t actually need him or any other Dominant, and she could take her pick of almost any single Dominant at Catacombs, so why on earth choose him? It was more than possible the reason she wouldn’t commit to him was because she’d found him lacking and not at all because of whatever had gone down with her ex. Sure, women enjoyed looking at him—enjoyed using him—but he was the party guy who women wanted to screw but none of them took seriously.
For fuck’s sake he lived in the storage shed behind the club. Why would she take him seriously?
It had been years since he and Will had left his father’s house. It had been years since they had seen their stepmother. And yet . . . sometimes he still felt like she’d been right all along. Maybe he was just as annoying and entitled and ungrateful as he’d been as a child. Maybe that was why his last “serious relationship” had been with a woman twice his age who’d paid to keep him as a pet.
“You confuse the hell out of me some days.”
At the sound of her voice, he startled, having forgotten she was there.
“Why?”
“I just never know which you is going to show up. I’m used to the cocky asshole Grant, not quiet and introspective Grant.”
“You do realize I’m the same person, right?”
“I do, but this is the version of you that you don’t let many other people see, and I find myself wanting to hug you instead of smack you. It’s really inconvenient.”
“What, no jokes about hugging me with your vagina?” he asked, the words having little, if any bite. He just didn’t have it in him to fight with her tonight.
“I considered it, but I’m frustrated enough without making it into a joke. Is that your plan? You’re going to be a tease until I finally agree to a relationship? I will not cave to sexual coercion.” She had toweled her hair dry and it stuck up adorably in a million different directions.
If that was true, he didn’t know if he had any chance with her at all. Maybe he should just let her use him—take what he could get until he couldn’t hold her attention anymore. It was hard to know if they could ever come back from that though. She might not care, but he did, obviously too deeply, considering she didn’t feel the same way.
“If sex is all you want from me, I used to charge eight hundred a night by the time I retired. I’m significantly more experienced now and have a specialized skill set, but since we’re friends I’ll give you my old rate.”
She froze, her cheeks blooming bright red. “That’s not how it is, Grant. If I could commit to anyone it would be you. I just . . . can’t.”
It sounded like a line a fuck boy would use, but her dark eyes were sincere.
“Don’t look at me like that. It’s true.”
He finished toweling off, then walked into the bedroom, throwing his towel on the back of the chair. He dug through his duffel bag for a pair of boxers and put them on, then sprawled out on the bed.
“It’s not you, it’s me? You have to admit that’s the oldest brush-off in the book.”
“Well, it’s not a brush-off, it’s the truth. It’s the same truth I give every guy who wants more with me.”
“That doesn’t mean I believe you. Maybe you’re like Tak and just want to sow your wild oats. Or maybe you’re like me.” He pulled his hair out from under his shoulders, annoyed by the wet knot it had made in the middle of his back. He should blow it dry, but he wasn’t willing to walk away from this conversation just yet.
“You really want to know why I don’t want a serious D/s relationship?”
“Yes!” He sat up, wondering if she was actually going to tell him this time.
