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She regarded him sourly. “What? You afraid the BDSM Lodge Accreditation Bureau is going to pull your license?”
“I can’t let that happen,” he said firmly. “So as much as I know you’d love to lie around playing dick warmer all day, I have work to do, young lady.” He tweaked her nipple and handed over her T-shirt, then turned away to clear the dishes and stealthily readjust his hard-on.
“There’s no hiding that monster when it’s hard so don’t even bother being subtle.” She snickered when he scowled at her.
“Could be worse. You could be so small that no one noticed when you had a raging boner.”
“Let me guess, you’re a size queen?”
“One of the hazards of sometimes dating women is getting used to having access to a variety of dick sizes. Andromeda has quite a selection. Apparently I’m nowhere near as much of a size queen as I thought I was.” She shuddered, the movement jiggling her perky breasts. “Apparently, some of the men she’s pegged are much more adventurous than I’ll ever be.”
He decided that no response was probably the best response at that point, considering the only comment he could think of would be how hot it would be to see her and Andromeda together. At one point it had been a serious spank bank feature for him, but then he’d gone and slept with Arabella and the visual went from being hot to making him strangely jealous. If anyone found out about his change of heart, he’d lose his man card for sure. He’d never thought of himself as a jealous Dominant until recently, but apparently jealousy was an emotion he felt now.
By the time he’d filled
the sink, Arabella had joined him and was looking mischievous rather than annoyed. She hopped up on the counter a few paces from him and sat, swinging her legs.
“I knew it,” she fake whispered.
“What?” He fished a plate out of the soapy water and scrubbed it clean.
“You have a secret Cinderella role-play fetish. I should have guessed.”
“You cooked, it seems only fair that I do the dishes. Don’t forget, I have no choice but to do my own dishes at home. I don’t have staff or a service slave.”
“And you don’t expect me to be a service slave?”
“I’m sure we could make a game of it if you were interested, but no, not on a regular basis. We’re both busy with work. If you want to sell the brewery and stay home to be Cinderella and raise my full quiver family we can always renegotiate.”
“Never going to happen.”
“Ah, but you’d look so adorable dressed in easy access rags. I could chain you to the stove at night and give you a pile of blankets to sleep on.”
She stared at him and worried at her bottom lip as though contemplating the idea. After a few moments she seemed to give herself an internal shake. “And here I was picturing you in Cinderella’s ball gown.”
“I doubt glass slippers would be very comfortable,” he objected.
She grinned at him, her dark eyes laughing. “Well, I’m glad you don’t expect me to be a service slave. Not my cup of tea.”
“You don’t even like tea.”
“You know me too well.”
“Not well enough.”
In response to that, her smile turned shy.
He rinsed the last of the dishes and put them in the drain tray.
“All right, little pixie, let’s go on an adventure.”
Chapter Thirteen
While Dex whistled the theme to Mission Impossible, Grant poked his head out the front door. He pulled his head back in slowly and closed the door with exaggerated care.
“I don’t know that much about mosquitoes, but maybe they sleep in. There aren’t huge clouds of them waiting for us outside the door, at least.”
“They don’t seem to like the cold, so maybe we’re safe in the morning. Besides, I’m covered in forty-two layers of that industrial-strength insect repellent you found in the gift shop, so I have a feeling I’ll be safe at least until their evening dinner rush starts.”
