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“Cassie,” he whispered, making her name sound like a prayer. “Cassie.”
…
Ten. He was counting, and by the time she left for the bar the next afternoon he was up to ten. He was beginning to see the utility in retaining a lover for more than a day or two. He’d always prided himself on making sure his partners left his bed satisfied. But they always left. This arrangement with Cassie, once he got over his initial fear that she wasn’t going to know when to say good-bye, was proving very interesting. When the same woman stuck around for a few—or ten—orgasms, you could start to figure out exactly where her edge was. There was something to be said for taking a wild, running leap over the edge. Nothing wrong with that, in fact. But once you knew exactly where the edge was, like within millimeters, you could keep her teetering there almost indefinitely. A little practice yielded the secrets. She liked her nipples, the left in particular, flicked with his tongue. Her ankles were sensitive.
But it wasn’t altruism. He loved watching her come, yes, but he was a selfish bastard. Even more than that, he loved feeling her tightening around his cock, her face screwed up in pleasure. He loved hearing her sob his name, gasp for more. He loved having the power to make her lose her beautiful mind.
Ten. Double digits had been the goal, and when he got her home after her shift tonight, he was aiming for a baker’s dozen, at least.
Or maybe he wouldn’t wait until she got home. He pushed through the door of Edward’s, thinking maybe they would revisit their spot in the alley. He glanced at his watch. Three hours till she was done.
She must get a break, though, right?
The bar was moderately crowded, and she didn’t see him initially because she was engrossed in a conversation with a customer whose wine glass she was refilling. He could tell she sensed the arrival of a new customer, though. Her face didn’t change, and she smiled and nodded at the sixty-something woman she was serving, but she listed almost imperceptibly in his direction. The palms of his hands began to itch.
Backing away from her customer, she set down the wine bottle and turned, still half the bar-length away. It took a moment for her to register it was him, and when she did her smile turned from generic to…something else. Enormous. She lit up like the Christmas tree in his living room. As she came closer, he could see she was turning pink. Good. He couldn’t make her come here, but he was stupidly glad to see that he could still affect her.
“Couldn’t stay away?” she teased, drawing closer.
“I don’t know what I did with my Christmas vacations in previous years, when I wasn’t fucking you.”
She turned even pinker as she glanced around, eyes wide. “Keep your voice down!”
“It’s true. I always tell everyone not to work. I close the office. I perform all the actions that a good boss does. But really, I spend the whole holiday working. I’m very bah-humbug.”
She set an empty glass down in front of him. “You know, we used to have a nickname for you here. All those years you came in and sat in the dining room?”
“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow, not sure he wanted to hear this.
“We called you Ebenezer. As in Scrooge.”
Well, he’d walked right into that one.
She kept talking, preventing him from having to respond. “It was mean. And you were never cheap like Scrooge. It was more that you were kind of aloof. And you worked all the time.”
“Busy forging my chains?” he asked, trying for a teasing note, but in truth, not unmoved by the barb.
“Um, something like that.” She turned for a moment and then reappeared with a bottle of scotch. “But now we know better!”
Did they, though? Britney called him a humbug, but he’d always thought she was teasing. He had freaking mistletoe in his house, for God’s sake.
He nodded his assent when she showed him the label of the scotch she’d picked out. Another customer arrived, and soon he was settled in watching the dance Cassie performed behind the bar. It was as compelling as ever, but now that he knew her, it was like foreplay. The dance was graceful and efficient because she was these things herself. She did everything with just the right number of steps—neither too few nor too many. Whether she was combing through his finances or making a drink, there was an economy about her that he admired. Which was why it was so fun to torture her in the bedroom with delayed gratification.
“What time are you off?” he asked when she circled back to him. “Do you get a break?”
“Why?” She was suspicious. Smart girl.
He shrugged. “I was just thinking about how long it’s been since we visited our favorite alley.”
