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Now I was questioning his judgment. I thought he was supposed to be smart.
I pinched my bottom lip and considered my answer, and I heard Sloan’s and Archie’s hushed voices in the hallway. I glanced over there but couldn’t see them.
“I thought he was going to come back with a case of beer and possibly some snacks as a thank-you,” Archie was murmuring. “Blimey, there’s pasta for two months.”
I grinned sheepishly and faced Greer again. “Dude, I’m a sub.”
He lifted his brows. “Dude?”
“Yeah. Dude. See? You react when I say dude, cuz you’re used to me calling you Sir, even though I know that’s not a requirement either. But it’s what we do. I call you Sir. I call Sloan Sir. Colt, Mr. West, Lucian, KC, Reese—all of you! If I’m friends with a Dominant, I respectfully call them Sir or Ma’am or whatever title they prefer. Just like you domly types do with us. Since I got here, you’ve called me pet, little one, sweetheart, and kid.” I shrugged. “It can’t come as a surprise that I want to contribute while I’m here, buddy. Because I’m a sub. And it makes me happy to please those I like. And here you are, offering me a place to be myself, to regress and go into Little space, which, you know, is a type of arrangement. Nonsexual or not, by allowing me to be my kinky self, we share a dynamic, however briefly. And can you guess what makes this submissive feel good about himself when he receives so much help?”
I’d never seen a less fearful scowl before. I mean, the look by itself was probably intimidating to most, but I knew Master Greer. I knew that he knew that I was right.
I blew him a kiss.
That made his mouth twist with a pinch of mirth, and he leaned back in his seat and shook his head at me. “I suppose you feel better when you can serve.”
“Congrats, you just won some groceries.”
He coughed around a laugh. “You smug little shit. Can you come here and give me a fuckin’ hug?”
I beamed, flooded with relief, and rushed over to him. I was there just as he scooted out his chair, and then he pulled me down on his lap.
“We’re gonna tell Sloan and Archie that I put you in your place good and proper.”
I laughed as he squeezed me to him.
I draped an arm around his shoulders and flung my legs over the armrest. “I thought lying was bad.”
“Not when they make me look good.” He smiled at me and touched my cheek. “I think it’s fair you stay here till we’ve eaten all the food you brought. Pasta’s got a shelf life of what, three to five years?”
“Don’t tempt me,” I chuckled. Christ. Right now, I was so happy. “I’m gonna have to redecorate my condo as soon as I get home. I don’t think I can go back to sterilized white after staying here a week.”
He hummed around his cigar and watched me the way observant Doms evidently did.
The thick, strong, sweet, smoky scent of the cigar was weirdly seductive too. It wasn’t just seeing him puff on the thing.
“My dad keeps a box of Cuban cigars for when he makes a discovery,” I mentioned. “Are you celebrating anything?”
“We are, actually,” he replied. “Sloan landed a better job today. He was supposed to go back for a second interview, but they called while you were at the store and asked if he could start right after Thanksgiving.”
Oh, that was great news!
“That’s awesome,” I said. “Mechanic stuff or tattoo stuff?”
“Mechanic stuff.” He poked my belly. “What does your pop do?”
“He’s a biologist and researcher of sorts,” I answered. “He’s obsessed with amphibians. Most of what I’ve learned about frogs is from him—and all in Spanish.” I chuckled.
Greer had such a sexy smile. “Hablas español con fluidez?”
He spoke Spanish too! Albeit with a very American accent.
“Yes, I’m fluent,” I replied with a grin. These three men were going to break my jaw, and not in the indecent way! Just by making me smile so damn much. “Jag taler også dansk. Min bedstemor bor i København.”
Greer blanched at that. “A more boar fucking what?”
Oh my gosh, too fucking funny. I couldn’t help it. I laughed so hard. I had to tell Lane!
“You think that’s funny, huh?” He growled playfully and poked at my side, this time a lot harder than before, and I started groaning in pain, all while I couldn’t stop giggling. “Here I am, tryin’a impress you with the Spanish I picked up from my buddy when we were in Iraq, and you laugh at me and slur some made-up IKEA bullshit.”
“Oh no,” I wheezed through my laughter. “IKEA is Swedish, you nut! And Danish is not made-up bullshit. It’s like me calling you Canadian.”
