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2
GRIFF
I’m notsure why I thought getting dinner with Claire was a good idea. I’ve done a good job of pushing her to the back of my mind the past few months, but I haven’t been able to touch anyone else since our night together. I’ve tried with Sarah, one of the submissives that I have a casual thing with, but it just wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same with Ben, another submissive, either. I even did a scene with both of them at the same time and felt nothing, not even the slightest twitch. I ended up just watching them.
She looks stunning sitting across from me. Even the shitty florescent lighting in this dive cafe doesn’t dull the luminous light of her jade eyes and pale skin. Her hair is up in a bun with pieces that haven fallen out, framing her face in the most accidentally perfect way. It takes all my effort not to reach over and tuck them behind her ears, especially knowing how soft her hair is.
My mind wanders to the night of Con and Lilith’s wedding. I’m so lost in the memory of how her hair looked wrapped around my fist as I fucked her for the first time against the wall. The way the strap of her dress fell down her shoulder and how her dress looked bunched around her waist.
“Griff?” she says, pointing at the server. Both of them stare down at me expectantly while the sound of cutlery on cheap plates echo around us.
“Oh, I’ll take a burger, fries, and I’m fine with just the water.” I slide the sticky laminated menu back into its slot with the condiments as Claire orders.
“What were you lost in thought about?” she asks with her head tilted to the side after the server walks away.
“Work.” The lie slips easily from my lips.
“Liar.” She calls me out on my bullshit with her eyes narrowed.
It’s unnerving how easily she can read me. Honestly, it kind of pisses me off. Her gaze hold mine steadily, showing her strong will. Being challenged like this awakens something dark in me, the part of me that can bring powerful men to their knees with quietly spoken threats across a boardroom. The part of me that enjoys watching my wishes carried out obediently by people who wish to please me, regardless of how perverse those wishes may be.
I allow myself a moment to imagine the forbidden. Claire, naked and on her knees at my feet, ready to follow whatever order I give. The thought alone causes my cock to swell against my pants.
Fuck.
I cannot think about this. She can never be mine, not in the way that I want and need her to be. My friendship with Con means way too much. I would lose him forever, and I just can’t risk the loss of twenty years of brotherhood.
“Griff.” Her voice is soft and hesitant, but her eyes have remained locked with mine through my spiral of thoughts. “What’s going on in that mind of yours?”
“Nothing important.” I give her a warm smile to deflect. “How is life at the dance company?”
She gives me a slight eye roll and draws a breath, holds, and releases it. Her annoyance with me is cute, and for a second, those demons lurking in her eyes disappear. If annoying her can lessen her worries, even for a second, I know that it will be my course of action moving forward.
“It’s good, all things considered. Friday always has my back. I’m actually renovating my penthouse to have space to practice, combining two of the bedrooms into a studio.”
“A private place to practice will be good,” I nod but also make a mental note to check into symptoms of MS in case it isn’t safe for her practice alone. “Does Friday know about your diagnosis?”
“Not yet.” She picks at a chip in the table. “You’re the only one who knows,” she answers quietly.
My chest fills with warmth as her words settle into my soul. I am the one she came to, the one she trusts with her secret. I let an arrogant smirk cross my face, enough to get her back up, and ask, “Why is that?” My strategy is one part to annoy her and bring her icy spirit back, but another is my need to hear her acknowledge that I’m important to her, in whatever way she can.
“Did I not make myself clear enough in your office?” she asks sharply.
Our server dropping our food off interrupts us. Claire pulls the basket with her grilled chicken sandwich to her and takes a big bite. Her eyes close while she chews as if it’s the best thing she’s ever put in her mouth. I watch, transfixed, as her tongue sweeps across her lips. My thoughts try to wander back to our night together, knowing how good she is with that tongue.
I clear my mind and focus on my burger. I am surprised when the bite I take is flavorful and just the perfect amount of greasy. This place looks like a dump, but the food is good. I set my burger down and bite into a fry, which is also shockingly good.
“It’s surprisingly good, isn’t it?” she asks as she dabs her mouth with a napkin.
“Yeah, it is.” I grab another fry and dunk it into some ketchup.
Her eyes follow the fry from the ketchup to my mouth. It didn’t escape my attention that she ordered a plain grilled chicken sandwich and no sides. I’m sure it is because of dance and wanting to keep her body in the best physical condition, and I’m happy to see she is eating. At the same time, I can’t help but want to watch her let go and enjoy something to the fullest, even if it’s just a greasy diner meal.
I scoot my basket into the middle of the table. “Want to split the order of fries with me?”
“I shouldn’t.” She bites her lip but grabs a fry anyway. “But fuck it. A couple fries won’t hurt me.”
“I’ve been thinking.” I throw an arm over the back of the booth and scratch my chin. “I’ll be doing a lot of work to make sure no one buys and publishes anything about you.” Total bullshit, it’s easy to reach out and make pay offs, but she doesn’t need to know that. “If I’m going to do all this for you, I want weekly dinners with you.”
