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“I shouldn’t have…I don’t talk about this with my subs.”
“Your sub? Back it up, blue eyes.” She rose, stalking towards him, putting herself within arm’s reach. “I’m not yours.”
He inhaled, eyes wide, nostrils flaring.
“Ohhh, don’t like that, do you?” She smirked at him.
“Watch it, lover.”
“Listen to me,Sir.” She used the term to get his attention. “You’re not a Dom because of some genetic predisposition to use and hurt people. You’re a Dom because being in control is the only way you can be sure you’ll be able to protect me.”
She’d meant to say “protectthem.” Protect subs in general. She swallowed hard and brazened through it.
“If all you’d wanted was a willing body, you wouldn’t have come after me. Wouldn’t have sat with me outside, and talked to me. Helped me see that it was fear not hypocrisy at the root of my issue.”
For the first time he looked uncomfortable, turning his head away. Autumn reached up and cupped his cheek, forcing him to face her.
“You, Daniel Randall, are a protector. You’re a good man. ”
“If I was—”
“Don’t finish that sentence, because if you say something stupid like ‘if I were good I wouldn’t enjoy giving boob hickies’ I’m going to toss my wine in your face.”
He snorted in startled amusement.
“And if you’re broken for being a sadist, then the other side of that coin is that I must be just as broken to be a masochist. But you already told me that I’m not broken. Are you going to contradict yourself?”
“I think that’s a logical fallacy.”
Autumn dropped her hands from his face, wrapping them around his waist and laying her head on his shoulder. “You’ve always been a protector. And if that need to protect means you’re controlling in the bedroom, well then I guess the ways we’re fucked up, the ways we’re wounded, somehow match.”
His arms came around her, his cheek resting on her hair.
They stayed that way, just holding one another, for a long time.
* * *
“You need a rug.The floor is hard.” Daniel tipped his head back against the seat of the sofa so he was looking at her.
“Normally people don’t sit on the floor.” Autumn held up a piece of melon. He opened his mouth and she popped it in.
It was nearly 3a.m. but she wasn’t tired. Neither, apparently, was Daniel. About an hour ago they’d both gotten hungry, so she’d made a quick tray of fruit, crackers, and cheese. When they brought it to the couch, rather than sitting beside her, he’d opted for the floor.
His waistcoat was with his jacket, draped over one of the counter chairs. His tie hung loose around his neck.
For the past few hours they’d talked. About their jobs—hers in the world of finance, his as a forensic accountant, and one of the go-to expert witnesses for the Justice Department. He couldn’t talk about many of his cases, since there were gag orders in place, but he told her what he could.
They had a funny moment when they realized that if Autumn did ever decide to turn to a life of crime, it would probably be someone like Daniel the Feds brought in to look at her financial records.
She’d had a brief interrogation/prison role play fantasy, but was keeping that to herself for now.
They’d talked about college and their best friends, which had led to her remembering to text Summer that she was still alive and that she had in fact brought Daniel home with her.
They talked about their favorite restaurants and movies. Their hobbies—she crocheted, which had made him laugh, but she knew it wasn’t at her, rather because it was so unexpected.
He surfed and was teaching himself guitar. She’d launched into a long diatribe on how he was basically a walking young adult novel hero. Handsome, protective, wealthy, with two sexy hobbies and a tragic past.
He’d laughed so hard he inhaled wine and she had to pound on his back.
