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He sits across from me, not daring to take his eyes off mine for even a second. Jaxon Edwards has drastically changed. There’s something off about him tonight, something different.
I just can’t seem to put my finger on it.
Our hostess flirtatiously smiles in his direction, attempting to gain his attention. “Can I get you anything, Sir?”
“No,” he smugly responds, his eyes deeply searching mine. “I have everything I need right in front of me.”
* * *
My stomach is full,satisfied from the wonderful meal I have just mauled down in a matter of minutes. My mind is finally content. Listening to the soothing music, and sipping my expensive red wine, I’m more than relaxed.
When suddenly, Jaxon breaks the silence.
“Interesting.”
“What?” I murmur, frozen.
“You’ve hardly said a word for the last hour,” he observes. “You appear bored. You’re not having any fun, are you?”
“I guess not,” I boldly reply, his eyes slightly narrowing in response. “It was very thoughtful of you to bring me here, but no. Fun wouldn’t be the right word to describe what I’m feeling.”
He smirks. “Ouch.”
“I’m just giving you honesty, Master.”
“Sasha,” he sharply breathes, glaring menacingly at me from across the table. “What did I say about addressing me as that outside the playroom? Would you like a hard spanking over my knee right now? Is that what this is?”
“It’s a force of habit,” I counter. “Forgive me?”
“You don’t believe me, Sasha?” he asks. “I will pull up that little black dress, toss you onto this table, and spank your ass so hard and raw you won’t be able to sit for days.”
Gulping, I say nothing.
And he grins, humorously. “You are beyond difficult, Sasha.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
My lips part, yet I’m speechless.
Jaxon shakes his head in frustration. “You’re like a broken record, constantly apologizing for anything and everything. Why don’t you do us both a favor, and cut the shit.”
I frown, confused. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You do,” he firmly argues. “Stop this little charade of acting like you’re a goddamn robot. I’m getting sick and tired of you telling me exactly what I want to hear. This isn’t who you are, how you are.”
He becomes quiet, and his face softens.
I am intrigued, curious. “How am I?”
“You’re feisty. Determined. You never listen. You’re always fighting me. It’s like a goddamn ritual between us. If I say turn right, you turn left. If I say don’t move, you run. But now,” he hesitates, disturbed, and his face drops.
“Now, what?” I urge.
“You’rethis. I don’t even know whatthisis.”
“And?”
