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Because I’m out of ideas.
“I’m sorry…what?” she stammers, leaning forward. Her fingers, with their matte-black nails, are clutched so tightly around her forearm she’s leaving marks.
“I don’t mean…watch us have sex,” I say begrudgingly. Even the mention of sex with Eden dredges up old hurtful memories. “I just mean…she wants to watch the way we were together. Before the sex.”
The tight grip on her arm softens, and she leans back a little. “She wants me to demonstrate my dominance over you for educational purposes.”
I hate when she talks like that. She makes it all sound so impersonal and formal, but it was never like that at all, at least not for me.
“Sure, whatever,” I mumble.
She glances around the room hesitantly. “Is she here?”
“No,” I answer quickly. “And I’d really rather not bring her here.”
Her brow pinches inward as she stares across the table at me. “You sound ashamed of this place,” she says. “She would be safe here, you know.”
“I’m not ashamed of this place,” I reply. “I just don’t want her coming here.”
“She’s an adult, Clay. That’s really not up to you.”
“It has nothing to do with shame,” I reply through gritted teeth.
“Then what is it?”
“Forget about it,” I argue.
“This is where I work, Clay. You can’t just—”
“I don’t want her here because this wasourplace, okay?” I say, finally meeting her gaze with my own. That shuts her up. “But I guess if there is no moreusand she’s about to watch us together, then it really doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”
She scoffs. “I never agreed to this.”
As we stare at each other for a moment, it all feels so intense I have to look away. What happened to us? There was a point in the last year when I felt closer to her than I ever felt to anyone in my life. Now, it just feels…broken.
“Please,” I say under my breath.
“You can’t really be serious, Clay,” she replies harshly.
When I glance up, I see softness in her eyes.
“Is the thought of being with me again so bad?” I ask, not bothering to hide the pain.
“You know that’s not it,” she says, leaning close enough for me to smell her perfume.
Being with her like this is nothing like being with her outside of the club or even in bed when it was just the two of us. Right now, she’s Madame Kink. Her face is caked with makeup. Her hair is immaculately straight and neat. There isn’t a strand out of place.
But I like the real person. The woman with eyes so green and intense she’s even more beautiful without the full lashes and thick eyeliner. I like the woman who lets her hair fall naturally to the sides, small little flyaway wisps framing her face like a halo.
“Then what is it?” I ask, leaning even closer. We’re playing with fire. Fuck, this whole idea is more than playing with fire. It’s walking directly into an inferno and expecting to come out of it alive.
“I think you know,” she whispers.
“I don’t think I do, so why don’t you spell it out for me?”
I’m toying with her, I know. But the version of me that used to make things easy for her is gone. I want to hear her say exactly what Iknowshe’s afraid to say. I want her to admit that being with me again would be toogood, not bad.
“I just don’t think you and I working together like that is a good idea anymore.”
