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“Where’s your ring?” he says, interrupting me.
I was curious if he’d notice. “I decided not to wear it anymore. Actually, I donated it today, along with my entire wardrobe.” His eyebrows shoot upward.
“Donated it?”
“I donated it to a place that auctions high-end jewelry and items and donates the proceeds to charity.”
“What about the rest of the jewelry? The items Dane bought you for your anniversary?”
“I kept them. I know it’s probably silly since I got rid of my wedding bands, but something about those pieces just speak to me. It makes me feel like some part of what we had was real, that he truly knew me to be able to pick out pieces that spoke to me like they do.”
He doesn’t say anything at first. He steps forward, brushing my hair back to look at my ears where the daisy studs glimmer.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“They look good on you; they suit you.” He slides his hands back into his pockets. “I’m happy to talk to you about your dad’s company, Em, but I think you should call Corina and set up a meeting at my office.”
“What about us being seen together?”
“Not a problem anymore.”
“You mean the detective has been—taken care of?” I repeat his own words back to him from before. He nods, not elaborating, and I’m not about to ask what that means.
“Why are you really here?” His gaze hardens as he stares me down. I swallow down the nervous lump in my throat.
“I-I want to find out more about what I like and don’t like.” I reach my hand back out and slowly run it down his chest, his eyes following my hand movements. “I want to explore myself—with you.”
His eyes dart upward. “Elaborate.”
“I don’t want to always be a good girl anymore, Mads. I want to know what it feels like to indulge in the forbidden, to experience what turns me on and intrigues me. I’m tired of fighting it. I’m tired of ignoring my cravings.”
I watch as the internal battle he’s fighting plays out on his face.
“Cravings?”
I nod. “Watching others.” I feel myself blush. “I didn’t expect to be so turned on when you took me downstairs.”
His eyes study me, his hands slowly coming out of his pockets as he places one against my waist, the other coming up to slide up my spine and into my hair.
“Have you been thinking about that night?”
“Yes. Often.”
“And do you touch yourself when you think about it?” I nod. “What do you think about?”
“You.” I hear him inhale a sharp breath. “The way you touched me. The things you said to me when you made me come.” I can’t tell from his expression if I’ve said too much, if he thought this was only about engaging in what takes place downstairs or if he realizes that it’s him… He’s what I want, what I crave.
“Who was the man in the coffee shop?”
My eyes fly open, the abrupt change in topic confusing me. I furrow my brows. “Man in the coffee shop?”
His expression grows more serious. “A few months ago, before you went to the Ashford offices, you stopped and got coffee and you were hugging and flirting with a man there. Who was he?”
“You followed me?”
“Answer the question.”
