Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
“Ginger?”
I laugh a little. “Sorry, just a little off from that encounter. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” I slip my hand into the crook of his arm. “As long as you’re not turned off, I’d love to still spend the night with you, Azazel.”
He’s already turning toward the elevator. “There’s nothing related to you that could turn me off.” But as we step into the elevator and the doors start to close, I catch him watching the space as if expecting a threat to burst through the shrinking gap. Before I can comment on it, he smiles down at me. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you. You always do, and you know it.”
He chuckles. “You can’t blame me for trying to impress you.” He slides his hand down my spine before stopping at the small of my back. Azazel never gropes, never fumbles a single step of the dance we engage in from the moment we meet to the morning when he sees me to the waiting car.
I have the whole mess with Tanner to deal with tomorrow, but I’m not about to let it distract me from the pleasure of Azazel’s company. I press him back against the wall of the elevator as it ascends and stroke my hands down his chest. I stop at the band of his pants, and his hips jerk before he can get himself under control. There’s no lie in the wicked smile I give him. “You never fail to impress me. I highly doubt tonight will be the exception.”
There’s a flash in his dark eyes, there and gone in a moment, and then he sweeps me out of the elevator and down the hall to the hotel room. Once we’re inside, I don’t care about the luxuriousness of the room, because he’s here with me and I can almost feel his hands against my bare skin.
Azazel is a classy motherfucker. He wants me enough that he’s practically ripping my clothes off with his gaze, but he walks to the table and the waiting bottle of wine there. “Let’s have a drink, and then we can talk about what I want from you tonight.”
CHAPTER 2
EVE
Azazel is big on seduction. He doesn’t get into role-playing or the various kinky stuff that other clients favor. The man truly leans into the girlfriend experience.
So I know my role. I take a seat on the luxurious couch in the suite and allow him to bring an unopened bottle of wine. I never have more than one drink while working, a rule I also apply to my clients. Alcohol changes people in sometimes unexpected ways, and I have no desire to put myself in a dangerous position. Or a messy one. I don’t have a particular drive for children, and taking care of drunk adult ones is a task I avoid whenever possible.
Azazel expertly pours two glasses of red wine before setting the bottle aside. He brings them both to the couch, but instead of sitting close, he carefully eases down into the other side. Since he’s over six feet tall, he has no problem passing my glass to me. “I would like something different tonight.”
I almost sigh before I catch myself. Different doesn’t have to default to a red flag, but with how my luck is currently running, I don’t like my odds of making it out tonight with Azazel still as my client.
Still, I smile at him. That’s Future Me’s problem. “What did you have in mind?”
He takes a sip of his wine, almost as if he’s nervous. But that can’t be it. I just watched him remove Tanner as a threat without the slightest bit of effort. What could he possibly be nervous about?
I slide a little closer to him and press my free hand to his chest. “No matter what it is, honey, I promise I won’t think less of you for it. Just talk to me.”
He takes another too-large sip of his wine. “I would like to . . . role-play.”
I keep my features carefully schooled in interest. What kind of role-play is he asking for that makes him this jumpy? Yes, it’s a new ask, but it’s hardly taboo . . . “You know I’m happy to do whatever you like, as long as you talk me through it first.”
“I want . . .” He finally looks at me, his brown eyes so dark that they’re nearly black. “I would like you to sign a contract.”
I blink. “A contract.” My mind whirls, but no matter which angle I come at this from, I can’t see what would make him act like this. Contracts for bedroom games have existed long before a certain franchise made them popular a decade ago. They can sweeten the spice, can lay out the terms in a way that makes everyone feel safe. With that said . . . “Not a legally binding one.”