Unexpected Hero: An age gap forbidden romance, page 13
Instead of answering, he stares at his lap, his jaw clenching tight.
“James, why are we on a date if you don’t want to explore our,” my open palm sways between us, “connection or chemistry? I want to get to know you, and if that includes kissing, I’m all for it.” Snarky Lettie enters the chat. “Or at least I did until a few minutes ago.”
“The reason it’s a mistake isn’t something I can easily explain.”
I flap my hands out, letting them collapse onto my lap. “Well, either try to explain or take me home. The choice is yours. I’m not gonna sit here and beg you for scraps.”
He makes a sound that’s a cross between a groan, a grumble, and a sigh. And I wish that didn’t make me want to smile, but it fucking does.
“I’m not... in a position... where I can pursue a... physical relationship... with you.”
Wow. Did that cause him actual pain? The way he tripped over those words and still made it to the end of his sentence would be impressive if it didn’t make me want to punch him.
But here we are.
“Why not?”
“I just can’t.”
“And you’re not going to tell me why?”
He drags his palm over his face, frustration seeping from him. And then he shakes his head, refusing to answer me.
“Seriously?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“James, answer me this.” A flinch rolls across his face. I almost missed it, but something definitely bothered him. Perhaps it was the way I ordered him instead of asking.
Oh my freaking hell. Will you listen to me?
I can’t stand myself for thinking that. Why am I blaming myself for this? He kissed me first, then immediately shot me down. I couldn’t possibly be the cause of this drama. And the sooner I get that through my thick skull, the better.
“What, Lettie?”
“Do you like me?”
“Yes.”
“Is this a friendly kind of like or something more?”
He narrows his eyes, tightly furrowing his brows.
I clarify my question. “To be perfectly clear, does the something more involve kissing and other things, or is it strictly platonic?”
He looks down again, unable to meet my eyes. “Something more.”
The confusion inside me grows, swirling around like a vortex. It would make more sense if he just liked me as a friend. The kiss would truly have been an accident because he didn’t know what to say and just acted. In that case, I could understand his point about not wanting to lead me on.
But he didn’t say that.
Then why the sudden shift? I don’t get it.
“Is it my age?”
He seems to give it some real thought, scrunching his lips and glancing at the roof of the car for a beat. “That’s only a small part of it.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-six.”
I gulp. That’s a bit older than he looks.
“I’m twenty-four. So yeah, I guess that’s a bit of a gap.” I inhale briskly, pushing it out in a rush. “But our age difference doesn’t bother me.”
“Well, you are a consenting adult.”
Is that agreement?
Hope peeks its head from the corner of my heart, looking for an opening. “Yes, I am. Very much. And I consented to you kissing me. So what’s the problem? You said the age was only a small part of why we shouldn’t be physical.”
“It’s also about the job.”
“I don’t even know what the job is yet. And I haven’t agreed to pursue it. So how is that relevant?”
“Are you hungry?”
Talk about a topic change. Whiplash much?
If my stomach growls right now, I’m going to eat nothing but spicy frozen burritos for a month to punish it.
Do not betray me, stomach, or vengeance will be mine.
“I don’t want to eat until we settle this. You can’t give me the most toe-curling kiss of my life and then avoid explaining your retreat.”
For the first time since I’ve known him — so three days — an air of smugness drapes over him. He likes that I called it toe-curling. His eyes twinkle with mirth, and one side of his mouth curls. But he attempts to squash his reaction.
Too late. I saw it.
He clears his throat. “Okay. I told you before that I’m a straightforward man, so here it comes.”
I square my shoulders with him, ready to hear this super important reason.
“Yes, I’m incredibly attracted to you. Not only physically but something else I can’t explain. And when you fucking sang, it was all I could do to resist throwing the car in park, dragging you outside, bending you over the hood, wrapping your hair around my wrist, and slamming into you. I wouldn’t have even cared who saw us. That’s how badly I want you.”
My thighs push together so tightly I’ll lose circulation any moment.
Words fail me. My breath stops. My brain short-circuits. My heartbeat ceases.
My pussy, however, has taken over all bodily functions. It’s clenching, twitching, aching to be filled, and flooding with arousal.
He saves me from having to attempt a response with his continued rumbling rant. “But I can’t do that. It’s not your age; it’s other things. And, um,” he licks his lips, “and if you take this job at the club —”
Some of the puzzle pieces fall into place. I interrupt to stop him from tripping over the words. “Is the job at a BDSM club?”
“Yes.”
Bummer. Guess he doesn’t want me to be his paid sex servant. Not that I’m qualified for that position.
“And you can’t have a relationship with me because you’re a client?”
“No. I work there. Well, when I have time. It’s not my primary job. It’s more of an extra-curricular.”
My hand has found its way to my throat and has begun a leisurely trek down between the valley of my breasts. This is the same thing I find my hands doing when it’s a steamy part of one of my books.
The idea of him working at a place like that — or at least what I think it’s like based on my fantasies — is almost too hot to handle. “What do you do there?”
“I’m a monitor. I walk the floor and keep an eye on the private rooms to make sure nothing goes wrong.”
“Like a safety monitor?”
“Yes.”
All the anger from earlier vanishes, a heat coiling low in my belly replacing it. “And is there more than that?”
“More?”
“More that you do there?”
“Sometimes.”
I bite my lip. “Do you uh... partake?”
“Yes.”
“And that would make you a...?” I raise my brows, inviting him to finish my sentence. I don’t want to say it wrong or sound stupid.
“I’m a dungeon master and a Dom… if that’s what you’re asking. I’m also a shibari rigger.”
“What’s shibari?”
“Japanese-inspired rope bondage.”
“And what does a rigger do?”
“I’m the one who does the tying. It’s also called a rope top.”
“You tie up women?”
The fact that the windows haven’t fogged up is baffling. My breaths are coming faster and warmer as this conversation continues.
“Yes.”
“And you like doing it?”
His formerly impassive expression has given way to a deepening grin. “Yes. A lot.”
“Does it bring you sexual pleasure?”
“Lettie, are you sure you want to talk about this right now?”
I nod with an eagerness I couldn’t hold back if I tried. And I’m not trying. “Yes. Does it?”
“Sometimes.”
I’m shocked at the boldness of my questions. It’s like another woman has taken over my tongue, determined to satiate my curiosity.
“And the women you tie up? Do they get sexual pleasure from it?”
“Some do. Others do it for meditation purposes or for the simple pleasure of submitting and trusting another person.”
Trusting another person to tie them up? As curious as I am, that’s far too vulnerable.
“Do you tie up men?”
One of his eyebrows arches to a point. “I have before, but that was just for training. If someone is going to be a rope top, they should know how it feels to receive.”
“That makes sense. Does it lead to sex?”
“Not with men. Not for me, at least.”
“What about with women? Does it lead to sex?”
“It can, depending on the people involved.”
“Have you... um... have you had sex with someone you’ve tied up?”
“Yes.”
“While they were tied up?”
“Mm-hmm.”
I swallow so loudly the sound carries around the confined space. Need to adjust the topic before I orgasm at the mere thought of all this.
Related: would that count as a man giving me an orgasm?
“What’s the job opportunity for me? Is it related to the tying up thing?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Why is that disappointing? It shouldn’t be. Yet here we are.
“Let’s get out of the car now, Lettie.”
“Why?”
“If we stay in here, I can’t promise I won’t kiss you again. And I really can’t do that.”
“You mean you really can’t, or you really won’t?”
He flashes a panty-obliterating grin. “What are you? The semantics police?”
Casting what I hope is a heated gaze at him, I order, “Up against the wall, mister.”
“Touché.” He tips his head toward the beach. “Come on. Have dinner with me.”
“Okay.”
This man talked me down from my take me home tantrum.
Maybe he can handle me and all my emotions.
And the idea of him handling me, coupled with the images of him tying me up, cause another deluge of arousal. My panties are so wet it’s borderline uncomfortable.
“Thank you,” he says as he presses a few strands of my hair behind my ear. His hand lingers on my cheek before it falls away.
“For what?”
“For not insisting I take you home and for giving me a chance to explain. I really didn’t mean to hurt, confuse, or upset you.”
“I believe you. Although, I don’t understand why we can’t explore this thing between us since I don’t work there yet. But it seems you have your reasons. And I’ll respect your boundaries.”
He presses his lips together.
“And that just makes me want you more.”
“Sorry.”
A tiny dimple appears on his lower cheek as a genuine smile snaps into place. Butter my biscuit. His smile is breathtaking. Wish he did it more often.
“Don’t apologize for being irresistible, Lettie Holt.”
Chapter 13
Sunset has nothing on you
TOMER
After finding a picnic table, we work together, spreading out the dinner I packed. Neither of us speaks, which suits me fine.
I’ve already fucked up the entire night. The more I talk, the worse I’ll make things. When it comes to me and people, it’s best I keep quiet.
I should have known better than to engage with her the way I did. It would have been safer to simply meet her somewhere, and as soon as she sat down, I could have told her about the position. Boom. Done. Nothing else.
Hell, a phone call might have been even smarter.
Not sure why I decided to make this seem like a date. I pride myself on my unwavering self-control. But with Lettie, I’m a walking, talking, deceiving disaster. I’m paper, and she’s an origami master. One touch and she makes me fold.
Once we’ve filled our plates with fried chicken, potato salad, and buttermilk biscuits with honey, she attempts to return us to friendly conversation.
Here’s to hoping I don’t fuck it up. Or worse, kiss her again.
Fuck. I want to kiss her again.
She smiles as she looks over her full plate. “This looks delicious. Thank you.”
“No problem. I figured that you might like this type of food. Since you’re from the south and all.”
Her nose twitches, suggesting she’s trying to hold back a smile. “I do like it. The food is one of the good memories of home.”
I strongly dislike how she keeps dropping hints that she wasn’t happy back in Georgia. It makes me wonder if I made the right call in keeping her a secret from Big Al over the last few years. Would he have made a difference in her life? Would she be happier?
While I ponder the many mistakes I’ve made with Violet, she redirects us to why we’re here. “So what’s the job opportunity?”
I drop the chicken breast and wipe my hands on a paper towel. “As I mentioned earlier, I’m a member of a kink club. And we need a reliable person to work in the reception area.”
When I pause for a sip of water, she asks, “What are the duties?”
“When members arrive, you’ll greet them and check their club identification. Do some scheduling and administrative tasks.” Her tentative nods turn more exuberant as I continue. “Answer phones and reply to emails to give prospective members information. That sort of thing.”
“Yeah. That sounds great. I can definitely do that.”
“The club isn’t open in the mornings, so you’d be working late. Would that be an issue?”
“Not at all. And I know beggars can’t be choosers, but how’s the pay?”
“I didn’t ask how much, but I’m sure it’d be enough to get you out of that hotel. And you’d be offered medical benefits after ninety days.”
“It’s full-time?”
I nod.
“Wow. A sex club that offers benefits. Crazy.” She grabs her water bottle and takes a quick sip, seeming to need to collect her thoughts.
I keep a close eye on her face, shoulders, and hands, tracking her movement to gauge her reaction. I need to know if she’s unsure or questioning this before I get ahead of myself any more than I already have.
“It seems too good to be true. What’s the catch?”
My knee bounces, and I inhale sharply to force calmness. “The club’s owner, Dante, is particular about the staff. He fosters an inclusive environment, free of judgment.”
“Well, that’s a good thing.”
“Because of that, he typically only hires people who are experienced with the lifestyle and active in the kink community.”
Her face blanches, shoulders rolling a touch. “Oh.”
“He wants everyone to be comfortable. The staff and the guests.”
Her eyes search the table as she breaks off a piece of her biscuit, chewing it slowly. After another sip of water, she nods solemnly. “So he probably won’t hire me because I’m not experienced. Is that why you asked if I was familiar with it?”
I glance at the beach as I massage the back of my neck. “No, not at all. I was asking because I needed to know your baseline knowledge and was trying to get a feel for your thoughts on it. If it’s repulsive to you, you obviously won’t be a good fit. But if you’re open to —”
Her eyes widen, and she cuts me off. “I’m open to it.”
The eagerness painted on her features does things to me, but I bat away my reaction, remembering to stay focused. I take another bite of chicken while contemplating where to go with this discussion.
She jumps in before I can ask my next question. “So the no dating rule at the club…” Her voice trails off, and I clench my jaw.
Are there rules about that? No.
But it would be easier if she thinks that is the case. Until I figure out what to do about her father, I can’t risk getting any closer to her than I already am.
“Yes?”
She globs some honey on her biscuit. “Is this an all-staff rule or because you’re a monitor?”
Without knowing it, she’s given me a plausible explanation, and I pounce on it.
“I’m held to a different standard than the rest of the staff.”
It’s not a total lie. There are expectations. But since consent is the bedrock of what goes on at Bask, there isn’t a risk of harassment. Precautions are in place to prevent that sort of thing. When the nature of the business is sexual, it’s hard to expect staff to behave like they’re in an office environment.
“Right. So if I take the job, we can’t... you know.”
I raise my chin, owning the lie. “Correct.”
“That makes the decision harder.”
“It shouldn’t. You need a good job. And you’d be safe there.”
She pops her lips out, casting a doubtful glare at me. “In a sex club?”
“I can only think of one other place where you’d be safer.”
At Redleg, where her dad and I would be able to watch over her.
“Really?” She shakes her head, still radiating disbelief. “How is a sex club super safe?”
“The Doms are protective over the subs and the staff. They won’t stand for anything out of line. You’d be protected at all times while there.”
“Doms like you, right?”
“Yes.”
“I guess I have a lot to think about.”
“Before I tell you more, where is your head at with this so far?”
Her laugh surprises me. Almost everything about her is unexpected. I never know what her reaction is going to be. But I’m starting to like it.
“You can’t tell where my head is?”
She takes a big bite of her biscuit. A few drops of honey smudge over her lips. What I wouldn’t give to clean that off with my tongue.
Ignoring my sudden food fantasy, I shrug. “No. Not at all. But you seem unsettled.”
“I’m conflicted.”
Her lips squish to one side. She’s so damn cute.
“What about? Ask me anything.”
“I don’t think I need to hear more. What happens at the club isn’t what has me conflicted.”
“Then what’s worrying you?”
She looks away, her cheeks reddening. “Because if I got the job, you and I could only be friends.”
As soon as the words are out, she takes her first bite of potato salad. When her lips seal over the fork tines, she moans delicately and closes her eyes.
