Chapter 9

With a sexy grin that made Callie’s body hum with delight, Wes returned to her and handed her the plates. “You fill these and I’ll pour some orange juice.”

She did as he said, and once she had two platefuls, she followed him through the doorway.

“This way. We can eat on the couch in the sitting room.”

Eat on the couch? He definitely didn’t strike her as that relaxed of a man. It amazed her how much he had changed in the last few days. Paris Wes was more calm, more playful and easygoing. She wondered how many women had seen this side of him. How many others had slept with his body wrapped around hers as they kissed? The idea made her nauseous, but she forced it out of her mind. She had to focus on the here and now, not on what he’d done before or what he might do after they’d gone their separate ways.

The living room was another elegant space with an L-shaped brown leather couch and a massive sixty-five-inch flat-screen TV mounted to the wall. It was Wes’s equivalent of what Fenn would have called a “man cave.” Wes set the two glasses of orange juice on the table and turned the TV on. Callie realized she was still covered in flour and she froze midway crouched over the couch. Wes grinned as though reading her mind.

“I should change before I ruin your sofa.” She set her plate down on the table, but Wes sat down on the couch and tugged her onto his lap.

“It’s fine. It’s just flour.” He feathered a kiss on her lips, still smiling as though something amused him greatly. “Françoise will clean it up.”

Callie curled her arms around his neck and gave him a light kiss, one full of affection and happiness. “Poor Françoise. I’ll have to apologize to her.”

Wes laughed and the hearty sound made her heart skip a few beats in delight. She loved his laugh. The sound was rare but rich and wonderful. It made her laugh, too.

“She won’t mind, I promise. She’ll be happy that I’ve used the kitchen for a change.”

Callie’s brows rose. “You don’t cook a lot?”

He shrugged. “No. I tend to eat out and meet clients at restaurants.”

“And what about your girlfriends?”

A frown marred his brows. “I don’t have girlfriends. I have momentary relationships and those women never come here.” He handed her a plate and a fork. “You are the first.” This admission was quiet and full of introspection.

Did he mean the first girlfriend or the first girl to come to his apartment? How could she ask him in a way that would reveal what he meant?

“Why don’t you have girlfriends?” It was the closest thing she could get to finding out answers. She lifted his plate from the table, handing it to him. He propped it on the couch next to them and took a few bites before replying, his tone a little cool.

“In my world, I pursue only limited relationships. I meet partners at BDSM clubs, temporary submissives, and we part ways at the end of the night. I’ve had more than one time where I have used the same submissive, but only inside the club.”

Callie swallowed and set her half-eaten omelet down.

“Then why am I here, Wes? If this isn’t your usual style, why change it for me? Do you think I need all this to be seduced? Is that it?” She was suddenly angry. Did he feel he had to play the romantic just to get her in bed? Was he really not so sweet and caring? Was the man she was starting to fall for just an act? That awful nausea was back with a vengeance and she swallowed an acidic taste in her mouth and slammed her plate down on the table, struggling to get off Wes’s lap.

He set his own plate aside and gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“You aren’t like other women. Yes, I want you and I’ll admit I’d do anything required to get you in my bed. But I won’t rush it. I won’t rush you.”

She didn’t understand. He’d made a bet to do just that. Thirty days to get her into his bed. Was this his way of backing out or changing his mind? Logically his words shouldn’t have hurt her, but she felt wounded all the same. Sure, she didn’t want to give into him and have meaningless sex and let him win their wager, but she did still want him to want her. Maybe her lack of experience was still bothering him.

“It’s because I’m a virgin. You think I need candles and romance. But you’re not a romantic. Anything you try to give me would be a lie. So just do it. Sleep with me. Scratch your itch and send me home.” The words she spat out were dripped with venom born of her wounds and he blinked, apparently startled.

“You think this is nothing but a quick fuck for me?” he growled, fury sparking in his gaze.

“Isn’t it? Wasn’t that the whole point of the bet we made?” she shot back, just as upset. Her chest was squeezing her heart so hard she was having trouble breathing.

“That’s it,” he snarled.

He shoved her onto her back on the couch and then flipped her over to her stomach. Only too late she realized she was flying across his lap, her bottom in the air. His hand came down hard on her ass. This was punishment. She was being punished!

She screeched and kicked, but he used one arm across the back of her knees to keep her legs down.

“Are you listening to me?” he demanded.

Smack!

It hurt, but it was more the sting of embarrassment that she hated than the edge of pain.

“Callie,” he snarled.

She clenched her fists, beating the leather of the couch. “Yes, damn it!” She lashed out.

“Do you really think I see you as a quick fuck?” he demanded. “Because you aren’t. If I have to redden your ass to drive that point home, I will. What’s between us isn’t as shallow as some bet we made. It’s always been more than that and don’t ever say otherwise again.” His warning was followed by two more slaps to her burning ass.

Tears of anger and shame leaked down her face. She hurt, but the hurt was deep inside and not as much on her skin. The pent-up anxiety, the confusion, the agony of losing Fenn seemed to pool like a deep well within her, dark waters running deep. But his blows had ruptured the stones of that well and now the emotions were pouring out and she couldn’t stop them. He turned her over and helped her sit up on his lap, then curled himself around her. One of his hands buried itself in her hair and he guided her head to rest in the crook of his neck.

“There’s more to this, Callie. More to you.” He stroked her hair, and she rested against his chest, her body shaking with the force of the emotions that drained out of her. All the tension leaked out of her and she finally stopped crying. She was empty. There was nothing left inside her, just a hollowness.

“I’m sorry. You aren’t used to my world, to me. I’m not used to yours. It’s going to take time. For now, I’m going to hold you, care for you, give you everything you need.”

Through the fog of her emptiness she remembered the romances she’d read with BDSM and those dominants who’d held their submissives after they’d been punished. Aftercare. He was giving her aftercare. As a submissive, she could ask whatever she wanted now, do whatever she wanted in this brief moment where she was in control again. All she wanted was to be cuddled and to curl into him like a newborn kitten. She’d be a strong, independent woman again in a little while. For now, she wanted to absorb his confidence and strength into herself, let it fill the emptiness inside her and make her strong enough to face the world again.

After a few deep breaths, where she inhaled his scent like her own personal drug, she knew she had to speak.

“What are we doing?” She buried her face against his chest, clinging to him, loving that he let her grasp him like he was the last thing on earth that she could hold on to. “We’re nothing alike. We’re a disaster waiting to happen.”

For a moment they clung to each other, suspended in time, just like that. Close, almost connected on a deeper level. His heartbeat was steady beneath her hand where it rested against his chest.