Beautiful Stranger
Page 68
“What are the new rules?” I asked, feeling a little dizzy. Whether it was the drinks, or the man, I wasn’t sure.
A wolfish grin pulled at his mouth. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“Should I be afraid?”
“Oh, yes.”
I shivered, but it was more from the growing heat in my stomach than actual fear. I could always say no to whatever he asked.
But I knew I wouldn’t.
“Rule one, we keep Friday nights as a given, but we add more whenever we want. You can say no, but in this scenario I don’t have to feel like an arse if I ask. And,” he said, reaching to push some hair out of my eyes, “you can ask. You can admit you want to see me more, too. You don’t have to apologize for coming to see me when you’re upset. Sex isn’t all there is, you know.”
I let out a shaky breath and nodded. “Okay . . .”
“Rule two, you let me be with you in a bed. A giant bed with a headboard I can tie you to or bend you over. Maybe even just f**k you into the mattress with a pair of your gorgeous shoes over my shoulders. It doesn’t have to be mine, and it doesn’t have to be now. I love f**king you in public—which we will return to in a moment—but I want to have you all to myself sometimes. Take me time.”
He waited for me to answer, and finally, I nodded again.
“I promise to keep taking pictures of you because we both get off on them. I won’t ask you to be seen with me in public until you’re ready—that’s fine. And if you never want to, that’s okay, too. But I’m fascinated by you, Sara, and your need for privacy and your need to be watched. I get it now, I think. And I f**king love it. I want to play with that some more. Explore what we both like.”
He spread his hands in front of him and shrugged, before moving in to kiss my lips once, quickly. “All right?”
“That’s it?”
Laughing, he asked, “What did you think I was going to say?”
“I don’t know.” I picked up my glass and finished it in a few, long drinks. The vodka slid into my belly and warmed me further, triggering a quiet hum in my limbs. “But . . . I think I like these rules.”
“I suspected you might.”
“You’re kind of cocky, do you know that?”
“I’m kind of smart,” he corrected, laughing. “And Sara?”
I looked up from my hands on the table and met his eyes. “What?”
“Thank you for trusting me to be your first crazy decision.”
I stared at him, watching his expression morph from playful, to curious, to slightly anxious. And maybe it was that expression, or maybe it was the quiet, pulsing music. Maybe it was that I was seeing Max in such a new way—with depth, and a history full of family and people he loved and kept close in every moment of his day-to-day, but I wanted to be closer to him. Closer not just in proximity.
Putting my hands on his face, I leaned in and told him, “Revision to my previous statement: you’re kind of amazing.”
He smiled, shaking his head a little. “And you’re kind of tipsy.”
“I may be tipsy, but that doesn’t affect your amazingness.” I pressed a single kiss to his mouth. “Just makes me more expressive about it.” I sucked on his lower lip, tasting. And damn, on most days I would rather drink gasoline than beer, but on his lips, it tasted fantastic.
“Sara . . . ,” he mumbled around my kiss.
“Say it again. Damn, I love when you say my name. Sahhhrahhhh.”
“Sara,” he said again, obligingly, before he pulled away. “Darling, you do realize we’re somewhere we could be seen.”
I waved a floppy hand. “Don’t care.”
“You might care tomorrow when you’re a little less . . . expressive.”
“I’m not that drunk. And I honestly don’t care. I realized last night I was photographed all over the country with a man who didn’t give a crap about anything more than my name. And you’re here, being all nice and wanting to see more of me and revising my stupid rules—”
“Sara—”
I pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t interrupt me, I’m on a roll.”
“I see that.” He smiled into my touch.
“So my point is that you’re amazing and I want to kiss you in a bar. I don’t care if someone sees me and thinks, Wow! That woman wants to be Mrs. Stella, how pathetic! Does she even know he bangs a different woman every night?”
“I don’t.”
A wolfish grin pulled at his mouth. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“Should I be afraid?”
“Oh, yes.”
I shivered, but it was more from the growing heat in my stomach than actual fear. I could always say no to whatever he asked.
But I knew I wouldn’t.
“Rule one, we keep Friday nights as a given, but we add more whenever we want. You can say no, but in this scenario I don’t have to feel like an arse if I ask. And,” he said, reaching to push some hair out of my eyes, “you can ask. You can admit you want to see me more, too. You don’t have to apologize for coming to see me when you’re upset. Sex isn’t all there is, you know.”
I let out a shaky breath and nodded. “Okay . . .”
“Rule two, you let me be with you in a bed. A giant bed with a headboard I can tie you to or bend you over. Maybe even just f**k you into the mattress with a pair of your gorgeous shoes over my shoulders. It doesn’t have to be mine, and it doesn’t have to be now. I love f**king you in public—which we will return to in a moment—but I want to have you all to myself sometimes. Take me time.”
He waited for me to answer, and finally, I nodded again.
“I promise to keep taking pictures of you because we both get off on them. I won’t ask you to be seen with me in public until you’re ready—that’s fine. And if you never want to, that’s okay, too. But I’m fascinated by you, Sara, and your need for privacy and your need to be watched. I get it now, I think. And I f**king love it. I want to play with that some more. Explore what we both like.”
He spread his hands in front of him and shrugged, before moving in to kiss my lips once, quickly. “All right?”
“That’s it?”
Laughing, he asked, “What did you think I was going to say?”
“I don’t know.” I picked up my glass and finished it in a few, long drinks. The vodka slid into my belly and warmed me further, triggering a quiet hum in my limbs. “But . . . I think I like these rules.”
“I suspected you might.”
“You’re kind of cocky, do you know that?”
“I’m kind of smart,” he corrected, laughing. “And Sara?”
I looked up from my hands on the table and met his eyes. “What?”
“Thank you for trusting me to be your first crazy decision.”
I stared at him, watching his expression morph from playful, to curious, to slightly anxious. And maybe it was that expression, or maybe it was the quiet, pulsing music. Maybe it was that I was seeing Max in such a new way—with depth, and a history full of family and people he loved and kept close in every moment of his day-to-day, but I wanted to be closer to him. Closer not just in proximity.
Putting my hands on his face, I leaned in and told him, “Revision to my previous statement: you’re kind of amazing.”
He smiled, shaking his head a little. “And you’re kind of tipsy.”
“I may be tipsy, but that doesn’t affect your amazingness.” I pressed a single kiss to his mouth. “Just makes me more expressive about it.” I sucked on his lower lip, tasting. And damn, on most days I would rather drink gasoline than beer, but on his lips, it tasted fantastic.
“Sara . . . ,” he mumbled around my kiss.
“Say it again. Damn, I love when you say my name. Sahhhrahhhh.”
“Sara,” he said again, obligingly, before he pulled away. “Darling, you do realize we’re somewhere we could be seen.”
I waved a floppy hand. “Don’t care.”
“You might care tomorrow when you’re a little less . . . expressive.”
“I’m not that drunk. And I honestly don’t care. I realized last night I was photographed all over the country with a man who didn’t give a crap about anything more than my name. And you’re here, being all nice and wanting to see more of me and revising my stupid rules—”
“Sara—”
I pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t interrupt me, I’m on a roll.”
“I see that.” He smiled into my touch.
“So my point is that you’re amazing and I want to kiss you in a bar. I don’t care if someone sees me and thinks, Wow! That woman wants to be Mrs. Stella, how pathetic! Does she even know he bangs a different woman every night?”
“I don’t.”
