“So, if there was no pain . . . ?”

“I’d tie her up. Blindfold her. Hold her down. Tell her what to do. Do you know what orgasm denial is?”

“I speak English.” Her look was faintly offended, and he huffed out a laugh.

God, what he wouldn’t give to pin her down on this table. Show her exactly what he meant. “There you go, then.”

“You know,” she mused, “a guy I met on the app spanked me, once.”

He let out a silent laugh. “Look at you. A professional kinkster.”

“I know, right?”

“What did you think of it?”

She seemed unimpressed. “It was mostly ridiculous.”

Eli wanted to lean forward. He wanted to smooth out the vertical lines between her brows and tell her that he was right there, and she didn’t need to think about some asshole who was probably shitty in bed and couldn’t get her off, because he had her, he was willing to learn her, he was consumed by her. But he didn’t, because it would have sent her running. And the question she wanted to ask was swelling between them, stretching the silence to the limits of its comfort.

He didn’t need her to say it. But fuck, he wanted her to. “Come on, Rue. Don’t chicken out now.” He watched her swallow. Her lips remained sealed, so he clucked his tongue. “It’s not like you.”

She seemed to agree, because she met his eyes squarely. “Would you like to do that with me?”

Under the table, his hand and his cock twitched at once. He thought about pulling her into his lap. Locking her in this house and throwing away the key. About the things he could do to her. Discovering her limits. Figuring out what she liked. Having her at his mercy. Making her enjoy it. She had no fucking idea how much fun they could have, just the two of them. “If you wanted to try, yes. Some of it.”

“Like what?”

“Nothing that would push too hard, too quickly. Just you, letting me be in charge. And we’d talk everything over.” His blood thudded loudly in his veins. In anticipation. Or worry that she might change her mind. “You could stay for the day. We could . . . experiment.”

She blinked. “I should go home.”

“Why?” He tried for an easy grin. Not too eager. “It’s not like you have any pets.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was amused. “I do have plants to water.”

“The cactus you bought at the grocery store last week will be fine.”

She chewed on her lower lip. He studied her long, graceful fingers drumming against the table, remembered how they’d felt wrapped around him. “Won’t Maya be back?”

“Not until tonight. And I overheard her tell her friend Jade that I’m an incel. I’d love to show her that I do have some game.”

She laughed softly, and Eli knew that he had her.

22

GOOD GIRL

RUE

When we returned upstairs, I had three messages on my phone.

Nyota, emailing the contact information for a real estate lawyer licensed in Texas and Indiana. Good news is, he came highly recommended. Sad news: his hourly rate might reflect that.

Tisha, informing me that she was going to Kline for a couple of hours to finish up something for “the anthropomorphized period cramp” (Matt), asking whether I wanted to join her. We could take a joint dump on his desk on our way out. LMK.

And Florence, who’d snapped a progress picture of a shawl she’d been knitting for me in beautiful shades of red—my favorite color.

“Everything okay?” Eli asked from behind me, and my first instinct was to hide my phone—which made me hate myself. Kline, my friends, my work—they were the part of my life I was proud of.

It was what I was doing with Eli that needed to be concealed.

“I have a story,” I said, still facing away from him. I felt pressure against my eyes, but I wasn’t worried. I’d stopped crying when I was a child.

“Go ahead.”

“I owe everything to Florence. My job. My scientific freedom. My financial stability. The fucking shawl that she’s knitting. And in return I’m here, in the bedroom of someone who’s been making her life impossible, having meals with him, because . . .”

Silence. “Why? Why are you here, Rue?”

My chest felt heavy. I turned around. “Because I’m selfish, and careless. Because I want to be.”

He nodded. Seemed to look around for a tale that could match mine. “I last spoke to my mother a few weeks before she died. My final words to her were that I hoped she wouldn’t be as shitty a mother to my sister as she’d been to me.”

We stood there, sodden with the weird catharsis that came from acknowledging the kinds of flaws and regrets and mistakes that lived in our bones.

He never ran, no matter how shameful. Neither did I.

“Okay, then,” I said, taking a step closer. “Let’s start.”

Eli took off his shirt. He was handsome in a rugged, interesting way, but what I liked about him was the story his body told. The broadness of his shoulders, the product of a childhood spent honing his body. Strong, long arms. A few scars here and there, where he must have taken hits and kept going. “Did you play defense?”

He smiled. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess. Do we need a safe word, or something?”

“Why don’t we just . . . communicate, for now? I tell you what I’d like you to do, what I would like to do, and you can tell me no, or ask me to stop. Does that sound good?”

“It sounds better than screaming ‘broccoli’ because you’re pulling my hair too hard.”

He laughed. “That’s the spirit. Are you okay with me holding you down?” He stepped closer and gently pulled my hands from the back pockets of my jean shorts. Then he closed one hand around both my wrists with surprising ease, trapping them on my lower back. “Like this.”

Heat bloomed in my stomach. Blood rushed to my cheeks, but I nodded.

“If you change your mind, just ask me to let go.”

“I won’t.”

He scanned my face. “I’m serious. If you don’t like something I’m doing, you’ll tell me immediately.”

“I’m down for whatever.”

“Really? For whatever?”

I nodded.

“So I can press you into the mattress right now and fuck your ass without lube?” I froze. A now who’s up for anything? eyebrow rose on his forehead, and I had to stop myself from fidgeting in his grip. “Thought so,” he said softly. “Take off your clothes and lie face up on the bed, Rue. And if something bothers you, anything, tell me.”

I was naked in just a few moments, aware of Eli’s eyes trailing my every move. Stopped in front of the bed. “You can,” I said over my shoulder. “But I’ve never done it, so maybe not without lube.”

He stood completely still, but something behind his eyes stuttered, as if his brain was short-circuiting. By the time I lay down, he looked calm. His fingers traced the valley between my breasts, then played my rib cage like a piano. He was still wearing the gray sweatpants he’d put on for breakfast, the outline of his erection straining against the soft material.

“Would you like me to do something about that?” I asked. Wasn’t that the point? For me to service him in some way? The idea had me pressing my legs together in anticipation.

But he shook his head. “How about we start slow? Just relax.”

“So what do I do?”

He chuckled. “But of course.”

“What?”

“You always need something to do.”

Did I? Yes. Ever since I was a child, having a goal was the best way to avoid thinking about whatever misery I was going through. How did he know, though?

“Because I’m the same way,” he whispered, leaning in for a kiss on my cheek. It felt menacingly intimate. “Why don’t we say that your job is not coming, since you speak English so well?” His hand shifted to my abdomen, then pressed lightly, his weight on my flesh delicious.