.
His lips twitch. “Crazy for you,” he whispers.
My heart swells with joy.
“Shall I call Dr. Flynn?”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” he says dryly.
Shifting back so he drops his legs, I place my fingers
back on his stomach and let them drift across his skin. He
stills once more.
“I like touching you.” My fingers skate down to his
na一vel then southward along his happy, happy trail. His lips
part as his breathing changes, his eyes darken and his
erection stirs and twitches beneath me. Holy cow. Round
two.
“Again?” I murmur.
He smiles. “Oh yes, Miss Steele, again.”
What a delicious way to spend a Saturday afternoon. I
stand beneath the shower, absentmindedly washing myself,
careful not to wet my tied-back hair, contemplating the last
couple of hours. Christian and vanilla seem to be going
couple of hours. Christian and vanilla seem to be going
well.
He’s revealed so much today. It’s staggering, trying to
assimilate all the information and to reflect on what I’ve
learned: his salary details—Whoa, he’s stinking rich, and
for someone so young; it’s just extraordinary —and the
dossiers he has on me and on all his brunette submissives.
I wonder if they are all in that filing cabinet?
My subconscious purses her lips at me and shakes her
head—don’t even go there. I frown. Just a quick peek?
And there’s Leila—with a gun, potentially, somewhere
—and her crap taste in music still on his iPod. But even
worse, Mrs. Paedo Robinson, I cannot wrap my head
around her, and I don’t want to. I don’t want her to be a
shimmering-haired specter in our relationship. He’s right, I
do go off the deep end when I think of her, so perhaps it’s
best if I don’t.
I step out of the shower and dry myself, and I’m
suddenly seized by unexpected anger.
But who wouldn’t go off the deep end? What normal,
But who wouldn’t go off the deep end? What normal,
sane person would do that to a fifteen-year-old boy? How
much has she contributed to his fuckedupness? I don’t
understand her. And worse still, he
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