Page 11 of Power Play

Rex pulls back slowly, our little bubble of lust popping as quickly as it came. “I got carried away, I’m sorry. Forget everything that happened.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, just the heat of the moment. Guess it means I did my job right.”

“Right,” he responds, running a hand through his hair. “Your job. Yup, great fucking job, Sawyer.”

With that, he turns on his heels, leaving me wondering what the hell I did wrong and why I’m disappointed we got interrupted.

3

REX

“How much longer till we get home, Daddy? I’m tired,” Rory says from her spot on my shoulders. Apparently, after being on a plane for the first time ever, she’s decided she likes to be up high. So, according to her, if she can’t be on a plane, my shoulders are the next best thing. I guess that’s not surprising, because at 6’2”, I’m not exactly low to the ground by her standards.

I don’t mind though. I’d carry this little girl to the edge of the world if she asked. I knew this move was going to be a bit scary for her, as she’s only ever known Austin as home. Thankfully, my parents are already here, which makes this transition a little easier.

“Not much longer, sweetie. Grandma and Auntie Lala are meeting us there. It’s right around the corner.”

I parked near the bakery my sister owns instead of the apartment because I wanted to get one of their bagels. It may be six at night, but I haven’t had a good bagel in what feels like fucking forever. In hindsight, it might not have been the best decision in the world to move right across the street from my favorite bakery.

Resisting temptation isn’t exactly my strong suit.

Ever since that night at Atlantis, my mind keeps drifting back to Sawyer. There’s something so different about her, and I hadn’t expected it.

People who work at the strip club usually fit into one of two categories. One, they like the money and the lifestyle it provides. Or two, they need the money because they’re struggling to make ends meet. But with Sawyer? It didn’t seem like she fit into either of those categories, and I’m not used to things feeling so messy. I don’t understand her, but I want to. No, I need to understand her.

My need to figure her out has her constantly on my mind. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing or who I’m with, my mind always goes back to that night.

It’s unnerving. I don’t like it. Yet, it’s hard not to imagine her tight body in that red lace bra, grinding her little pussy in my lap.

My mind hasn’t been like this since before my injury. Before Rory came into my life. I haven’t let myself get close to a woman, emotionally that is, since I found out about Rory. Too scared of what damage I might do.

But that night was the closest I’ve been to snapping and taking a woman to my place. I’ve been with a few women since Rory was born, but nothing serious and nothing that included bringing them home. It’s always quick, dirty, and straight to the point, whether in a bar bathroom, the back seat as our driver drops her off at home, or sometimes, at the woman’s house. Those types of places were safe, no chance of someone finding out I have a daughter or of Rory finding out about any of the women.

But I wanted to that night.

So badly that I was angry with her for making me feel like this.

I wanted to bring her back to my place, lay her out on the bed and take my time, really figure her out.

What makes her tick.

What makes her burn.

What makes her explode.

It doesn’t feel right to bring a new woman into my home knowing she’ll be leaving in the morning. There may still be boxes everywhere with nothing unpacked yet, but it’s still going to be my daughters house, a place she should always feel safe.

But I almost broke that safety. Had Sawyer stayed any longer, even just a moment, I would have been thinking with my larger, dumber head.

I don’t even know what it was. Something about her had me transfixed, to where I couldn’t look away. Her eyes had me under a spell, their deep, almost turquoise color sparking under the lights.

I knew at that moment that she was putting on an act, trying to “seduce me.”

But that wasn’t what I liked. Under her brash exterior, there was a hint of vulnerability and trust. She was letting me see something she hid from the others. She may have acted like she was in control, but she needed my support, my comfort to make it through. She was trusting me not to let her fuck this up.

I loved it. I ate that shit up. I can’t remember the last time a woman looked at me like she needed me. Like she really trusted me. Actually, that’s a fucking lie. The last time was when Rory’s mom showed up at my front door, handing me my daughter for the first time. Before that, it was Emily, when I told her I would come back from Austin after my treatment. Her trust in me died when I texted her, telling her we were over and to lose my number.

She did, but not before telling me how much she hated me for making her wait. All for nothing.

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