Page 105 of Burn With Me

I don’t know what it is about the way I smell, but it drives him wild, and there’s something about the way he nuzzles my neck while he breathes me in that sends little tingles straight to my pussy.

“Do you like the flowers? Or are they too much?” he asks, lips moving softly against my skin.

“I love the flowers. And the card. Andyou.”

“I love you too. How was your day?”

The next ten minutes are spent recounting our days, me perched on his lap like it’s not giving both of us a core workout to stay balanced on the small stool not made for two people. Finally, I shift to move off him, walking around the island to the fridge to pull out some fresh fruit to snack on. “I’m going to go to Lenni’s tonight. I’ll probably be there late, so I’m just going to go to my place after.”

It fills me with unease—the normalcy of how the lie falls from my lips.

Carmela called while I was at the clinic to tell me I was requested at Désirer tonight. Since my stranger is asking for me, I feel obligated to go. But I hate lying to Jackson about it.

Realistically, I know I can’t have them both. It’s not fair to anyone. But I also can’t bring myself to end things with the man who has played such a huge part in the growth I’ve gone through these past two months.

“Lenni lives closer to me than you. Just come back here whenever. I’m going back to the office to get some work done anyway,” Jackson says as he flips his computer back open and resumes whatever he was working on when I arrived.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to wake you.”

The smile he flashes me over the top of his screen is devious as he croons, “Red, youbetterwake me up when you get home. You can wake me up with your mouth on my cock.”

If I could see them, I’d bet anything my cheeks are as red as the strawberry I’m about to put in my mouth. Instead, I throw it at him. “You are so dirty.”

“You love it, don’t lie.”

Don’t lie.

Fuck, I really need to figure my shit out.

“He what?” I’m confused by the request almost as much as I’m confused why Carmela called me to her office once I arrived at Désirer to tell me herself.

“He asked for you to wear a normal dress. No lingerie, no robe, no wings. And you’re back in the Confessional wing tonight,” she repeats while flipping through a bunch of papers attached to a clipboard.

“I think your man just wants to talk tonight. Is there anything wrong with that? Do you not want to go?”

“No, I’ll go. It’s fine.”Just random.

Why are we going backward? There’s no reason we couldn’t have just talked in the Dreamers wing. But byrequesting us to go back to the Confessional wing, he’s made sure that we aren’t able to touch.

Carmela pins me with a hard stare, her espresso eyes heavy with exhaustion. “Ginny, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I know. I’m okay. I promise. Areyouokay?” The lights are dimmed as low as they can go, and there’s a rumpled gray faux rabbit throw on the black leather couch in the back corner. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s burning the candle at both ends between the restaurant and the club. She looks like she needs a break.

She sets the clipboard on her desk and rubs at her eyes, careful not to smear her makeup. “I’m fine. Just tired. Nothing for you to be worried about. Go on and get ready.”

It’s her way of dismissing me. Carmela isn’t an overly friendly boss. She’s a no-nonsense, take no man’s shit kind of woman. I’ve seen her put Scott and Mick in their place numerous times since I’ve worked for them. She’s the kind of woman you fear if you get on her bad side. I’m thankful she’s friendly with Lenni because I feel safe by association from her frigid temperament.

I change quickly, selecting a sleek black dress with a halter-style neckline from the wardrobe. The Grand Room is full tonight, clients and Angels mingling before they open the Desires wing for the monthly show. There’s no one in the Confessional wing as I follow my guard to my old room, the sweet scent of the white roses that line the hall reminding me of the ones Jackson got me.

A symbol of my unending loyalty.

I’m such a terrible girlfriend.

Maybe my stranger and I returning to the Confessional wing is a good idea. Jackson and Ijustmade things official. If I don’t do anything physical anymore, would it still be that bad?

Something tells me the moment I step into the room that either way, tonightisn’tgoing to go well.

The curtain is open, and my stranger is sitting on his side of the room—elbows on his knees and hands threaded together on the back of his head, staring at the floor.

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