Page 16 of Burn With Me

He doesn’t sound mad, he actually sounds tired, and it doesn’t surprise me that they let him come home early. He’s been working overtime, getting in as many hours as he can before he leaves with Doctors Without Borders in a few weeks.

Still though, I hadn’t expected him home. And I wasn’t about to miss my shift at Désirer.

“Sorry, it’s bingo night with Michelle.” Bracing myself for his attitude, I quickly grab the sesame noodles and a pair of chopsticks and turn back toward my room.

“It’s no big, I’m beat. Gonna head to bed after I eat and shower,” he replies, causing me to pause in shock.

No argument? No million questions about where it’s at and who else will be there? Hemustbe tired. Healwaysquestions me when I say I’m going out.

Michelle is the woman who works the front desk at my clinic. Thesameclinic Chris thinks I work at full time. She covers for me, no questions asked, when he comes around looking for me. Always telling him I’m with a client and he can leave a message. She’s never asked why I lie to him, but has always told me she gets a bad vibe from him.

Sometimes we actually dogo play bingo.

Turning back around, I watch as Chris empties his lo mein into a large bowl and attacks it with fervor. “I’ll probably be late, so don’t wait up.”

He doesn’t so much as blink as he slurps his noodles loudly while nodding.

Okay, then.

The next thirty minutes are spent going over my clinic notes for the day while I eat my dinner and try to stop thinking back to Jackson in my office.Whyare the most frustratingly annoying asshats complete and utter babes?

Jackson Tailor can have any girl he wants—I don’t know why I’ve caught his eye.

Yes, I do. It’s because I keep sayingno.

And I will continue to say no to him. Until he gets the picture and understands that in no way, shape, or form, is he going to ever hear the wordyescome out of my mouth.

“Yes!”

The word is sharp and instant, and the acoustics in the small room make it sound as though I’ve shouted it.

My strangerwasable to book me exclusively.

So, here we are again. The only thing separating us is the material of our masks and the curtain that divides the room. To my dismay, however, he’s shown up tonight in a full face mask. It’s pure black, and shines with intricate detailing. The nose and lips are formed but solid, his eyes the only part of his face I can see.

He’s asked again if this is what I want and chuckles lowly at the reply I’ve given.

“Well then, Little Ember. How to proceed? What is it that you wish to learn?” His accent is thicker tonight, but I imagine that happens when you’re away from your home for long periods of time. Sometimes your cadence wanes and other times it grows stronger.

Leaning back in his seat, he crosses an ankle over his knee and spreads his arms wide on the back of the loveseat. Likebefore, his suit jacket is discarded and his white-collared shirt is unbuttoned and loose at the top, with the sleeves rolled halfway up his toned forearms.

It feels hot in the room tonight. And I wish I hadn’t taken Lenni’s advice with the heavy clip-in extensions that are curled around my face. At least I’d picked more breathable clothing—a simple black silk slip trimmed in lace. I’d been bold and decided not to wear anything underneath.

Before I can answer, he asks me another question. “How many partners have you had?”

My mind soars back to that night. Fifteen seconds, almost as many awkward thrusts, and an apologetic, “I’m sorry. We can do it again in a little while so you can get off too?”

Ducking my head in embarrassment, I mumble, “Only one. When I was seventeen.”

“And how old are you now?”

“Twenty-four.” The words are barely audible as I make my admission.

Seven years. It’s been seven years since I lost my virginity.

“Fuck, I’ll bet your cunt is so fucking tight.” His crass words send a flood of warmth between my legs. He reaches for the glass tumbler on the table beside him and takes a sip of amber liquid. “Do you ever touch yourself?”

My whole body feels like it’s on fire. I’m stretched out on the loveseat on my side of the room; legs pressed together to keep the liquid heat between my thighs–afraid it might pool out and make a mess on the crushed velvet.

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