Page 24 of Plum

“You want to try it?” I hold out my fork.

“All right.” She says it like she’s doing me a favor. I pass her a bite. She takes it between her lips, and my cock pulses, more blood rushing between my legs, until I’m dizzy and straining with need.

And now she’s moaning with her eyes closed, head tossed back. I take the fork back and spear her another bite. I’m going to feed her the rest of this, piece by piece, and I am going to cum in my pants.

“More,” she says, and I give it to her, no teasing, no hesitation. She moans as she chews, and when her eyes blink open, I see her gaze is unfocused from the champagne. Those two glasses must be hitting her.

“Come home with me.” It’s out of my mouth before I realize it.

Her eyes shutter instantly. “Five hundred up front. One hundred an hour.”

There’s a painful twisting in my chest. I feel a deep unease settle in my gut, but I’m not going to take it back. I can’t. “Hand me your purse.”

She raises an eyebrow, but she passes the bag to me. It must weigh twenty pounds. I take my credit card out of my wallet while I rummage.

“You have two flashlights in here.” I set them on the table.

“Wrong,” she says between bites of steak. She’s eating right off my plate, now. Something inside me loves it. Feeding her. Satisfying her. “I have one flashlight and one diversion safe.”

“Diversion safe?”

“You know. Like a fake Pringles can or a fake rock where you can hide your cash.”

“You hide cash in fake rocks?”

“I hide my house key in a fake rock.”

“That’s not safe.” My heartbeat ratchets up at the idea of Plum in her little yellow house, asleep in her bed, vulnerable, the key outside in a fake fucking rock. “You at least have a deadbolt, don’t you?”

“You really think I’m gonna discuss my locks with you, stalker? You already know about my diversion flashlight. A woman’s gotta have some secrets.”

Her eyes aren’t so blank and cold anymore. Her lip is quirking up, and she’s helping herself to my potatoes now.

I finally find her phone, and it already has the credit card reader attached. The screensaver is a picture of a bird. I hold it up.

“What kind of bird is this?”

“Black-capped chickadee.”

“Did you take the picture?” It’s striking. The bird is clinging to a thin branch that sags under the weight, the bird and the branch both in sharp relief against a cold, gray sky.

“Yeah.”

“It’s good. The composition is lovely.”

My words clearly make Plum uncomfortable. She visibly shrinks in on herself, tucking her elbows closer to her sides and tightening her crossed legs. She doesn’t acknowledge the compliment.

“Are you going to paw through all my shit?”

“Just your phone. What’s the code?”

“I’m not telling you the code to my phone.” She looks at me like I’m crazy, and I feel crazy. I’m driven by an impulse I’ve never felt before with a woman. The only thing I can compare it to is when I discover a start-up with truly disruptive IP. Or maybe all those years ago when I smelled the roast cooking in Thomas Gracy Wade’s kitchen. I want it. I want her. And so I’m treading so damn carefully, I catch myself literally holding my breath.

Forcing myself to relax, and I take my phone out of my pocket, and I slide it to her across the table. “8-4-0-0.”

Her jaw drops, but then she snatches up my phone, and she has the code entered before I can blink.

She’s scrolling, her brows knit over intent blue eyes. “Where’s your social media?”

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