Page 29 of Plum

I go to him, take his hand, and like before, it feels…I don’t know how to describe it. His hand’s big, mine’s little, and his grip is firm, but careful, too. Like he ain’t pullin’ me nowhere or showing me he’s in charge. This ain’t that I belong to him. It’s more he wants mewithhim.

I don’t know. That’s a lot to get from the way a dude holds your hand, but he ain’t my usual customer. It’s perturbing, and my brain’s running crazy.

He leads me back to the kitchen, and I set my purse on the island since there’s nowhere else. There’s a bottle of wine sitting in an ice bucket on the counter. I guess that’s the infamous $18,000 bottle. There are also two glass bowls, the kind on pedestals, and two long spoons sitting on a counter. Looks like chocolate pudding.

“Would you like a glass?” He’s got a corkscrew in his hand. My heart about leaps into my throat. This is just like the time Danielle had her keys inches from the paint job on Bucky’s Wide Glide. I mean, fuck Bucky, he’s an asshole, but you don’t mess up something that expensive unless you got no other options.

“No!” I raise my hands likeput the corkscrew down easy. Adam’s lips twitch.

“I forgot. You want to sell it on the internet.”

Shit, I wasn’t serious. When he says it like that, it don’t sound right. I get kind of uncomfortable—more uncomfortable—and Adam finally drops it. Puts the corkscrew in a drawer, and picks up the two spoons.

“Do you like mousse?”

“I like chocolate pudding.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure.”

Now that the champagne is safe, I’m noticing Adam more. He’s really intent on me. He’s staring at my lips, and every so often, his gaze drags down my front, lingering on my tits. It makes me squirm. I swear I don’t know what he’s waitin’ for. He paid.

“Come here.” He picks up the bowls and spoons and walks me over to a huge leather armchair. It’s the kind with the bronze nail heads, like something Sherlock Holmes would sit in.

“Sit,” he orders.

I perch on the edge. The leather is buttery soft but cold against my palms.

He sinks to his knees in front of me.

“What are you doing?” Why do I sound freaked out? I clear my throat.

“Dessert,” he says. Okay. I guess he’s into eating a woman out. Fine by me. Less work.

He sets one bowl and spoon next to him on the floor, and he hands me the other.

“Your feet hurt?” They do, but I don’t have a chance to say so before he’s sliding my heels off and putting them to the side. I wiggle my toes and sigh. I can’t help it. It’s the best minute of the day, ain’t it, when the bra and shoes come off?

He digs his fingers into my arches, and rubs his thumbs over the red lines left by my shoes. Even my feet are small compared to his hands. This is a big man kneeling at my feet.

Somewhere along the way he lost his jacket and tie. He’s unbuttoned the top of his crisp, white shirt. Chest hair peeks out, black like the hair on his head. I’m not big into chest hair, but it looks smooth. I kind of want to pet it.

“Sit back.”

It’s a really deep chair. I scoot back, and now the leather is cold on the back of my thighs, and my legs are sticking straight out. I draw my knees to my chest, gripping the mousse in one hand and the spoon in another. My dress has creeped up so it’s bunched mid-hip. I must look a sight.

Adam sits back, too, legs bent, super casual, watching me closely. He takes a bite of his mousse.

“Aren’t you going to try it? I didn’t make it. My stepfather’s chef did.”

“Your stepfather’s chef makes you food?”

He grins. “Whenever she makes something she knows I like, she sends me some. She’s always appreciated my appetite.”

Huh. Must be nice.

“Try it.”

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