Page 80 of Gloves Off

“You don’t know that.” I find the ends of her hair. “We’re not always careful.”

It’s a wonder I don’t burst into flames right here, with the way the doctor’s glowering at me. My chest expands with pressure and I bring my mouth closer to her ear.

“What’s the matter, Hellfire?” I murmur. Her hair’s soft, just like I thought it would be. “You seem tense.”

The doctor’s hand settles on my thigh and my cock jumps, but a moment later, something sharp pokes me. My knee jumps and hits the bottom of the table, making the plates and glasses clink.

I look down to see the doctor’s retreating hand wrapped around her fork.

“Muscle spasm,” I explain to the table before lowering my voice again. “Did you just stab me with your fork?”

She smiles, fire raging in her eyes. “Sorry,baby. My hand slipped.”

“Brat.”

She rolls her eyes, and I have the weirdest urge to laugh.

Our gazes hold, and an ache throbs low in my abdomen. Such pretty eyes, such a mesmerizing, unique caramel color. Long lashes that fluttered as I fucked her.

I shouldn’t have done it, and it won’t happen again. We can’t be doing stuff like that.

“We’re never doing that again,” she says as we drive home.

A sickening thought slams into me: Did I go too far?

A curl of shame unfolds in my gut—I don’t act like that during sex. I’ve wanted to, but I never act on it.

“Did I hurt you?” I ask in alarm. Our eyes meet, hers confused. “Earlier?”

Maybe I went too hard or fast. Maybe she’s sore. The idea of causing the doctor actual pain and discomfort splashes cold water over my arousal.

“No.” She snorts.

“I’m serious.”

“Volkov, I’m fine. Relax. I’m not going to go to the media and ruin your career.”

“That’s not what I was worried about.” The thought never crossed my mind.

“You didn’t hurt me.”

Relief settles in my body and I loosen my hold on the steering wheel.

“This is an agreement.” She studies her nails. “Let’s do ourselves a favor and keep it uncomplicated.”

I think about what I learned about her tonight. She created a world-renowned research program studying athletes. It’s clearly her passion. Her colleagues rave about her, she’s got this guy at work bidding thousands of dollars to take her out as afriend,and she had a university scholarship to play soccer.

I think about earlier, and the desperate frustration in her eyes when I wouldn’t let her come. I picture myself carrying her up the stairs to bed and burying my head between her legs to reward her. The urge to take care of her pounds through me.

Andthatis why we can’t do this again. I’m not going to do something stupid and start caring about this woman.

“Fine by me.”

What else don’t I know about her? For the first time, I wonder why she needs her inheritance so desperately.

I don’t care. I don’t want to know.

“We need to go to these kinds of things together,” I add. “I don’t want to catch you going on anotherdate.”

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