Page 60 of Snow Bound

She squirmed, wishing she hadn’t said anything. “This feels weird.”

“What does?”

“This.” She waved a hand at the food and bumped Henry in the nose. “Oh, damn. I’m sorry, puppy.”

“This?” Grant prompted.

Anna kept stroking the dog—it steadied her. “You waiting on me, I guess. You don’t have to.”

“No, I don’t. But why shouldn’t I?”

She couldn’t think of a thing to say to that, so she drank her water.

“Anna.”

He was watching her with a gentle amusement that made her stomach quiver. “What?”

“I like aftercare. It’s one of my favorite parts of being a Dom.”

She blinked. “It is?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I like playing.” His eyes glimmered with remembered heat, and her heart thumped hard in response. “A lot. But aftercare is important, and I consider it a privilege to give it.”

“Oh.” She turned the glass in her hands, feeling foolish. “Okay. Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he said easily. “But I have a question.”

She braced herself. “What?”

“Are you going to hog that blanket?”

The easy smile coaxed one out of her, and she relaxed her grip on the blanket. “No. But I am going to hog the popcorn.”

“Get some protein, too,” he said, draping an arm around her to tug her into his side.

“Yes, Sir,” she said, rolling her eyes for form, and reached for the popcorn.

As they settled in to watch the movie, Anna determinedly banished her lingering unease. It was just for two weeks, she reminded herself as they settled in to watch the movie. If he wanted to pamper her after fucking her, who was she to say no? And it was just sex. Really good sex, she amended, but just sex nonetheless—it wasn’t like they were in love, or even planning to see each other when they got back to their real lives. When the two weeks were over, they’d shake hands—metaphorically speaking—go their separate ways, and that would be that.

That would be that.

They spent the afternoon that way. Watching movies, talking, laughing, and eating. He’d allowed her to have a glass of wine with dinner, which he once again insisted on making. His specialty—grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.

It had been surprisingly delicious.

She fell asleep during another Clint Eastwood movie, this one co-starring a monkey of all things, and the next thing she knew he was carrying her up the stairs again. “Movie’s over?” she murmured, snuggling into his neck.

“Yep. Time for bed.” He set her on her feet inside the bathroom and gave her a light pat on her bottom. “Take care of business, sugar.”

She sent him a sleepy smile, too content to be embarrassed. “’Kay.”

She used the facilities, so sleepy she considered not brushing her teeth, but the prospect of morning breath had her going through the routine. She was swaying on her feet when she left the bathroom, and he huffed out a laugh.

“Into bed with you,” he ordered and helped her slide between the sheets. “You want me to leave you alone tonight, or do you want me to stay?”

Oh. She stared at him, nonplussed. That sounded nice, but also vaguely dangerous, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.

“Is it a difficult question?” he prompted.

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