Page 43 of Whatever Lola Wants

She huffed out a laugh at his incredulous tone. “Pre-negotiated, of course. I don’t just spring it on people. Tops get testy otherwise.”

He chuckled, imagining the shock on some poor Dom’s face when he suddenly found himself with an escape artist instead of a compliant submissive. “I can imagine.”

“Anyway.” She sighed as his hands moved into her hair, massaging her scalp. “It seems to work best when it’s a capture game—you know, ‘chase me, catch me’. That way, everyone knows what to expect.”

“And what comes after ‘chase me, catch me’?” he asked.

She smiled with eyes gone dreamy with pleasure. “Well, for that you probably will need to check my forms.”

“Don’t think I won’t,” he told her, clearly a warning, and she laughed.

“Watching me top Jamie turned you on.”

His eyes darkened. “Oh, yeah.”

The rough growl in his voice sent a shiver racing over her skin, and the low-grade desire, soothed by the gentle massage, sparked back to life. “That surprised me.”

“Surprised me too,” he told her. His hand slipped from her head to her chin and tilted her face up. “I’m not attracted to tops. I want a nice, sweet, soft submissive. One who will do what I say, when I say, no questions asked.”

Her eyes laughed at him. “She sounds boring.”

He smirked. “You realize I’m describing Anna.”

Now she laughed out loud. “If you think that description fits Anna, then Grant doesn’t tell you much.”

He snorted. “Yeah, she’s the wrong example to use. Regardless, I am looking for a submissive.”

“Guess you’d better go, then. You okay to drive, or should I have Chet call you a cab?”

He narrowed his eyes on her laughing face. “Fuck it. I’ll look for her tomorrow,” he said and tumbled her onto her back.

Lola woke to the insistent beeping of her alarm and the sound of her shower running. She pushed up from her face-down sprawl to slap at the alarm, groaning as her entire body protested the movement. Everything was sore—in the best way.

She lay there for a moment with a smile on her face. Simon Hastings had proved himself an energetic—and inventive—lover. She listened to the shower running in the adjoining bath, picturing him standing under the spray. Naked, wet, muscles bunching and stretching as he soaped himself up. That head of chestnut hair would be plastered to his skull, water beading on his lashes, those predator’s eyes lit with appreciation as she stepped in to join him.

Except, she remembered, he wanted a submissive. Which wasn’t exactly a surprise, she noted with a sigh. He was a Dom through and through; that he was looking for a meek little woman to be at his beck and call wasn’t a shock.

She winced at the direction of her thoughts. She’d known plenty of women—and men, for that matter—who would qualify as the sweet submissive type Simon claimed to be seeking. Some of them had been good friends, all of them had been good people, and the snarky direction of her thoughts brought a shamed flush to her cheeks. Her best friend was a submissive, after all, and one of the best people she knew. Hell, most of the submissives she’d known had been lovely, generous people with humor, grace, and no lack of spine.

She just wasn’t one of them. Which meant that a relationship with Simon wasn’t an option.

She sighed and pushed out of bed, stooping to gather the robe from the floor. She dragged it on and padded out of the bedroom, heading for the half bath off the kitchen. No longer in the mood for a morning romp in the shower, she took care of business, then went into the kitchen to start the coffee.

She was debating whether to make him breakfast—was it making breakfast if she just put the bagel in the toaster, or did she have to actually put cream cheese on it for it to count?—when her doorbell rang.

She frowned, glancing at the clock. It was just past six, and the only people that would ring her bell at that hour would’ve known to call first.

She wasn’t fit for company until after at least one cup of coffee.

She checked the peephole and was blinking in surprise as she opened the door. “Peter.”

“Morning, Lo.” Her across-the-hall neighbor flashed her a charming grin, a suitcase at his feet. “Have you had your coffee yet?”

She tightened the sash on her robe. “No, but I’ll try to be nice. What’s up?”

“Just wanted to let you know I’m headed out of town for a while. I’m going to be working in London for a few months.”

“Nice.” An engineer, work often took Peter to distant shores. Last year he’d spent four months in South America working on bridges. That he’d only gotten arrested twice meant he’d actually spent the time working on bridges.

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