Page 67 of Whatever Lola Wants

Her sense of relief at his agreement was short-lived.

Simon shoved back from the breakfast bar and strode into the living area. He eyed her sofa with its deep, soft cushions, and the two similarly outfitted chairs before sitting down on the edge of the coffee table. “Over here.”

Well, shit. She slid off the stool and approached, stopping when she stood in front of him.

His eyes were hard, his jaw tight. “Take off the robe,” he said, and the tone of his voice left no doubt that it wasn’t a request.

Well, she’d asked for it. Her hands fumbled with the knot in the belt, trembling slightly. When it finally slipped free, she let the robe fall to the floor.

She stood before him, naked and more nervous than she thought she’d be. She’d suggested the punishment to put their relationship back in balance, but she hadn’t anticipated how it would make her feel. She was so used to seeing warmth and affection in his expression, the lack of it had dread settling into the pit of her stomach. She fixed her gaze over his shoulder and concentrated on breathing slow and easy while she waited for whatever he was going to do.

She hoped he’d do it fast before she cracked.

“Look at me, Lola.”

She dropped her gaze to his, unable to ignore the note of command in his tone. His face was like stone—immovable, emotionless. Scary.

No, she didn’t like this at all.

His gaze swept over her face, no doubt making note of all the signs of her growing agitation. The tight muscles in her face and neck, the accelerated pulse that would be visible in the hollow of her throat, the hands that clenched into fists at her sides.

He frowned. “Are you afraid of me? Afraid I’ll harm you?”

She blinked, startled. “No. Of course not.”

“Then, what?”

Was he kidding? She stared at him. “I don’t like punishment.”

That drew a slight smile. “Neither do I.” He waited a moment, watching her. “If you can’t handle this, we can find another way?—”

She shook her head so violently it almost left her dizzy. “No.”

Now a curious light came into his eyes. “Tell me why.”

She drew a deep breath. “Because it’s unbalanced. I screwed up, and I can apologize all day long, and we both know I mean it and we both know I’ll be more careful in the future, but this is how D/s relationships work. Or top/bottom relationships, or whatever you want to call whatever we’re doing together?—”

His smile deepened, but she didn’t pause.

“—and if I’d forgotten a dinner date or something, there’s no way I’d be suggesting this. I fucking hate this. But the screw-up affected our scene, and not addressing it will affect our dynamic which will affect any future scenes, so we have to deal with it.”

He nodded soberly. “I think I followed that. And I agree.”

Her breath rushed out of her lungs, her eyes closing with relief.

“Eyes on me, Lola.”

She forced herself to look at him again. He watched her closely, carefully, and a curious warmth lurked in their golden depths. It soothed her, that warmth, and she clung to it.

“On a scale of one to ten, how anxious are you right now?”

Four hundred and thirty-three. “Six, heading toward seven.”

“Then let’s get on with it before you jump out of your skin.” He patted his lap. “Belly down, butt up.”

She wanted to call the whole thing off. I changed my mind. I’ll write you a check, scrub your toilets for a month, take out a full page add in the Chicago Tribune declaring Simon Hastings the best lover who ever lived!

Instead, she sucked in a breath and draped herself over his lap.

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