Page 91 of Whatever Lola Wants

She did exactly that, pointing out all the parts she found romantic, and he pointed out all the parts that were not. They kept score, then disputed the result, with her claiming romance had outpaced non-romance at least two to one. He protested that the sheer volume of gruesome deaths pushed it over into the non-romance side.

“Sorry,” she told him, shaking her head. “But since a large majority of those gruesome deaths happened because he was trying to protect or rescue the woman he loved, they count as romantic.”

“Killing is romantic,” he repeated, deadpan.

“Well, in real life, no. But in the movies? Duh.” She shook her head at him sadly. “You don’t know much about romance, do you?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “If you weren’t already beat to shit, I’d make you pay for that.”

“I know,” she said with obvious delight, and he burst out laughing.

“Enjoy your Get Out of an Ass Beating Free card while it lasts, woman. My time will come.”

She was counting on it. “In the meantime, why don’t you make me something to eat? I could use a snack.”

He shook his head as he shifted her off him so he could rise. “Oh yeah, my time will come,” he muttered and strode off to the kitchen.

She watched him go with a little sigh of contentment. She ached all over, her head throbbed, and she knew if she tried to stand, she’d fall right back on her ass again. But as she watched Simon putter about her kitchen, putting together a tray of cheese and crackers, she didn’t think she’d ever been happier.

He gave her another pain pill before he fed her, and while she was eating had her go another round with the ice pack on her thigh. To make up for the discomfort he let her pick what to watch next. She introduced him to Deadhead, a British show about two young women with the ability to see—and hunt—demons. He laughed until she thought he’d burst, and they binge watched all the episodes. By the time the credits were rolling on the last one, she was half asleep.

He flicked off the television and scooped her up, carrying her to the bathroom so she could get ready for bed, and he only let her pee in privacy if she promised to call him when she was finished. She rolled her eyes for form, but complied without complaint. Fatigue was dragging at her, making her lean heavily on the counter while she brushed her teeth.

When she was finished, he carried her gently into the bedroom, slipping the robe carefully off her shoulders before tucking her between cool sheets. She turned onto her right side to keep pressure off her bruised left leg, and he climbed in behind her, tugging her into the curve of his body so her butt nestled against his groin, her back against his chest. His erection pressed against her, and she wiggled back into him with sleepy interest.

His arm tightened. “Behave,” he growled in her ear. “You’re in no shape for sex.”

She subsided with a sigh. He was right. She was so sore, and so tired. But maybe tomorrow…

“Go to sleep,” he murmured against her neck, and she did.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“You look a lot better.”

Lola smiled at her friends. It was five days post-accident, and she was finally out of the house. In this case ‘out of the house’ meant Simon driving her over to Anna’s to work on wedding plans and eat Chinese food, but she wasn’t picky.

“I feel a lot better,” she replied. “The bruises are pretty much gone, except for the really big one, and the stitches can come out in another few days. Thank God.”

“Itching, huh?” Anna’s nose wrinkled in sympathy.

Lola resisted her urge to reach up and rub her fingers over them. “Oh, yeah.”

“Well, I’m glad your bodyguard let you out of the house.” Ginger reached across the coffee table for her glass of wine. “Even if you can’t drink.”

Lola eyed the pale golden liquid in Ginger’s glass with envy. “I’m not taking pain pills anymore, so I could have a glass of wine.”

“Simon made me promise.” Anna sent her an apologetic look. “Then he told Grant he made me promise, so Grant made me promise, too.”

Which meant convincing her friend to give her a glass of wine would mean getting Anna into trouble. Lola scowled. “He’s such a mother.”

Anna choked. “Did you tell him that?”

“No, but I might,” Lola groused. “I’m getting a little pissed about all these restrictions.”

“For someone who’s not a submissive, your life is looking very D/s at the moment,” Anna teased.

“He’s overprotective,” Lola grumbled. “He won’t even fuck me hard until the stitches come out.”

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