Page 75 of Going Deep
She blinked in surprise. “I do?”
“Absolutely.” He stroked a hand over her hair, enjoying the way the soft strands seemed to cling to his skin. “After you’ve rested a while, perhaps had a little nibble of something, it’ll be my turn.”
“Your turn?” Her lips quirked with amusement. “Wasn’t that you fucking me just a little while ago?”
“My turn,” he repeated, putting just enough command in his voice to make her shiver. “As enjoyable as that little interlude was, I didn’t get to beat on you at all. It’s been too long since I had your ass under my hand. I go too long without and I start getting heart palpitations.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened, and her cheeks pinked prettily. “Well. Heart health is very important.”
CHAPTER TEN
Michael woke the next morning with a feeling of bone-deep contentment. He felt rested, despite not having gotten to bed until well after two in the morning. After their first scene, he and Ginger had relaxed in the bar area for a while, talking and cuddling on the sofa, before he’d taken her back up to the theme rooms and tied her over a spanking bench. He’d whaled on her butt long enough to tire his arm, then he’d fucked her hard to their mutual satisfaction.
When they’d come up to his place after closing, they’d fixed a midnight snack before settling in bed, where Ginger had picked up his book and read to him. It had been so nice to be read to, she’d explained, she wanted to return the favor. And she was right; it had been very nice. He’d drifted off to sleep listening to her husky voice.
Now, Ginger lay next to him, her head on his shoulder, one thigh thrown across his as though she was trying to pin him down in his sleep. And as usual, she had the covers pulled up to her nose, snuggling into them like a burrowing rabbit.
He regarded her with amusement. Her hair was sticking straight up, and could feel the soft puffs of her breath against his skin. He knew if left to her own devices, she’d sleep like the dead until nearly noon, and nothing short of an earthquake would disturb her.
The urge to stay in bed to see if he could tempt her into abandoning sleep for an orgasm was strong, but he decided to let her sleep. She was stressed about her interview on Tuesday, and could probably use the rest.
He frowned. He wished he could tell her not to fret over it, but he’d very neatly tied his own hands by not confessing his connection to the Center when she’d first asked about it. Coming clean now would be, at the very least, awkward.
But it had to be done. If he put it off, it would only get more complicated.
Annoyed at the entire situation—and mostly himself—he shifted, easing his shoulder from under her head as he slid out of bed. She immediately rolled into the open space, still warm from his body. She gathered his share of the covers and yanked them up over her head.
He chuckled and dragged on loose drawstring pants before heading for the bathroom. He took care of business quickly, and splashed some cold water over his face to dispel the lingering cobwebs, then padded back out into the bedroom. Since Ginger hadn’t moved, he continued out to the kitchen.
He put the coffee on first, inhaling the delicious aroma as it brewed, then began to rummage in the cupboards for the ingredients for pancakes. Awkward conversations, in his experience, were always easier with pancakes.
He was halfway through his first cup of coffee and assembling the batter when the phone rang. He glanced at the phone, saw Simon’s name on the display, and sighed. A quick glance toward the bedroom revealed no signs of life, but it didn’t pay to take chances. Snagging his earpiece off the counter, he engaged it before accepting the call.
He didn’t even get a hello out before Simon declared, “You’re a goddamn coward.”
“Good morning to you, too,” Michael drawled and dumped flour into a bowl.
“Don’t change the subject,” Simon said. “You got her the job interview at the Center, didn’t you?”
“She said she was interested in working there,” Michael began.
“And I don’t suppose it occurred to you to tell her you own the place?”
“It occurred to me,” Michael admitted, stifling the urge to remind Simon that the foundation owned it, not him.
“And?”
Michael added cinnamon and salt to the flour and picked up a whisk. “And, I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s complicated,” Michael hedged, stirring cinnamon, salt and flour together with more vigor than was necessary.
“It’s going to be more complicated when she finds out,” Simon warned.
Michael started to pour buttermilk into the bowl, then realized he’d forgotten the baking soda and baking powder. “I’m aware of that.”
“And if she gets the job and she ends up working for you, more complicated still.”
