Page 47 of Going Deep
He stilled, shock making his hand go limp on the shirt he’d picked up, and it fluttered to the floor. What was he doing? She was a delight for certain, but he’d had delightful submissives before, and would again. He cast a glance at the bed. Dangerous thoughts indeed. It was probably a good thing that he was leaving town for a few days. It was time to put his situation with Ginger into the proper perspective.
He buttoned his shirt swiftly, then tucked it in and slipped on his shoes. The lump in the bed hadn’t moved, and he nearly left without waking her. But disappearing the morning after without a word was bad form, no matter how casual the relationship, so he leaned over her inert form and laid a hand on her shoulder.
“Ginger.” He gave her a light shake. “Wake up.”
No answer. He shook her harder. “Ginger.”
This time he got a muffled, “Humph,” and she rolled away.
He huffed out a laugh. He could spend the next few minutes trying to rouse her, or he could expedite the process and enjoy himself doing it.
With a wicked grin, he slid his hand under the mound of blankets, stroking over her shoulder, down her arm, around to her breasts. Warm and soft, he indulged himself for a moment, fondling her gently, and she gave a contented sigh. Then he slid his fingers to her nipple, puffy and swollen from the clamps, and slowly, carefully, pinched. Hard.
Her eyes shot open on a squeal of pain, and she jerked against his hold. “Ow!”
He immediately gentled his grip, and she sagged back against the pillows. “What the hell?”
He chuckled. “Just getting your attention, darling.” He stroked her now turgid nipple in mute apology. “I have to go, and I didn’t want to leave without telling you.”
“Oh.” Her body relaxed, and she blinked sleepily at him. “Okay. What time is it?”
“Just after five.” He brushed a kiss over her lips. “I’ll call when I get back. Go back to sleep.”
“Mkay,” she mumbled, her eyes sliding shut.
He chuckled and straightened. He left the apartment with a spring in his step, pleased to have settled things in his mind. When he got back to town, they’d spend some more time together. Then he’d say goodbye and walk away.
And things would get back to normal.
CHAPTER SIX
On Wednesday night, Ginger sat in her living room surrounded by empty Chinese food cartons. Lola lay sprawled on the sofa behind her. “Why did you let me eat so many pot stickers?” she whined.
Ginger didn’t look up. She was painstakingly painting her toenails, frowning in concentration. The pinky toe was always the trickiest. “I tried to stop you. I almost lost a finger.”
Lola struggled to a sitting position. “It’s Anna’s fault. Why’d you order extra?”
In the kitchen pouring herself a Coke, Anna snorted. “Because you always eat them all, and I wanted some. You weren’t supposed to eat them all.”
“Dammit.” Ginger frowned at the smear of polish on the skin of her toe. “Anna, will you bring me a tissue when you come back in?”
“Sure.” Anna snagged the box from the counter as she came back into the room.
“Thanks.” Ginger plucked out a tissue. “I suck at painting my nails.”
“Here, let me do it.” Lola scooted down onto the floor and picked up the bottle of Siren Red. “How’s the job hunt going, by the way?”
Ginger put her foot on Lola’s knee. “Lousy.”
Anna settled into a chair with her Coke. “I figured there would be a lot of openings for teachers.”
“There are openings,” Ginger said with a sigh. “I just don’t want any of them.”
Uncapping the polish, Lola glanced up. “Why?”
“It just feels like I don’t get to do actual teaching anymore. I got into it because I wanted to give kids the same love of reading, of literature, that my teachers gave me. Instead, I spend half the year making sure they can pass a standardized test.”
“That sucks,” Anna commented. “You said you have a master’s degree, right? Does that mean you can teach at the college level?”
