Page 16 of Whips and Chains
Shit, we hadn’t even used a condom. The proof of that still coating my inner thighs. I slipped silently into the bathroom and cleaned myself up, but the smell of bacon was too good to ignore.
Whip worked his way around the kitchen like he’d cooked for me a hundred times. Gray sweats were tied tight around hismuscled waist, showing off V lines either side of his hips that had no business looking that good on a man in his mid-forties.
He glanced up when he heard me and paused with his fingers around the frying pan handle. “Hey, sweetheart.”
I gave him a small smile.
He watched me carefully for a second then pointed at one of the urban landscape photographs that decorated the walls of our living room. “I’ve been staring at those all morning. Did you take them?”
I gave a slight shake of my head. “No. I have no artistic talent. They’re Toby’s. He’s really creative. Photography is his most recent obsession.” I suddenly realized what I’d said. “Was…photographywashis most recent obsession.”
I fell silent.
Whip’s expression filled with sympathy. “How you doing? Not about Toby. You don’t have to talk about that right now. I meant about everything after…”
I hoisted myself up onto one of the breakfast barstools to watch him cook. “I don’t know.”
He shook the fry pan, making sure the eggs didn’t stick. “You sore?”
A blush crept up the back of my neck. “Yes. But not in a bad way, exactly.”
He nodded his approval. “Good. Last night was a lot. But you needed it.”
I had. I’d wanted every second of their hands on me. I’d wanted their tongues and fingers and cocks, and I’d had so many orgasms last night I’d lost track of them. “Do you think I’m a slut now?”
He let go of the fry pan so quickly it clattered against the stove top. “What? Of course not. Jesus, fuck, Violet. You went through something so traumatic last night that words can’t even express how bad it was. And so you forgot about it for a littlewhile with men you knew and felt safe with. Having sex to forget is probably the least destructive path you could have taken. Other people would have used alcohol or drugs. Or worse.”
I supposed that was fair. Whip said it all so matter-of-factly that even my doubts flittered away. My gaze strayed toward the dish strainer where Toby’s favorite coffee mug sat, waiting to be put back in the cupboard. I looked away quickly, not wanting to think about the fact he was never going to use that mug again.
“How many people have you slept with?” I asked Whip instead.
He glanced over his shoulder at me and raised an eyebrow. “You asking me if I’m a slut now?” His mouth lifted into a cute grin that was contagious and felt a whole lot better than thinking about Toby.
“Maybe.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. A lot. It kinda comes with the job.” He switched off the gas and scooped an egg onto a plate. He added bacon and plucked two slices of toast from a stack he’d made by the toaster and placed them in front of me.
I reached over the countertop and pushed open the top drawer to grab a knife and fork. “Okay then. How many of them were actually women you wanted to sleep with? Like, ones you’d taken out for a meal and were actually attracted to and weren’t getting paid to be with.”
He stiffened.
I instantly knew I’d asked the wrong question, though I wasn’t really sure why. I shoved a piece of bacon in my mouth to cover how uncomfortable I suddenly was. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine.” He picked up a piece of toast for himself. “Two.”
“Two?”
“Two women. I’ve only slept with two I actually cared about.”
“Oh.” I crunched my bacon, wishing I hadn’t brought it up, because I was suddenly so jealous of those women my bacon tasted sour. I washed it down with a glass of orange juice.
Whip watched me, but he didn’t elaborate. “Listen. My guys were here last night, after you and Levi and X fell asleep. They took everything we were wearing last night, as well as my car. They’ve cleaned the scene as well, so there shouldn’t be anything there at the warehouse to implicate you in Toby’s death.”
I froze. “Toby’s murder, you mean.”
Whip watched me carefully. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
I didn’t, but I knew I had to. I owed them that much after what they’d done for me. They had no real reason to help me, and yet they were anyway.
