Page 5 of His to Explore
She relaxes back into the leather seat. “I guess that’s okay.”
I grit my teeth against the sarcastic reply that wants to come out. I got her to stay for another few minutes. That needs to be enough.
“It’s been a busy week,” she says. “We have a new client and so far they’ve been impossible to please.”
“I know the feeling.”
She laughs a little. “It’s hardly the same thing. My clients aren’t entrusting me with tens of millions of dollars like yours are. I can’t imagine running a hedge fund is anything like working in an art gallery.”
“Dealing with people is pretty similar no matter what industry you’re in. The vast majority of them are demanding, irritating, and stupid.”
She laughs and I wish I could bottle up the sound. It’s not very often that we sit and talk like this. Most of the noises I’m used to hearing from her are moans and whimpers—which I fucking love, don’t get me wrong. But this is nice, too. Her letting me see another side of her.
It’s far too rare.
“That’s a pretty low opinion of your fellow man,” she chides, still smiling that sparkling smile that takes my breath away. The smile turns sheepish when her stomach audibly growls.
“Sorry,” she says, her cheeks growing pink. “I skipped dinner.”
Under the table, my hands turn to fists. If she was mine—really mine—I’d make damn sure she wasn’t skipping meals. It would be my job, as her Dom, to take care of her in every way. But that’s not the relationship we have. She allows me to take care of her pleasure, but not the rest of her.
And I fucking hate it.
“Why did you skip dinner?” I manage to keep my voice mostly calm, even though what I really want to do is pull her over my lap and show her what happens to subs who don’t take care of themselves.
Her cheeks get even pinker. “I’m always a little nervous before…you know. Our time together.”
It’s a lot harder to be angry when I take in the embarrassed, shy expression on her face. She can’t even bring herself to say the words.
“Before we fuck?” I press, and her cheeks go crimson now. I can’t hold back the wolfish grin that spreads over my face. “Well, if it’s my fault you didn’t eat earlier, you have to let me rectify the situation.”
“What do you mean?” She asks, but I’m already raising my hand to get the attention of the nearest waiter.
“Yes, Mr. Anderson?” He asks. “Another whiskey?”
“We’d like to order dinner,” I tell him, ignoring the way Kensie’s mouth drops open. “What can the chef prepare quickly?”
“We have a steak salad,” he says. “Or the shrimp and vegetable pasta. Both would be about ten minutes.”
I look to Kensie. “Salad or pasta?”
She opens her mouth and shuts it again. There’s something akin to panic in her eyes, as if the idea of sitting here and sharing a meal with me in public is too terrible to consider. I push back the swell of annoyance her expression inspires.
“You need to eat, Kensie,” I say firmly. “I’ll not have you driving home without food in your belly. Not after the way I exerted you earlier.”
She gives a shocked little squeak, gaze flashing to the waiter. I roll my eyes. “He’s heard it all before.” When she does nothing but glare daggers at me, I turn back to the man. “We’ll take the pasta. A bottle of Pinot Grigio would be appreciated as well. The Ruffino if you have it.”
“Of course, sir,” he says.
Once he’s left us, Kensie leans across the table, her eyes flashing. “I can’t believe you said that in front of him!”
“The man works in a sex club, Kensie. I highly doubt anything I could say would shock him.” I pause, gaze darting across her reddened face. “But if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll be sure to be more circumspect in the future. I apologize.”
Her mouth snaps closed, as if my apology threw her off. Hopefully she’s too discombobulated to argue with me about sharing a meal, too.
No such luck.
“You don’t have to have dinner with me,” she says, eyes anywhere but on me. “I can easily wait until I get home?—”
