Page 89 of The Sadist and the Brat

“That’s not how cake works. Vegetables, yes. Cake, no. Everybody knows that,” she said and turned to look at him.

He was watching her, a strange expression on his face. “Do I have frosting on my chin or something?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“You look good in my bed,” he said.

“It’s a good bed,” she decided, brushing a hand over the curved headboard. “Surprising, though.”

“Oh.”

“Not many hard points on a sleigh bed.”

He grinned. “Looks can be deceiving,” he said and kissed her.

Warning bells clanged in the back of her head, but she could barely hear them over the pounding of her heart. She met the kiss with enthusiasm, eager to get back on familiar footing. This sneaking warmth she suddenly felt was confusing. She didn’t understand it, and it made her uneasy. But desire—that she understood and knew what to do with.

“I have two questions,” he murmured against her mouth.

The kiss had left her feeling faintly lightheaded, and though she was pretty sure she didn’t have another orgasm in her, pleasantly buzzed. “What are they?”

He shifted to nuzzle her neck. “Am I going to have to arrange some kind of demonstration every time I want to see you?”

She jerked, startled. “What?”

He traced his tongue over the curve of her jaw. “Don’t get me wrong, the demos are fun,” he assured her, and nipped at her chin. “But I’d like to have a normal date sometime, too.”

“You would?”

He pulled back to smile into her eyes. “Yes. Would you?”

“I guess so,” she managed, trying to talk around the lump in her throat. “Do you mean like a play date, or a date-date?”

“A good question. What do you call today?” he asked. “The demo notwithstanding.”

“Um…” His hand had snuck up to snuggle her breast, scrambling her thoughts. “I’m not sure.”

“Well, whatever this is, is what I want to do again.” His expression was curious. “Is that all right with you?”

“Yes,” she decided, and another wave of that sneaky warmth flooded through her, all the way up to her cheeks this time.

“Good,” he said. “Now, second question. Are you staying tonight?”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Tomorrow is Sunday.”

“You have plans?”

“Ah…” She fought to think. “I’m supposed to go to my folks’ for dinner.”

“What time?”

It’s Sunday dinner,” she explained. “They eat right after Mass.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re Catholic?”

“Lapsed—much to my mother’s chagrin.”

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