Page 13 of Untether

‘Nope. Did absolutely nothing for me, but I thought I should try it. I’d much rather be in control—except with you,’ he adds hurriedly. ‘This is your shindig. You call the shots. You want to stick a dildo up my arse? Just say so and I’ll bend right over.’

He slaps the table, and I jump. I have literally no interest in doing that to him or anyone else, which is one of the many reasons my marriage failed, but I’m not ready to divulge any of that shit to a guy I’ve only just met. I stay in interview mode.

‘Not my thing,’ I tell him curtly. ‘You’re safe. Now, have you ever had feelings for anyone you’ve fucked at the club?’

‘Nope,’ he says easily. ‘You don’t need to worry about that, I promise. I’m not going to fall in love with you and stalk you.’

All right, then. He was pretty unequivocal about that.

‘Got it,’ I say. Our eyes lock, and I mentally congratulateGen, because it looks like she found me the perfect guy. If I can view the fact that he’s got three zillion times the sexual experience I have as beneficial rather than intimidating, then I can’t fault him.

Of course, I don’t actuallyknowhim, but Gen trusts him, which is good enough for me. And I can’t deny he’s gorgeous.

Like, dreamy, movie-star gorgeous, with a face that belongs on posters on teenage girls’ bedrooms (if teens these days do anything as uncool as hanging posters). He’s pretty but masculine, the long lashes and floppy dark hair beautifully balanced by the broken nose. The manicured beard.

The hand holding his tumbler is hot, too. Short, square nails. Shapely fingers. That grip looks strong. There’s a smattering of dark hair on the back of his hand. He’s not caveman-level hairy. He’s perfect. The small V of his open shirt hints at the same. Black hair on tanned skin. The hint of his clavicle, the shadowy indent above it that I bet feels so soft against one’s lips.

This guy should have some hot, willowy twenty-something hanging off him. Some girl who goes braless just because she can. Who can bend herself into a pretzel for him. In fact, the single fact I’m clinging onto, as if it’s a frayed, inadequate lifeline and I’m over the cliff edge, is that any guy who can stick his dick in twenty women in a single night can’t be that fussy.

Like, maybe his magical penis with its boast-worthy refractory period, is capable of banging women senseless even if they’re not his type.

Even if they’re forty-six and their body is the product of two pregnancies. Even if they have the banged-up vaginafrom one so-called natural childbirthandthe C-section scar from the other one that didn’t go as planned.

Even then.

And another thread frays on my lifeline as he sets down his drink, leans forward and bats the ball I’ve been volleying right back at me.

‘If you’re quite finished’

I grin. ‘Shoot.’

‘I have a question for you.’ He grins sexily before reaching over and closing his warm hand over mine on the table.

‘Okay,’ I say nervously, trying not to wriggle my fingers under his.

‘What do you want?’

‘What do I want?’ I repeat, mainly to buy time.

‘Come on. You know the spotlight will be on you for this, not me. And while I’m an open book—I’m happy to answer any questions you have—I have a feeling this is less about you getting to know me and more about you deflecting. Am I right?’

Dammit.

Rather than answer, I give him a churlish roll of my eyes.

His grin gets wider. ‘Wow. I just got my very own sexy-as-fuck Aida Russell eye roll.’

‘When you ask what I want…’ I prompt, playing for time.

‘You gave us your spiel at Alchemy yesterday about changing the narrative. It’s valid. More than valid—it’s great. I’m sold.’ He rubs a thumb over my fingers. ‘But this isn’t purely some altruistic exercise for you. It’s personal. You know, we see all sorts at Alchemy. Andcoming of ageis usually associated with young adults, but really, it can apply to anyone. You’ve identified Unfurl as a structure to help you come of age now, to help you come into the woman youshould be today, but you feel like you aren’t. Probably on account of your shitty husband. Am I warm?’

‘Yes.’ My voice is flat.

‘Good. Not good—I’m sorry it’s been like that for you. But it’s good because now you get to do whatever you like. Fuck your ex. Fuck the press. Fuck everyone else. You are about to be let loose in a self-indulgent paradise. Consider me your sexual Willy Wonka. Christ, that sounds creepy.’

His grin has me barking out a laugh.

‘Just think of yourself for a second, Aida. This whole project is about you, and your desires, and your needs. I want you to take, take, take. But Gen’s been very silent on exactly what shape that’ll take. And so have you, so far.

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