Page 39 of Dirty Little Secrets
“If you want to do this, Miss Jones,” I say, controlling my breathing. “You’ll need to sign a contract.” I glance at her. “Then, we can play all you want.”
Frustration oozes from her when she huffs, “Acontract? You won’tfuckme unless we have a contract? Are you serious?”
“It’s for your benefit, Miss Jones,” I grunt. “Trust me, you want a contract.”
She scoffs. “What? Like an NDA? So I won’t go around telling people that the great Damon Cavanaugh belongs to a kink club? Because trust me, I won’t. That implicates both of us, and the last thing I need is for anyone to know what goes on in my personal life. But you already know how I feel about that.”
I snort. “An NDA is only a fraction of the terms and conditions.”
She blinks. “There areterms and conditions? When did sex become as serious as a merger?”
“I need to know your limits, Miss Jones,” I say matter-of-factly, my cock slowly deflating against its will. “And you need to know mine.”
“My limits?”
“Yes,” I confirm. “What’s acceptable, what’s a maybe, and what’s completely off the table. Limits.”
“You sure know how to drain the fun out of fucking,” she mutters, crossing her arms.
I roll my eyes. “You’re acting as if you’ve actuallyhadfun fucking.” I flash a knowing smirk, and she scowls at me. “What? Am I wrong?” I pause, suddenly curious. “What happened to poor Thomas, anyway? You finally break his little heart?”
“Fuck you,” she spits as we turn off the freeway. She sits up. “This is the wrong exit. Lux is?—”
“I’m taking you home,” I say, elaborating. “To the condo.”
“My car’s at Lux,” she states in a sour tone. “I need to drive back to Connecticut tonight.” She glares at me. “And pack.”
“It’s late,” I say. “You can go tomorrow. I’ll have Javier bring your car to you in the morning.”
“But I don’t have any of my things.”
“I’ve taken the liberty of stocking your apartment with all the essentials.”
“I need pajamas?—”
“You’ll find whatever you need in your closet,” I say, turning onto our street. I glance at her, grinning. “Plus, some extras I thought you might like.”
Her jaw drops. “You went shopping for me? That is so?—”
“Thoughtful?” I shrug. “You’re welcome. I knew you’d appreciate it.”
She grits her teeth. “I’m not your little Barbie doll, Mr. Cavanaugh. You can’t play dress up with me.”
“You’re free to discard any garments you’re not fond of,” I say, giving her a lingering once-over. “However, I’m confident you’ll appreciate my sense of style.” I nod down to her oversized outfit. “While I think you’re beautiful no matter what you wear, don’t you think a body like yours deserves to be seen?”
She blinks. “Somehow you’ve managed to insult me and compliment me in one breath.”
“It was two,” I quip, pulling into the parking lot of our building. “And don’t be offended, Miss Jones, like I said, you can throw it all away if you’d like.” I pull into my parking stall. “Ah, home sweet home.”
“Yes, so sweet.” Emery rolls her eyes, getting out ofthe car. She follows me to the elevator, pressing her fob against the reader. She presses forty-four.
“Penthouse please,” I smirk.
She frowns. “Did you program my fob to be able to access your floor?”
“Of course.”
“Right.” She sighs, pressing PH. Leaning against the elevator walls, she adds, “You must really trust me, Mr. Cavanaugh. To give me access to your home?” She tilts her head. “I could be a serial killer for all you know. One night when you’re falling asleep, I could sneak in and,” she motions a slicing across her throat, “dead.”
